University of Virginia Library

To me
There is a mystery
In what the crickets sing,
The beetles drone, or, with its vibrant wing,
The grig may say,
Chanting both night and day.
I know there's sense
And beauty in the way
The mud-wasp molds the clay,
Fashioning its hollow cell.
There's no pretence
In Nature, son, for I have seen
Many a riddle solved, and been
Laughed at for being a fool by many a one.
Well, well!
But now to tell you, just for fun,
What happened to me yonder, in the sun,
The broad daylight, there by that old rail-fence:

Upon a ragweed stalk, like Puck, a-swing,
Green as a katydid's wing,
Snared in a spider's web, stretched taut and tense
Above a woodland spring,
I found a fairy thing,
Dressed in a tattered green;
A jaunty cap,
The emerald husk of some slim pod or bean,
Perched on his head; crook-kneed
He sat,
As watchful as a cat,
Alert and hard to find; a ragged scrap
Of weed himself; or like a roguish seed
That cuddles snugly in a pea-pod's flap.
I knew it for a goblin, without doubt,
The spiderweb had snared itself about—
He squatted, grinning, in the broad, bright noon,
Humming a small-gnat's tune.
And ho!
Right so
He eyed me, hide and hair,
At first severely,
A moment merely,
Then yawned, a tiny yawn, that hinted clearly,
That I could go!
That said,
With a side gesture of the head,
“I can dispense, sir, with your company!”
Then stretched himself as if to show
He did not care to know
Who the huge creature was that stopped to see
What he himself might be;
And stood to watch him swinging airily.

'T was all put on; designed indifference!
I had some sense,
Albeit he would not see,
Or not acknowledge it could be!
For he assumed a most offended air,
And fixed a stare,
Unmoving, on the old rail-fence;
And then,
Ere I had counted ten—
Tap, tap!
He stooped and gave a rap,
A tiny rap, upon the ragweed stalk;
Then bent and listened, leaning close an ear,
As if was aught to hear;
Mayhap the insect-talk
I' the heart o' the weed—
Some pixy thing, mayhap,
Not bigger than a seed—
Indeed—
Whose message seemed most urgent, that was clear;
Delivered in the whining of a gnat,
Or woodfly, busy with the sugar-sap,
And careful of his answer to the tap.

Then, suddenly, the ragweed stalk went fat,
Right in the smooth place where he leaned to rap;
And, like a solid bubble o' green, a knob,
Bulged outward; and from forth it blew a blob
Of yeasty white, a silvery slime and—scat!
As quick as that,
He vanished into it—shoes, coat, and hat—
And, where he'd sat,
A cowspit fleck, from which my clue was drawn,
Showed me the way he'd gone.

But quick!—
Knowing his trick—
I cut the very stick
Of ragweed through the middle,
The stalk I have here, which I know for sure
Holds him a prisoner.—
There where you see it frothed and swelled,
Tight as a fiddle
He hides inside.—Now! Watch me!—scut!
You see now where I held,
I hold and cut
The very spot! And—there!
Now mark him in his lair!—
Tut! tut!
I brought him home for you to see!
But,
He has escaped! and left, most cleverly
A small green worm to fool us, eh?
But that's his way!
And, let me tell you, sir, however that may be,
That small green worm is—he!