985

And is held low to freezing lips—Too rapt with frostTo take it—How sweet it would have tasted—Just a Drop—Was God so economical?His Table’s spread too high for Us—Unless We dine on tiptoe—Crumbs—fit such little mouths—Cherries—suit Robbins—The Eagle’s Golden Breakfast strangles—Them—God keep His Oath to Sparrows—Who of little Love—know how to starve—

Through clearing and through wood—Banditti often passed usUpon the lonely road.The wolf came peering curious—The owl looked puzzled down—The serpent’s satin figureGlid stealthily along—The tempests touched our garments—The lightning’s poinards gleamed—Fierce from the Crag above usThe hungry Vulture screamed—The satyr’s fingers beckoned—The valley murmured ‘Come’—These were the mates—This was the roadThose children fluttered home.

Did I sing—too loud?But—I can say a little ‘Minor’Timid as a Bird!Wouldn’t the Angels try me—Just—once—more—Just—see—if I troubled them—But don’t—shut the door!Oh, if I—were the GentlemanIn the ‘White Robe’—And they—were the little Hand—that knocked—Could—I—forbid?

Because I grow—where Robins do—But, were I Cuckoo born—I’d swear by him—The ode familiar—rules the Noon—The Buttercup’s, my Whim for Bloom—Because, we’re Orchard sprung—But, were I Britain born,I’d Daisies spurn—None but the Nut—October fit—Because, through dropping it,The Seasons flit—I’m taught—Without the Snow’s TableauWinter, were lie—to me—Because I see—New Englandly—The Queen, discerns like me—Provincially—

We shall never know—How He stretched His Anguish to usThat—is covered too—Spreads the Pond Her Base of LiliesBold above the BoyWhose unclaimed Hat and JacketSum the History—

The Hill—the Afternoon—Squirrel—Eclipse— the Bumble bee—Nay—Nature is Heaven—Nature is what we hear—The Bobolink—the Sea—Thunder—the Cricket—Nay—Nature is Harmony—Nature is what we know—Yet have no art to say—So impotent Our Wisdom isTo her Simplicity.