Animals and Nature

She sped as Petals of a Rose

991

She sped as Petals of a Rose
Offended by the Wind-
A frail Aristocrat of Time
Indemnity to find-
Leaving on nature-a Default
As Cricket or as Bee-
But Andes in the Bosoms where
She had begun to lie-

She hideth Her the last

557

She hideth Her the last-
And is the first, to rise-
Her Night doth hardly recompense
The Closing of Her eyes-

She doth Her Purple Work-
And putteth Her away
In low Apartments in the Sod -
As worthily as We.

To imitate her life
As impotent would be
As make of Our imperfect Mints,
The Julep-of the Bee-

Perhaps you'd like to buy a flower

134

Perhaps you'd like to buy a flower,
But I could never sell-
If you would like to borrow,
Until the Daffodil


Unties her yellow Bonnet
Beneath the village door,
Until the Bees, from Clover rows
Their Hock, and Sherry, draw,


Why, I will lend until just then,
But not an hour more!

Papa above!

61

Papa above!
Regard a Mouse
O'erpowered by the Cat!
Reserve within thy kingdom
A "Mansion" for the Rat!


Snug in seraphic Cupboards
To nibble all the day
While unsuspecting Cycles
Wheel solemnly away!

Our little Kinsmen—after Rain

885

Our little Kinsmen—after Rain
In plenty may be seen,
A Pink and Pulpy multitude
The tepid Ground upon.


A needless life, it seemed to me
Until a little Bird
As to a Hospitality
Advanced and breakfasted.


As I of He, so God of Me
I pondered, may have judged,
And left the little Angle Worm
With Modesties enlarged.

Of all the Sounds despatched abroad

321

Of all the Sounds despatched abroad,
There's not a Charge to me
Like that old measure in the Boughs-
That phraseless Melody-
The Wind does-working like a Hand,
Whose fingers Comb the Sky-
Then quiver down-with tufts of Tune-
Permitted Gods, and me-

Inheritance, it is, to us-
Beyond the Art to Earn-
Beyond the trait to take away
By Robber, since the Gain
Is gotten not of fingers-
And inner than the Bone-
Hid golden, for the whole of Days,
And even in the Urn,
I cannot vouch the merry Dust
Do not arise and play
In some odd fashion of its own,
Some quainter Holiday,
When Winds go round and round in Bands-
And thrum upon the door,
And Birds take places, overhead,
To bear them Orchestra.

I crave Him grace of Summer Boughs,
If such an Outcast be-
Who never heard that fleshless ChantRise-
solemn-on the Tree,
As if some Caravan of Sound
Off Deserts, in the Sky,
Had parted Rank,
Then knit, and swept-
In Seamless Company-

Nobody knows this little Rose

35

Nobody knows this little Rose-
It might a pilgrim be
Did I not take it from the ways
And lift it up to thee.
Only a Bee will miss it-
Only a Butterfly,
Hastening from far journey-
On its breast to lie-
Only a Bird will wonder-
Only a Breeze will sigh-
Ah Little Rose-how easy
For such as thee to die!

Nature rarer uses yellow

Nature rarer uses yellow
Than another hue;
Saves she all of that for sunsets,--
Prodigal of blue,


Spending scarlet like a woman,
Yellow she affords
Only scantly and selectly,
Like a lover's words.

Nature and God—I neither knew

835

Nature and God—I neither knew
Yet Both so well knew me
They startled, like Executors
Of My identity.


Yet Neither told—that I could learn—
My Secret as secure
As Herschel's private interest
Or Mercury's affair—

My Faith is larger than the Hills

766

My Faith is larger than the Hills-
So when the Hills decay-
My Faith must take the Purple Wheel
To show the Sun the way


'Tis first He steps upon the Vane-
And then-upon the Hill-
And then abroad the World He go
To do His Golden Will-

And if His Yellow feet should miss-
The Bird would not arise-
The Flowers would slumber on their Stems-
No Bells have Paradise-

How dare I, therefore, stint a faith
On which so vast depends-
Lest Firmament should fail for me-
The Rivet in the Bands

Morning—is the place for Dew

197

Morning—is the place for Dew—
Corn—is made at Noon—
After dinner light—for flowers—
Dukes—for Setting Sun!

Mama never forgets her birds

164

Mama never forgets her birds,
Though in another tree-
She looks down just as often
And just as tenderly
As when her little mortal nest
With cunning care she wove-
If either of her "sparrows fall,"
She "notices," above.

It is a lonesome Glee

774

It is a lonesome Glee-
Yet sanctifies the Mind-
With fair association-
Afar upon the Wind

A Bird to overhear
Delight without a Cause-
Arrestless as invisible-
A matter of the Skies.

In Winter in my Room

1670

In Winter in my Room
I came upon a Worm-
Pink, lank and warm-
But as he was a worm
And worms presume
Not quite with him at home-
Secured him by a string
To something neighboring
And went along.

