Flowers - Well - if anybody
Can the extasy define -
Half a transport - half a trouble -
With which flowers humble men:
Anybody find the fountain
From which floods so contra flow -
I will give him all the Daisies
Which upon the hillside blow.
Too much pathos in their faces
For a simple breast like mine -
Butterflies from St Domingo
Cruising round the purple line -
Have a system of aesthetics -
Far superior to mine.
Sic transit gloria mundi,"
"How doth the busy bee,"
"Dum vivimus vivamus,"
I stay mine enemy!
Oh "veni, vidi, vici!"
Oh caput cap-a-pie!
And oh "memento mori"
When I am far from thee!
Hurrah for Peter Parley!
Hurrah for Daniel Boon!
Three cheers, sir, for the gentleman
Who first observed the moon!
Peter, put up the sunshine;
Pattie, arrange the stars;
Tell Luna, tea is waiting,
And call your brother Mars!
Put down the apple, Adam,
And come away with me,
So shalt thou have a pippin
From off my father's tree!
I climb the "Hill of Science,"
I "view the landscape o'er;"
Such transcendental prospect,
I ne'er beheld before!
Unto the Legislature
My country bids me go;
I'll take my india rubbers,
In case the wind should blow!
During my education,
It was announced to me
That gravitation, stumbling,
Fell from an apple tree!
The earth upon an axis
Was once supposed to turn,
By way of a gymnastic
In honor of the sun!
It was the brave Columbus,
A sailing o'er the tide,
Who notified the nations
Of where I would reside!
Mortality is fatal -
Gentility is fine,
Rascality, heroic,
Insolvency, sublime!
Our Fathers being weary,
Laid down on Bunker Hill;
And tho' full many a morning,
Yet they are sleeping still, -
The trumpet, sir, shall wake them,
In dreams I see them rise,
Each with a solemn musket
A marching to the skies!
A coward will remain, Sir,
Until the fight is done;
But an immortal hero
Will take his hat, and run!
Good bye, Sir, I am going;
My country calleth me;
Allow me, Sir, at parting,
To wipe my weeping e'e.
In token of our friendship
Accept this "Bonnie Doon,"
And when the hand that plucked it
Hath passed beyond the moon,
The memory of my ashes
Will consolation be;
Then, farewell, Tuscarora,
And farewell, Sir, to thee!
Frequently the woods are pink -
Frequently are brown.
Frequently the hills undress
Behind my native town.
Oft a head is crested
I was wont to see -
And as oft a cranny
Where it used to be -
And the Earth - they tell me -
On it's axis turned!
Wonderful Rotation!
By but twelve performed!
I have a Bird in spring
Which for myself doth sing -
The spring decoys.
And as the summer nears -
And as the Rose appears,
Robin is gone.
Yet do I not repine
Knowing that Bird of mine
Though flown -
Learneth beyond the sea
Melody new for me
And will return.
Fast in a safer hand
Held in a truer Land
Are mine -
And though they now depart,
Tell I my doubting heart
They're thine.
In a serener Bright,
In a more golden light
I see
Each little doubt and fear,
Each little discord here
Removed.
Then will I not repine,
Knowing that Bird of mine
Though flown
Shall in a distant tree
Bright melody for me
Return.
On this wondrous sea
Sailing silently,
Ho! Pilot, ho!
Knowest thou the shore
Where no breakers roar -
Where the storm is o'er?
In the peaceful west
Many the sails at rest -
The anchors fast -
Thither I pilot thee -
Land Ho! Eternity!
Ashore at last
She died - this was the way she died.
And when her breath was done
Took up her simple wardrobe
And started for the sun -
Her little figure at the gate
The Angels must have spied,
Since I could never find her
Upon the mortal side.
She went as quiet as the Dew
From an accustomed flower.
Not like the Dew, did she return
At the accustomed hour!
She dropt as softly as a star
From out my summer's eve -
Less skillful than Le Verriere
It's sorer to believe.
All overgrown by cunning moss,
All interspersed with weed,
The little cage of "Currer Bell"
In quiet "Haworth" laid.
This Bird - observing others
When frosts too sharp became
Retire to other latitudes -
Quietly did the same -
But differed in returning -
Since Yorkshire hills are green -
Yet not in all the nests I meet -
Can Nightingale be seen -
Or,
Gathered from many wanderings -
Gethsemane can tell
Thro' what transporting anguish
She reached the Asphodel!
Soft fall the sounds of Eden
Upon her puzzled ear -
Oh what an afternoon for Heaven,
When "Bronte" entered there!
Bless God, he went as soldiers,
His musket on his breast -
Grant God, he charge the bravest
Of all the martial blest!
Please God, might I behold him
In epauletted white -
I should not fear the foe then -
I should not fear the fight
On such a night, or such a night,
Would anybody care
If such a little figure
Slipped quiet from it's chair,
So quiet - Oh how quiet,
That nobody might know
But that the little figure
Rocked softer - to and fro -
On such a dawn, or such a dawn -
Would anybody sigh
That such a little figure
Too sound asleep did lie
For chanticleer to wake it -
Or stirring house below -
Or giddy bird in orchard -
Or early task to do?
There was a little figure plump
For every little knoll,
Busy needles, and spools of thread -
And trudging feet from school -
Playmates, and holidays, and nuts -
And visions vast and small -
Strange that the feet so precious charged
Should reach so small a goal!