Volume Iii Part 45 (1/2)

THE HOUSEKEEPER

The frugal snail, with forecast of repose, Carries his house with him where'er he goes; Peeps out,--and if there comes a shower of rain, Retreats to his small domicile amain.

Touch but a tip of him, a horn,--'tis well,-- He curls up in his sanctuary sh.e.l.l.

He's his own landlord, his own tenant; stay Long as he will, he dreads no Quarter Day.

Himself he boards and lodges; both invites And feasts himself; sleeps with himself o' nights.

He spares the upholsterer trouble to procure Chattels; himself is his own furniture, And his sole riches. Whereso'er he roam,-- Knock when you will,--he's sure to be at home.

From the Latin of Vincent Bourne, by Charles Lamb [1775-1834]

THE HUMBLE-BEE

Burly, dozing humble-bee, Where thou art is clime for me.

Let them sail for Porto Rique, Far-off heats through seas to seek; I will follow thee alone, Thou animated torrid-zone!

Zigzag steerer, desert cheerer, Let me chase thy waving lines; Keep me nearer, me thy hearer, Singing over shrubs and vines.

Insect lover of the sun, Joy of thy dominion!

Sailor of the atmosphere; Swimmer through the waves of air; Voyager of light and noon; Epicurean of June; Wait, I prithee, till I come Within earshot of thy hum,-- All without is martyrdom.

When the south wind, in May days, With a net of s.h.i.+ning haze Silvers the horizon wall, And with softness touching all, Tints the human countenance With a color of romance, And infusing subtle heats, Turns the sod to violets, Thou, in sunny solitudes, Rover of the underwoods, The green silence dost displace With thy mellow, breezy ba.s.s.

Hot midsummer's petted crone, Sweet to me thy drowsy tone Tells of countless sunny hours, Long days, and solid banks of flowers; Of gulfs of sweetness without bound In Indian wildernesses found; Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure, Firmest cheer, and birdlike pleasure.

Aught unsavory or unclean Hath my insect never seen; But violets and bilberry bells, Maple-sap and daffodels, Gra.s.s with green flag half-mast high, Succory to match the sky, Columbine with horn of honey, Scented fern, and agrimony, Clover, catchfly, adder's tongue And brier-roses, dwelt among; All beside was unknown waste, All was picture as he pa.s.sed.

Wiser far than human seer, Yellow-breeched philosopher!

Seeing only what is fair, Sipping only what is sweet, Thou dost mock at fate and care, Leave the chaff, and take the wheat.

When the fierce northwestern blast Cools sea and land so far and fast, Thou already slumberest deep; Woe and want thou canst outsleep; Want and woe, which torture us, Thy sleep makes ridiculous.

Ralph Waldo Emerson [1803-1882]

TO A b.u.t.tERFLY

I've watched you now a full half-hour, Self-poised upon that yellow flower; And, little b.u.t.terfly! indeed I know not if you sleep or feed.

How motionless! not frozen seas More motionless! and then What joy awaits you, when the breeze Has found you out among the trees, And calls you forth again!

This plot of orchard-ground is ours; My trees they are, my Sister's flowers; Here rest your wings when they are weary; Here lodge as in a sanctuary!

Come often to us, fear no wrong; Sit near us on the bough!

We'll talk of suns.h.i.+ne and of song, And summer days, when we are young; Sweet childish days, that were as long As twenty days are now.

William Wordsworth [1770-1850]