 | Under Green Leaves |  |
94
SUPPOSITIONS.
That Earth's no Paradise
We know as well as you,
What then? you dark dull soul!
Suppose in the deep blue sky
There never was seen a star,
Suppose the bounteous Earth
No more brought forth a flower,
And trees were barren sticks—
Like you, my worthy friend!—
And never put out a leaf
To wave in the summer wind;—
And suppose the free fresh air
Were stagnant as a pool;—
'Tis possible you might live—
But where would be the charm
Of the garden and the fields
And the beauty of the sky?
We know as well as you,
What then? you dark dull soul!
Suppose in the deep blue sky
There never was seen a star,
Suppose the bounteous Earth
No more brought forth a flower,
And trees were barren sticks—
Like you, my worthy friend!—
And never put out a leaf
To wave in the summer wind;—
And suppose the free fresh air
Were stagnant as a pool;—
'Tis possible you might live—
But where would be the charm
95
And the beauty of the sky?
And, coming to nearer things,
Suppose there were no grass
To cover the naked clay;
Suppose the birds were mute,
And nightingales and larks
Were dumb as perch or trout;
And suppose there were no dogs
To look in the face of man,
Confiding and beloved;
No horses and no kine
To minister to his use?
You could live—'twere vain to doubt—
Like the oyster on the bank,
And prize your grovelling life
And cling to it, if Death
Untimely summon'd you
To quit its stagnant shore;—
But many a true delight,
And many an innocent charm,
And many a thing of joy
Would leave the world less fair
To men of finer mould,
Though fit enough for you.
Suppose there were no grass
To cover the naked clay;
Suppose the birds were mute,
And nightingales and larks
Were dumb as perch or trout;
And suppose there were no dogs
To look in the face of man,
Confiding and beloved;
No horses and no kine
To minister to his use?
You could live—'twere vain to doubt—
Like the oyster on the bank,
And prize your grovelling life
And cling to it, if Death
Untimely summon'd you
To quit its stagnant shore;—
But many a true delight,
96
And many a thing of joy
Would leave the world less fair
To men of finer mould,
Though fit enough for you.
Go away, grumbler! go!
And ere you talk again
Of the utter misery
And darkness of the world,
Be grateful for the flowers.
And if your purblind eyes,
My most respectable friend!—
Can dare to look so high,
Be thankful for the stars.
And ere you talk again
Of the utter misery
And darkness of the world,
Be grateful for the flowers.
And if your purblind eyes,
My most respectable friend!—
Can dare to look so high,
Be thankful for the stars.
| Under Green Leaves | |