 | Snow-berries. A book for young folks |  |
iii
PRELUDE.
My little men and women
Who sit with your eyes downcast,
Turning the leaves of the Snow-Berries
Over and over so fast,
Who sit with your eyes downcast,
Turning the leaves of the Snow-Berries
Over and over so fast,
I know as I hear them flutter
Like the leaves on a summer bough,
You are looking out for the story about
The fairies,—are n't you, now?
Like the leaves on a summer bough,
You are looking out for the story about
The fairies,—are n't you, now?
And so it is wise to tell you
That you need not turn so fast,
For there is n't a single fairy-tale
In the book from first to last.
That you need not turn so fast,
For there is n't a single fairy-tale
In the book from first to last.
My Muse is plain and homespun,—
Quite given to work-day ways,—
And she never spent an hour in the tent
Of a fairy, in all her days.
Quite given to work-day ways,—
And she never spent an hour in the tent
Of a fairy, in all her days.
She is strongest on her native soil;
And you will see she sings
Little in praise of elfs and fays,
And less of queens and kings.
And you will see she sings
Little in praise of elfs and fays,
And less of queens and kings.
iv
The finest ladies, so she says,
And the gentlemen most grand,
Are made by Nature gentlefolk,
And are royal at first hand.
And the gentlemen most grand,
Are made by Nature gentlefolk,
And are royal at first hand.
She says of the women who sew and spin,
And keep the house with care,
That they are the queens and princesses
Whose trains we ought to bear.
And keep the house with care,
That they are the queens and princesses
Whose trains we ought to bear.
And says of the men who hammer and forge,
And clear and plough the land,
That they are the worthy gentlemen
Who make our country grand.
And clear and plough the land,
That they are the worthy gentlemen
Who make our country grand.
A ribbon, she says, in the buttonhole,
May go for what it goes,
But he is the greatest man who is great
Without such tinsel shows.
May go for what it goes,
But he is the greatest man who is great
Without such tinsel shows.
Our country's flag can never drag,
She says, nor its stars go down;
For how should it fall when one and all
Are rightful heirs to the crown!
She says, nor its stars go down;
For how should it fall when one and all
Are rightful heirs to the crown!
But, little women, and little men,
I will tell you now, if you please,
What I set out to tell you about,—
Some real snow-berries.
I will tell you now, if you please,
What I set out to tell you about,—
Some real snow-berries.
v
All in the wild November,
And a long, long time ago,
When the birds were gone and the daisies done,
And clouds hung chilly and low,
And a long, long time ago,
When the birds were gone and the daisies done,
And clouds hung chilly and low,
Seven little and laughing children—
I, as you guess, being one—
Stood at the pane to charm the rain,
And to catch a glimpse of the sun.
I, as you guess, being one—
Stood at the pane to charm the rain,
And to catch a glimpse of the sun.
At noon it was dreary as twilight,
But just as the clock struck two
There broke its way through the mass of gray
A hand's-breadth of the blue.
But just as the clock struck two
There broke its way through the mass of gray
A hand's-breadth of the blue.
How close we pressed to see some cloud
Put on a golden edge,—
Head over head, and cheeks as red
As the roses in a hedge.
Put on a golden edge,—
Head over head, and cheeks as red
As the roses in a hedge.
And the gray is grained with silver,
And the blue has widened its streak;
And I was the one to see the sun,
And I was the one to speak!
And the blue has widened its streak;
And I was the one to see the sun,
And I was the one to speak!
“Now, out and away to the meadows!
The rain has been charmed, you see,—
For here at our feet are our shadows,—
Three, and one, and three.
The rain has been charmed, you see,—
For here at our feet are our shadows,—
Three, and one, and three.
vi
“Be sure, the beautiful violet
In the grass no longer glows,
But we may get a-burning yet,
Some little lamp of a rose!”
In the grass no longer glows,
But we may get a-burning yet,
Some little lamp of a rose!”
So out we ran to the meadows,
Though the time of flowers was done,
And after us ran our shadows,—
Three and three, and one.
Though the time of flowers was done,
And after us ran our shadows,—
Three and three, and one.
All up and down the rivulets
That shaved so close to the sand,
And all across the lowland moss,
And across the stubble land;
That shaved so close to the sand,
And all across the lowland moss,
And across the stubble land;
And deep, and deeper into the wood,
And under the hedge-row wall;
To the Callamus Pond, and on beyond,
And never a flower at all!
And under the hedge-row wall;
To the Callamus Pond, and on beyond,
And never a flower at all!
Footsore, weary, and heart-sick,
We had tramped for three long hours,
When a voice so proud cried out aloud,
“The flowers! I 've found the flowers!”
We had tramped for three long hours,
When a voice so proud cried out aloud,
“The flowers! I 've found the flowers!”
Fast we flew to the top of the hill,
And fast and faster down,
And full in sight limbs shone so white
From the thicket dull and brown.
And fast and faster down,
And full in sight limbs shone so white
From the thicket dull and brown.
vii
The turf slides back, and farther back,
We are there, we are under the trees!
And our eager hands are breaking the wands
Of the milk-white snow-berries!
We are there, we are under the trees!
And our eager hands are breaking the wands
Of the milk-white snow-berries!
We had had a tramp, through cold and damp,
Of three right weary hours,
But we did not grieve, if you believe,
That our berries were not flowers!
Of three right weary hours,
But we did not grieve, if you believe,
That our berries were not flowers!
But each with a sheaf on his shoulder,
As white as the whitest foam,
We struck across the lowland moss,
And into the lights of home.
As white as the whitest foam,
We struck across the lowland moss,
And into the lights of home.
So, my little men and women,
Who sit with your eyes downcast,
Turning the leaves of the Snow-Berries,
So eagerly and so fast,
Who sit with your eyes downcast,
Turning the leaves of the Snow-Berries,
So eagerly and so fast,
When that you fail to find the tale
Of airy fancy bred,
You may even get some pleasure yet
From the stories in their stead.
Of airy fancy bred,
You may even get some pleasure yet
From the stories in their stead.
| Snow-berries. A book for young folks | |