 | Poems and verses by Mary Mapes Dodge |  |
128
HUBER.
A blind man under the linden trees,
Listening hour by hour.
The tall, white clover is tapping his knees—
Impatient, eager flower!
“See! See!
He comes. My bee!
Good friend, you know who is come to me!”—
And now the blind man sees.
Listening hour by hour.
The tall, white clover is tapping his knees—
Impatient, eager flower!
“See! See!
He comes. My bee!
Good friend, you know who is come to me!”—
And now the blind man sees.
He sees!
Oh, wonderful eyes of the sense and soul,
Eyes that, seeing the least so well,
Must see the whole!
And, bees,—
With your booms and buzzings that daze the air,
Your droning cadence with mystic swell,
Your pilot flights and reckonings rare,
And the hoards you drew
From bloom and dew,—
Do you know of the hoard you have stored for him
Who works and waits in the darkness dim?
From fields where our easy vision fails
In the light where our sunniest sunlight pales,
You carry your store
Of Nature's lore.
Your lives and secrets his soul doth scan,
Giving him glimpse of the Infinite Plan.
Wonderful, wonderful bees,—
For Huber sees!
Oh, wonderful eyes of the sense and soul,
Eyes that, seeing the least so well,
Must see the whole!
And, bees,—
With your booms and buzzings that daze the air,
Your droning cadence with mystic swell,
Your pilot flights and reckonings rare,
And the hoards you drew
From bloom and dew,—
129
Who works and waits in the darkness dim?
From fields where our easy vision fails
In the light where our sunniest sunlight pales,
You carry your store
Of Nature's lore.
Your lives and secrets his soul doth scan,
Giving him glimpse of the Infinite Plan.
Wonderful, wonderful bees,—
For Huber sees!
| Poems and verses by Mary Mapes Dodge | |