 | Snow-berries. A book for young folks |  |
121
A POET'S WALK.
Once his way a poet took
Through a deep and dewy glen;
Write about me in your book!
Cried the redbreast, cried the wren.
Through a deep and dewy glen;
Write about me in your book!
Cried the redbreast, cried the wren.
Twittering low from every bush,
Chirping loud from every tree,
Cried the pewet, cried the thrush,
Cried the blackbird, write of me!
Chirping loud from every tree,
Cried the pewet, cried the thrush,
Cried the blackbird, write of me!
Sing about my eyes, my wings,—
Mine is but a humble boon,—
So they cried, the silly things!
Crossing each the other's tune.
Mine is but a humble boon,—
So they cried, the silly things!
Crossing each the other's tune.
But the poet, sign of grace
Giving not by look or tone,
Turned into a shady place,
Where a daisy lived alone.
Giving not by look or tone,
Turned into a shady place,
Where a daisy lived alone.
All her modest shoulders hid
In a veil of leaves of grass,
Dropping either snowy lid
Sat she still to see him pass.
In a veil of leaves of grass,
Dropping either snowy lid
Sat she still to see him pass.
122
Then the poet, with a quill
That some eager bird had shook
Downward, all against her will,
Wrote about her in his book.
That some eager bird had shook
Downward, all against her will,
Wrote about her in his book.
| Snow-berries. A book for young folks | |