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III. NATURE. |
I. |
New feet within my garden go, |
New fingers stir the sod; |
A troubadour upon the elm |
Betrays the solitude. |
New children play upon the green, |
New weary sleep below; |
And still the pensive spring returns, |
And still the punctual snow! |
II. |
MAY-FLOWER. |
Pink, small, and punctual, |
Aromatic, low, |
Covert in April, |
Candid in May, |
Dear to the moss, |
Known by the knoll, |
Next to the robin |
In every human soul. |
Bold little beauty, |
Bedecked with thee, |
Nature forswears |
Antiquity. |
III. |
WHY? |
The murmur of a bee |
A witchcraft yieldeth me. |
If any ask me why, |
'T were easier to die |
Than tell. |
The red upon the hill |
Taketh away my will; |
If anybody sneer, |
Take care, for God is here, |
That's all. |
The breaking of the day |
Addeth to my degree; |
If any ask me how, |
Artist, who drew me so, |
Must tell! |
IV. |
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! |
V. |
The pedigree of honey |
Does not concern the bee; |
A clover, any time, to him |
Is aristocracy. |
VI. |
A SERVICE OF SONG. |
Some keep the Sabbath going to church; |
I keep it staying at home, |
With a bobolink for a chorister, |
And an orchard for a dome. |
Some keep the Sabbath in surplice; |
I just wear my wings, |
And instead of tolling the bell for church, |
Our little sexton sings. |
God preaches, -- a noted clergyman, -- |
And the sermon is never long; |
So instead of getting to heaven at last, |
I'm going all along! |
VII. |
The bee is not afraid of me, |
I know the butterfly; |
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