 | A Flight of Fancies |  |
74
HIS GRATITUDE
The Fern (Who knows his name in French?)
Was just beginning to unclench
His little furry fist,
To play with drops of dew and learn
How quietly the dewdrops turn
From water into mist.
Was just beginning to unclench
His little furry fist,
To play with drops of dew and learn
How quietly the dewdrops turn
From water into mist.
At first he grew as if he thought
The world was something to be fought;
But now he plainly sees
That what with diligence he grows
Is neither luncheon for the crows
Nor breakfast for the bees.
The world was something to be fought;
But now he plainly sees
That what with diligence he grows
Is neither luncheon for the crows
Nor breakfast for the bees.
He found that he could safely hang
Above the dimpling Brook, that sang
Regardless of applause,
And kissed the heifer's feet, and showed
A moorhen on the running road
That ran without a pause.
Above the dimpling Brook, that sang
Regardless of applause,
And kissed the heifer's feet, and showed
A moorhen on the running road
That ran without a pause.
November came. Within the Brook
His likeness wore a browner look
Than he had seen of old.
He understood that Loveliness
Was slowly giving for a dress
Of green a dress of gold.
His likeness wore a browner look
75
He understood that Loveliness
Was slowly giving for a dress
Of green a dress of gold.
Before he vanished underground
He thanked the World where he had found
Content in sun and mist,
And told the Brook that in the Spring
He meant to come again and bring
His little furry fist.
He thanked the World where he had found
Content in sun and mist,
And told the Brook that in the Spring
He meant to come again and bring
His little furry fist.
| A Flight of Fancies | |