Animals and Nature

We—Bee and I—live by the quaffing

230

We—Bee and I—live by the quaffing—
'Tisn't all Hock—with us—
Life has its Ale—
But it's many a lay of the Dim Burgundy—
We chant—for cheer—when the Wines—fail—


Do we "get drunk"?
Ask the jolly Clovers!
Do we "beat" our "Wife"?
I—never wed—
Bee—pledges his—in minute flagons—
Dainty—as the trees—on our deft Head—


While runs the Rhine—
He and I—revel—
First—at the vat—and latest at the Vine—
Noon—our last Cup—
"Found dead"—"of Nectar"—
By a humming Coroner—
In a By-Thyme!

To interrupt His Yellow Plan

591

To interrupt His Yellow Plan
The Sun does not allow
Caprices of the Atmosphere-
And even when the Snow

Heaves Balls of Specks, like Vicious Boy
Directly in His Eye-
Does not so much as turn His Head
Busy with Majesty


'Tis His to stimulate the Earth-
And magnetize the Sea-
And bind Astronomy, in place,
Yet Any passing by

Would deem Ourselves-the busier
As the Minutest Bee
That rides-emits a Thunder-
A Bomb-to justify-

Through lane it lay—through bramble

9

Through lane it lay—through bramble—
Through clearing and through wood—
Banditti often passed us
Upon the lonely road.


The wolf came peering curious—
The owl looked puzzled down—
The serpent's satin figure
Glid stealthily along—


The tempests touched our garments—
The lightning's poinards gleamed—
Fierce from the Crag above us
The hungry Vulture screamed—


The satyr's fingers beckoned—
The valley murmured "Come"—
These were the mates—
This was the road
Those children fluttered home.

This is my letter to the world,

This is my letter to the world,
That never wrote to me,--

The simple news that Nature told,
With tender majesty.

Her message is committed
To hands I cannot see;

For love of her, sweet countrymen,
Judge tenderly of me!

This Bauble was preferred of Bees

805

This Bauble was preferred of Bees-
By Butterflies admired
At Heavenly-Hopeless Distances-
Was justified of Bird-

Did Noon-enamel-in Herself
Was Summer to a Score
Who only knew of Universe-
It had created Her.

There is another sky

2

There is another sky,
Ever serene and fair,
And there is another sunshine,
Though it be darkness there;
Never mind faded forests, Austin,
Never mind silent fields-
Here is a little forest,
Whose leaf is ever green;
Here is a brighter garden,
Where not a frost has been;
In its unfading flowers
I hear the bright bee hum:
Prithee, my brother,
Into my garden come!

There is a flower that Bees prefer

380

There is a flower that Bees prefer-
And Butterflies-desire-
To gain the Purple Democrat
The Humming Bird-aspire-

And Whatsoever Insect pass-
A Honey bear away
Proportioned to his several dearth
And her-capacity-

Her face be rounder than the Moon
And ruddier than the Gown
Or Orchis in the Pasture-
Or Rhododendron-worn-

She doth not wait for June-
Before the World be Green-
Her sturdy little Countenance
Against the Wind-be seen-

Contending with the Grass-
Near Kinsman to Herself-
For Privilege of Sod and Sun-
Sweet Litigants for Life-

And when the Hills be full-
And newer fashions blow-
Doth not retract a single spice
For pang of jealousy-

Her Public-be the Noon-
Her Providence-the Sun-
Her Progress-by the Bee-proclaimed-
In sovereign-Swerveless Tune-

The Bravest-of the HostSurrendering-
the last-
Nor even of Defeat-aware-
What cancelled by the Frost-

The Woodpecker

His bill an auger is,
His head, a cap and frill.
He laboreth at every tree,--
A worm his utmost goal.

The wind begun to rock the grass

The wind begun to rock the grass
With threatening tunes and low,--
He flung a menace at the earth,
A menace at the sky.


The leaves unhooked themselves from trees
And started all abroad;
The dust did scoop itself like hands
And throw away the road.


The wagons quickened on the streets,
The thunder hurried slow;
The lightning showed a yellow beak,
And then a livid claw.


The birds put up the bars to nests,
The cattle fled to barns;
There came one drop of giant rain,
And then, as if the hands


That held the dams had parted hold,
The waters wrecked the sky
But overlooked my father's house,
lust quartering a tree.

The wind trapped like a tired man,

The wind tapped like a tired man,
And like a host, 'Come in,'
I boldly answered; entered then
My residence within


A rapid, footless guest,
To offer whom a chair
Were as impossible as hand
A sofa to the air.


No bone had he to bind him,
His speech was like the push
Of numerous humming-birds at once
From a superior bush.


His countenance a billow,
His fingers, if he pass,
Let go a music, as of tunes
Blown tremulous in glass.


He visited, still flitting;
Then, like a timid man,
Again he tapped--'t was flurriedly--
And I became alone.

The Skies can't keep their secret!

191

The Skies can't keep their secret!
They tell it to the Hills-
The Hills just tell the Orchards-
And they-the Daffodils!


A Bird-by chance-that goes that way-
Soft overhears the whole-
If I should bribe the little Bird-
Who knows but she would tell?


I think I won't-howeverIt's
finer-not to know-
If Summer were an Axiom-
What sorcery had Snow?


So keep your secret-Father!
I would not-if I could,
Know what the Sapphire Fellows, do,
In your new-fashioned world!

