 | Jane and Ann Taylor: Original Poems for Infant Minds |  |
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EARTH.
What is it that's covered so richly with green,
And gives to the forest its birth?
A thousand plants bloom on its bosom serene:—
Whose bosom?—the bosom of earth.
And gives to the forest its birth?
A thousand plants bloom on its bosom serene:—
Whose bosom?—the bosom of earth.
Hidden deep in its bowels the emerald shines,
The ruby and amethyst blue;
And silver and gold glitter bright in the mines
Of Mexico rich, and Peru.
The ruby and amethyst blue;
And silver and gold glitter bright in the mines
Of Mexico rich, and Peru.
Large quarries of granite and marble are spread
In its wonderful bosom, like bones:
Chalk, gravel, and coals; salt, sulphur, and lead,
And thousands of beautiful stones.
In its wonderful bosom, like bones:
Chalk, gravel, and coals; salt, sulphur, and lead,
And thousands of beautiful stones.
Beasts, savage and tame, of all colours and forms,
Either stalk in its deserts, or creep;
White bears sit and growl to the northerly storms,
And shaggy goats bound from the steep.
Either stalk in its deserts, or creep;
White bears sit and growl to the northerly storms,
And shaggy goats bound from the steep.
The oak and the snowdrop, the cedar and rose,
Alike on its surface are seen;
The tall fir of Norway, surrounded with snows,
And the mountain-ash, scarlet and green.
Alike on its surface are seen;
The tall fir of Norway, surrounded with snows,
And the mountain-ash, scarlet and green.
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Fine grass and rich mosses creep over its hills,
Flowers breathe their perfume to the gale:
Tall water-weeds dip in its murmuring rills,
And harvests wave bright in the vale.
Flowers breathe their perfume to the gale:
Tall water-weeds dip in its murmuring rills,
And harvests wave bright in the vale.
And when this poor body is cold and decayed,
And this warm, throbbing heart is at rest;
My head upon thee, mother Earth, shall be laid,
To find a long home in thy breast.
And this warm, throbbing heart is at rest;
My head upon thee, mother Earth, shall be laid,
To find a long home in thy breast.
| Jane and Ann Taylor: Original Poems for Infant Minds | |