The shepherd gladly heareth thee, More harmonious than he. Thee country hinds with gladness hear, Thee Phoebus loves, and does inspire; To thee, of all things upon earth, Life is no longer than thy mirth. Dost neither age nor winter know; But when thou'st drunk, and danced, and sung Thy fill, the flowery leaves among (Voluptuous and wise withal, Sated with thy summer feast, Thou retir'st to endless rest. Abraham Cowley. THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET. GREEN little vaulter in the sunny grass, Catching your heart up at the feel of JuneSole voice that's heard amidst the lazy noon, When even the bees lag at the summoning brass; And you, warm little housekeeper, who class With those who think the candles come too soon, Loving the fire, and with your tricksome tune Nick the glad silent moments as they pass! O sweet and tiny cousins, that belong, One to the fields, the other to the hearth, your Both have your sunshine; both, though small, are strong Leigh Hunt. ON THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET. THE poetry of earth is never dead: When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, John Keats. TO A BEE. THOU wert out betimes, thou busy, busy Bee! Before the cow from her resting-place On the meadow, with dew so gray, Saw I thee, thou busy, busy Bee. Thou wert working late, thou busy, busy Bee! When the primrose of evening was ready to burst, In the silence of the evening hour, Heard I thee, thou busy, busy Bee. Thou art a miser, thou busy, busy Bee! Thy summer in heaping and hoarding is spent Wise lesson this for me, thou busy, busy Bee. Little dost thou think, thou busy, busy Bee! When the latest flowers of the ivy are gone, Thy master comes for the spoil: Woe then for thee, thou busy, busy Bee! Robert Southey. TO A BUTTERFLY. STAY near me; do not take thy flight! A little longer stay in sight! Much converse do I find in thee, Historian of my infancy! TO THE CICADA. Float near me; do not yet depart! Thou bring'st, gay creature as thou art! My father's family! Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days, The time when, in our childish plays, Upon the prey-with leaps and springs But she, God love her! feared to brush The dust from off its wings. 49 William Wordsworth. TO THE CICADA. CICADA! drunk with drops of dew, On a perch amidst the wood, Sing the Dryads something new; Pan himself may answer you. Till every inmost glade rejoices All the thorns, the doubts and fears, And so, with music in mine ears, William Allingham. THE WATERFALL. WHEN the fir-tree dreams in the drowsy haze And music where all is dumb. In the bloomy May, when the buoyant day Is breezy and sunny and glad; When the lithe bough sweeps and the swift brooks leap, And the birds sing and soar as if mad; Amid this orchestral blithesomeness, This pæan of Spring-time's reign, The Waterfall's bound fills the scene all round With its blending, exulting strain. |