 | Under Green Leaves |  |
110
GIDEON GRAY.
I
Gideon Gray—poor Gideon Gray!He lies in the meadow grass,
And all day long looks up at the clouds,
And watches them as they pass,—
He smiles to them, sings to them, shouting aloud
If the little clouds lag behind;
And waves his arms as the oak-tree waves
Its boughs to the summer wind.
And what doth he think? what doth he see
In the darkness and the shade?
His soul is in the outer-dark,—
None knows but the God who made.
111
II
Gideon Gray—poor Gideon Gray!He sits by the wintry fire,
And watches the live coals in the grate
With eyes that never tire.
He sings a song to the chirruping flames,
And balances to and fro
All day long, like the tick o' the clock,
While the pine-log embers glow.
There is no meaning in his mirth,—
His tenantless eyes express
Nothing but ignorance of pain,
And a stone-like happiness.
III
Gideon Gray—poor Gideon Gray!No misery touches him;
He hath no care; the shadow of grief
Were light to a soul so dim.
112
Sorrow on Sorrow's head
Ten times piled, were a lighter load
Than a happiness so dread.
Come, Sorrow, come! we'll bare our breasts
To meet thy heaviest blow,
Resigned—if Reason keep her seat
To guide us as we go.
| Under Green Leaves | |