A Trifle afterward
A thing occurred
I'd not believe it if I heard
But state with creeping blood-
A snake with mottles rare
Surveyed my chamber floor
In feature as the worm before
But ringed with power-

The very string with which
I tied him-too
When he was mean and new
That string was there-

I shrank-"How fair you are"!
Propitiation's claw"
Afraid," he hissed
"Of me"?
"No cordiality"-
He fathomed me-
Then to a Rhythm Slim
Secreted in his Form
As Patterns swim
Projected him.

That time I flew
Both eyes his way
Lest he pursue
Nor ever ceased to run
Till in a distant Town
Towns on from mine
I set me down
This was a dream.

I'm the little "Heart's Ease"

176

I'm the little "Heart's Ease"!
I don't care for pouting skies!
If the Butterfly delay
Can I, therefore, stay away?


If the Coward Bumble Bee
In his chimney corner stay,
I, must resoluter be!
Who'll apologize for me?


Dear, Old fashioned, little flower!
Eden is old fashioned, too!
Birds are antiquated fellows!
Heaven does not change her blue.
Nor will I, the little Heart's Ease-
Ever be induced to do!

I'm sorry for the Dead—Today

529

I'm sorry for the Dead—Today—
It's such congenial times
Old Neighbors have at fences—
It's time o' year for Hay.


And Broad—Sunburned Acquaintance
Discourse between the Toil—
And laugh, a homely species
That makes the Fences smile—


It seems so straight to lie away
From all of the noise of Fields—
The Busy Carts—the fragrant Cocks—
The Mower's Metre—Steals—


A Trouble lest they're homesick—
Those Farmers—and their Wives—
Set separate from the Farming—
And all the Neighbors' lives—


A Wonder if the Sepulchre
Don't feel a lonesome way—
When Men—and Boys—and Carts—and June,
Go down the Fields to "Hay"—

I robbed the Woods

41

I robbed the Woods-
The trusting Woods.
The unsuspecting Trees
Brought out their Burs and mosses
My fantasy to please.
I scanned their trinkets curious-I grasped-I bore away-
What will the solemn Hemlock-
What will the Oak tree say?

I had been hungry all the years-

I had been hungry all the years-
My noon had come, to dine-
I, trembling, drew the table near
And touched the curious wine.


'T was this on tables I had seen
When turning, hungry, lone,
I looked in windows, for the wealth
I could not hope to own.


I did not know the ample bread,
'T was so unlike the crumb
The birds and I had often shared
In Nature's dining-room.


The plenty hurt me, 't was so new,--
Myself felt ill and odd,
As berry of a mountain bush
Transplanted to the road.


Nor was I hungry; so I found
That hunger was a way
Of persons outside windows,
The entering takes away.

How the Waters closed above Him

923

How the Waters closed above Him
We shall never know-
How He stretched His Anguish to us
That-is covered too-

Spreads the Pond Her Base of Lilies
Bold above the Boy
Whose unclaimed Hat and Jacket
Sum the History-

How happy is the little Stone

1510

How happy is the little Stone
That rambles in the Road alone,
And doesn't care about Careers
And Exigencies never fears-
Whose Coat of elemental Brown
A passing Universe put on,
And independent as the Sun
Associates or glows alone,
Fulfilling absolute Decree
In casual simplicity-

His Bill an Auger is

1034

His Bill an Auger is,
His Head, a Cap and Frill.
He laboreth at every Tree
A Worm, His utmost Goal.

Heaven has different Signs—to me

"Heaven" has different Signs—to me—
Sometimes, I think that Noon
Is but a symbol of the Place—
And when again, at Dawn,


A mighty look runs round the World
And settles in the Hills—
An Awe if it should be like that
Upon the Ignorance steals—


The Orchard, when the Sun is on—
The Triumph of the Birds
When they together Victory make—
Some Carnivals of Clouds—


The Rapture of a finished Day—
Returning to the West—
All these—remind us of the place
That Men call "paradise"—


Itself be fairer—we suppose—
But how Ourself, shall be
Adorned, for a Superior Grace—
Not yet, our eyes can see—

Good to hide, and hear 'em hunt!

842

Good to hide, and hear 'em hunt!
Better, to be found,
If one care to, that is,
The Fox fits the Hound-


Good to know, and not tell,
Best, to know and tell,
Can one find the rare Ear
Not too dull-

From Cocoon forth a Butterfly

354

From Cocoon forth a Butterfly
As Lady from her Door
Emerged-a Summer Afternoon-
Repairing Everywhere-

Without Design-that I could trace
Except to stray abroad
On Miscellaneous Enterprise
The Clovers-understood-

Her pretty Parasol be seen
Contracting in a Field
Where Men made Hay-
Then struggling hard
With an opposing Cloud-

Where Parties-Phantom as Herself-
To Nowhere-seemed to go
In purposeless Circumference-
As 'twere a Tropic Show-

And notwithstanding Bee-that worked-
And Flower-that zealous blew-
This Audience of Idleness
Disdained them, from the Sky-

Till Sundown crept-a steady Tide-
And Men that made the Hay-
And Afternoon-and ButterflyExtinguished-
in the Sea-