Death darkens his eye, and unplumes his wings, Live so, my love, that when death shall come, PRIMROSES. WE come to gladden heavy eyes, We are the earliest of "Spring-cries ;" The invalid beside the fire Knows that the sunny days are nigher, Old Age smiles when our flowers are bought, That cheerful sound for ever brings : "Come buy my pretty primroses." Memories of pleasant places, Memories of happy faces, Whose smiles were like sweet sunny weather, When we all were young together. "Come buy my pretty primroses." In the pleasant paths of Spring "Come buy my pretty primroses." Blackthorns blossom where we grow, And the lambs, with pleasant bleating, "Come buy my pretty primroses." Summer, crowned with all her roses, ALONE IN THE DARK. I am frightened as I'm lying And I've wrapped the clothes as closely There are birds out on the bushes, If they shake like me, and shiver But what is it makes me tremble? And why should I fear the gloom? I am certain there is nothing In the corners of the room. When the candle burned so brightly, Though I speak, and no one answers, Though I look, and through the blackness Still I know there's One who seeth And perhaps while I am trying Then I'll turn and sleep more soundly, THE BUTTERFLY. WHAT a long way I go in a day; When I set out to take my pleasure, In the month of June, When Summer-roses are in full bloom, And flowers light up the forest's deep gloom. With folded wing, I stand and swing On the sweetest and daintiest buds that blow; And see my form in the mirror lie, The trees upturned, and the deep blue sky. At myself in the brook, Then to some companion I hurry away, The dragon-fly, With his large eye, Gives me a nod as I hurry along; Then the sweet-peas I rush among; And when they're in flower you cannot tell me, So cool and shady, While she weds the pea-rods with many a ring, Away I fly Where the roses lie, And on the choicest of blossoms alight, Had the first sweet smell, And flew with it hanging about me for hours, You wonder why In jerks I fly, Why I take such a zig-zag flight, From right to left, from left to right, You to catch the motion with a sharp eye: Who would me catch, And be very happy to make me their prey So I pass They know my trick Of turning quick, them with a "How do you do?” They snap their sharp beaks and say, "Oh, that's you!" But in vain they try the same angles to take. And I'm off there; They turn to the right, and I'm out of sight; Oh, what a way I fly in a day, Over miles and miles of outstretched flowers, Bringing the sweet perfume of May. My eggs, you know, Are laid row by row, And in regular order so neat and clean, And so close that you can't get a pin's point between. Thomas Miller. |