« ForrigeFortsett »
Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell,
Its iris'd ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unseal'd!
Year after year beheld the silent toil
That spread his lustrous coil;
He left the past year's dwelling for the new,
Stretch'd in his last-found home, and knew the old
Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea,
Cast from her lap, forlorn!
From thy dead lips a clearer note is born
Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn!
While on mine ear it rings,
Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings:
Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,
Leave thy low-vaulted past!
Let each new temple, nobler than the last,
Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast,
Till thou at length art free,
Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea!
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
BURLY, dozing humble-bee,
Where thou art is clime for me.
Thou animated torrid zone!
Let me chase thy waving lines:
Insect lover of the sun,
Wait, I prithee, till I come
When the south wind, in May days, With a net of shining haze
Silvers the horizon wall;
And, with softness touching all
Thou in sunny solitudes,
Rover of the underwoods,
Hot Midsummer's petted crone,
Aught unsavory or unclean
Hath my insect never seen;
But violets, and bilberry bells,
Maple sap, and daffodils,
Grass with green flag half-mast high,
Sipping only what is sweet,
Thou dost mock at fate and care, Leave the chaff and take the wheat.
When the fierce north-western blast
RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
THE IVY GREEN.
OH! a dainty plant is the Ivy green,
Of right choice food are his meals, I ween,
In his cell so lone and cold.
The walls must be crumbled, the stones decay'd,
To pleasure his dainty whim;
And the mouldering dust that years have made Is a merry meal for him.
Creeping where no life is seen,
A rare old plant is the Ivy green.
Fast he stealeth on, though he wears no wings, And a staunch old heart has he.
How closely he twineth, how tight he clings,