Author:

"Why Do I Love" You, Sir?

480

"Why do I love" You, Sir?
Because—
The Wind does not require the Grass
To answer—Wherefore when He pass
She cannot keep Her place.

Because He knows—and
Do not You—
And We know not—
Enough for Us
The Wisdom it be so—

The Lightning—never asked an Eye
Wherefore it shut—when He was by—
Because He knows it cannot speak—
And reasons not contained—
—Of Talk—
There be—preferred by Daintier Folk—

The Sunrise—Sire—compelleth Me—
Because He’s Sunrise—and I see—
Therefore—Then—
I love Thee—

"Nature" Is What We See

668

"Nature" is what we see—
The Hill—the Afternoon—
Squirrel—Eclipse— the Bumble bee—
Nay—Nature is Heaven—
Nature is what we hear—
The Bobolink—the Sea—
Thunder—the Cricket—
Nay—Nature is Harmony—
Nature is what we know—
Yet have no art to say—
So impotent Our Wisdom is
To her Simplicity.

‘Arcturus’ Is His Other Name

70

‘Arcturus’ is his other name—
I’d rather call him ‘Star.’
It’s very mean of Science
To go and interfere!

I slew a worm the other day—
A ‘Savant’ passing by
Murmured ‘Resurgam’—’Centipede’!
‘Oh Lord—how frail are we’!

I pull a flower from the woods—
A monster with a glass
Computes the stamens in a breath—
And has her in a ‘class’!

Whereas I took the Butterfly
Aforetime in my hat—
He sits erect in ‘Cabinets’—
The Clover bells forgot.

What once was ‘Heaven’
Is ‘Zenith’ now—
Where I proposed to go
When Time’s brief masquerade was done
Is mapped and charted too.

What if the poles should frisk about
And stand upon their heads!
I hope I’m ready for ‘the worst’—
Whatever prank betides!

Perhaps the ‘Kingdom of Heaven’s’ changed—
I hope the ‘Children’ there Won’t be ‘new fashioned’ when I come—
And laugh at me—and stare—

I hope the Father in the skies
Will lift his little girl—
Old fashioned—naught—everything—
Over the stile of ‘Pearl.’

A Bird Came Down

A bird came down the walk:
He did not know I saw;
He bit an angle-worm in halves
And ate the fellow, raw.

And then he drank a dew
From a convenient grass,
And then hopped sidewise to the wall
To let a beetle pass.

He glanced with rapid eyes
That hurried all abroad,-
They looked like frightened beads, I thought;
He stirred his velvet head

Like one in danger; cautious,
I offered him a crumb,
And he unrolled his feathers
And rowed him softer home

Than oars divide the ocean,
Too silver for a seam,
Or butterflies, off banks of noon,
Leap, splashless, as they swim.