The Robin's my Criterion for Tune

285

The Robin's my Criterion for Tune-
Because I grow-where Robins do-
But, were I Cuckoo bornI'd
swear by him-
The ode familiar-rules the Noon-
The Buttercup's, my Whim for Bloom-
Because, we're Orchard sprung-
But, were I Britain born,
I'd Daisies spurn-
None but the Nut-October fit-
Because, through dropping it,
The Seasons flit-I'm taught-
Without the Snow's Tableau
Winter, were lie-to me-
Because I see-New Englandly-
The Queen, discerns like me-
Provincially-

The Robin for the Crumb

864

The Robin for the Crumb
Returns no syllable
But long records the Lady's name
In Silver Chronicle.

The rainbow never tells me

97

The rainbow never tells me
That gust and storm are by,
Yet is she more convincing
Than Philosophy.

My flowers turn from Forums-
Yet eloquent declare
What Cato couldn't prove me
Except the birds were here!

The Judge is like the Owl

699

The Judge is like the OwlI've
heard my Father tell-
And Owls do build in Oaks-
So here's an Amber Sill-

That slanted in my Path-
When going to the Barn-
And if it serve You for a House-
Itself is not in vain-

About the price-'tis small-
I only ask a Tune
At Midnight-Let the Owl select
His favorite Refrain.

The Lady feeds Her little Bird

941

The Lady feeds Her little Bird
At rarer intervals-
The little Bird would not dissent
But meekly recognize

The Gulf between the Hand and Her
And crumbless and afar
And fainting, on Her yellow Knee
Fall softly, and adore-

The Himmaleh was known to stoop

481

The Himmaleh was known to stoop
Unto the Daisy low-
Transported with Compassion
That such a Doll should grow
Where Tent by Tent-Her Universe
Hung out its Flags of Snow-

The Grass so little has to do

The Grass so little has to do –
A Sphere of simple Green –
With only Butterflies to brood
And Bees to entertain –
And stir all day to pretty Tunes
The Breezes fetch along –
And hold the Sunshine in its lap
And bow to everything –


And thread the Dews, all night, like Pearls –
And make itself so fine
A Duchess were too common
For such a noticing –


And even when it dies – to pass
In Odors so divine –
Like Lowly spices, lain to sleep –
Or Spikenards, perishing –


And then, in Sovereign Barns to dwell –
And dream the Days away,
The Grass so little has to do
I wish I were a Hay –

The Daisy follows soft the Sun

106

The Daisy follows soft the Sun-
And when his golden walk is done-
Sits shyly at his feetHe-
waking-finds the flower thereWherefore-
Marauder-art thou here?
Because, Sir, love is sweet!


We are the Flower-Thou the Sun!
Forgive us, if as days decline-
We nearer steal to Thee!
Enamored of the parting West-
The peace-the flight-the AmethystNight's
possibility!

The Birds begun at Four o'clock

783

The Birds begun at Four o'clock-
Their period for Dawn-
A Music numerous as space-
But neighboring as Noon-

I could not count their Force-
Their Voices did expend
As Brook by Brook bestows itself
To multiply the Pond.

Their Witnesses were not-
Except occasional man-
In homely industry arrayed-
To overtake the Morn-

Nor was it for applause-
That I could ascertain-
But independent Ecstasy
Of Deity and Men-

By Six, the Flood had done-
No Tumult there had been
Of Dressing, or Departure-
And yet the Band was gone-

The Sun engrossed the East-
The Day controlled the World-
The Miracle that introduced
Forgotten, as fulfilled.

The Bee is not afraid of me

111

The Bee is not afraid of me.
I know the Butterfly.
The pretty people in the Woods
Receive me cordially-


The Brooks laugh louder when I come-
The Breezes madder play;
Wherefore mine eye thy silver mists,
Wherefore, Oh Summer's Day?

Summer Shower

A drop fell on the apple tree,
Another on the roof;
A half a dozen kissed the eaves,
And made the gables laugh.


A few went out to help the brook,
That went to help the sea.
Myself conjectured, Were they pearls,
What necklaces could be!


The dust replaced in hoisted roads,
The birds jocoser sung;
The sunshine threw his hat away,
The orchards spangles hung.


The breezes brought dejected lutes,
And bathed them in the glee;
The East put out a single flag,
And signed the fete away.

South Winds jostle them

86

South Winds jostle them-
Bumblebees comeHover-
hesitate-
Drink, and are gone-


Butterflies pause
On their passage CashmereI-
softly plucking,
Present them here!

Some Rainbow—coming from the Fair!

64

Some Rainbow—coming from the Fair!
Some Vision of the World Cashmere—
I confidently see!
Or else a Peacock's purple Train
Feather by feather—on the plain
Fritters itself away!


The dreamy Butterflies bestir!
Lethargic pools resume the whir
Of last year's sundered tune!
From some old Fortress on the sun
Baronial Bees—march—one by one—
In murmuring platoon!


The Robins stand as thick today
As flakes of snow stood yesterday—
On fence—and Roof—and Twig!
The Orchis binds her feather on
For her old lover - Don the Sun!
Revisiting the Bog!


Without Commander! Countless! Still!
The Regiments of Wood and Hill
In bright detachment stand!
Behold! Whose Multitudes are these?
The children of whose turbaned seas—
Or what Circassian Land?