‹ FIRE. •
Fate slew him, but he did not drop;
She felled — he did not fall –
Impaled him on her fiercest stakes –
He neutralized them all.
She stung him, sapped his firm advance,
But, when her worst was done,
And he, unmoved, regarded her,
Acknowledged him a man.
To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee, –
One clover, and a bee,
And revery.
The revery alone will do
If bees are few.
What mystery pervades a well!
The water lives so far,
Like neighbor from another world
Residing in a jar.
The spider as an artist
Has never been employed
Though his surpassing merit
Is freely certified
By every broom and Bridget
Throughout a Christian land.
Neglected son of genius,
I take thee by the hand.
High from the earth I heard a bird;
He trod upon the trees
As he esteemed them trifles,
And then he spied a breeze,
And situated softly
Upon a pile of wind
Which in a perturbation
Nature had left behind.
A sepal, petal, and a thorn
Upon a common summer’s morn,
A flash of dew, a bee or two,
A breeze
A caper in the trees, –
And I’m a rose!
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