And amid the low sobs of the maiden
Came softly the tremulous tone,
"He wasn't like meetin'-folks, Minnie;
Dear child, you are better alone."
And now from the corner we miss her,
We hear that reminder no more;
But still, unforgotten, the echo
Comes back from that far-away shore ;
Till Sophistry slinks in the corner,
Tho' Charity sweet has her due,
Yet we feel, if we want to meet grannie,
'Twere best to be "meetin'-folks," too.
<poem>I ASKED the bee in the lily's cup What held the waxen stamens up, Or shut each eve its walls of white About its shaft of malachite; But the velvet bee, thigh-laden, rose And grumbled, passing, "Nobody knows."
I asked the crow 'mid the springing corn How the living blade from the seed was born. Saucy and sure of his mate's applause, He answered me prompt and pertly, "Caws" But a cricket, hopping between the rows, Chirped out audibly, "Nobody knows."