On the meadow, with dew so gray, Saw I thee, thou busy, busy Bee. Thou wert working late, thou busy, busy Bee! When the primrose of evening was ready to burst, In the silence of the evening hour, Thou art a miser, thou busy, busy Bee! Still on thy golden stores intent, Thy summer in heaping and hoarding is spent Wise lesson this for me, thou busy, busy Bee. Little dost thou think, thou busy, busy Bee! When the latest flowers of the ivy are gone, Thy master comes for the spoil: Woe then for thee, thou busy, busy Bee! Robert Southey. TO A BUTTERFLY. STAY near me; do not take thy flight! A little longer stay in sight! Much converse do I find in thee, TO THE CICADA. Float near me; do not yet depart! Thou bring'st, gay creature as thou art! Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days, Together chased the butterfly! A very hunter did I rush Upon the prey-with leaps and springs I followed on from brake to bush; But she, God love her! feared to brush The dust from off its wings. 49 William Wordsworth. TO THE CICADA. CICADA! drunk with drops of dew, On a perch amidst the wood, Sing the Dryads something new; Pan himself may answer you, Till every inmost glade rejoices. All the thorns, the doubts and fears, Love in lover's heart may set; And so, with music in mine ears, William Allingham. THE WATERFALL. WHEN the fir-tree dreams in the drowsy haze Its mellow melodious hum, And music where all is dumb. In the bloomy May, when the buoyant day Is breezy and sunny and glad; When the lithe bough sweeps and the swift brooks leap, And the birds sing and soar as if mad; Amid this orchestral blithesomeness, This pean of Spring-time's reign, The Waterfall's bound fills the scene all round With its blending, exulting strain. |