 | The Poems of Selwyn Image |  |
72
TO THE LESSER TITMOUSE
O come, when stiff Jack-Frost's aground,
And ne'er a peckit to be found
For all your hunting far and nigh:
O come, my pretty Mouse, and see
If I've forgot ye! On the tree—
I've not forgotten, no not I—
There hangs your dainty meal and free.
And ne'er a peckit to be found
For all your hunting far and nigh:
O come, my pretty Mouse, and see
If I've forgot ye! On the tree—
I've not forgotten, no not I—
There hangs your dainty meal and free.
In summer days you're off away
For land of roses and of may
To creep around the forest boughs,
Your larder filled with food galore.
Well, what's the blame you think no more
Of my poor London garth and house,
Now Mother Nature spreads her store?
For land of roses and of may
To creep around the forest boughs,
Your larder filled with food galore.
Well, what's the blame you think no more
Of my poor London garth and house,
Now Mother Nature spreads her store?
But summer goes and autumn goes,
Vanished the whitethorn and the rose,
The gray sky's turbulent with wind:
You peer and peer but all is bare,
And biting chill the morning air;
Ah! peer and peer, you cannot find
One dainty fly or bud to spare.
Vanished the whitethorn and the rose,
The gray sky's turbulent with wind:
You peer and peer but all is bare,
And biting chill the morning air;
Ah! peer and peer, you cannot find
One dainty fly or bud to spare.
And then—who knows?—across your brain
A sudden thought may flit again,
The memory of a little plot
Of garden-ground shut in between
Long rows of streets, a space of green,
An ash-tree you had clean forgot—
So many a day since that you've seen!
A sudden thought may flit again,
The memory of a little plot
Of garden-ground shut in between
Long rows of streets, a space of green,
An ash-tree you had clean forgot—
So many a day since that you've seen!
73
Dear little Friend, the lawn, the tree
Are sorry shifts for wood and lea,
Yet such may serve when winter's here:
And welcome, welcome you shall meet
From him that longs once more to greet
Your impudent sweet presence there!
You know my number up the street!
Are sorry shifts for wood and lea,
Yet such may serve when winter's here:
And welcome, welcome you shall meet
From him that longs once more to greet
Your impudent sweet presence there!
You know my number up the street!
November 23rd, 1917.
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