148
POEMS.
No second look the furry bee
Gives, as he bustles round, to me;
Before my eyes slim spiders take
Their silken ladders out and make
No halt, no secret, scaling where
They like, and weaving scaffolds there;
The beaded ants prick out and in,
Mysterious and dark and thin;
With glittering spears and gauzy mail
Legions of insects dart and sail,
Swift Bedouins of the pathless air,
Finding rich plunder everywhere;
Sweet birds, with motion more serene
Than stillest rest, soar up between
The fleecy clouds, then, sinking slow,
Light on my roof. I do not know
That they are there till fluttering
Low sounds, like the unravelling
Of tight-knit web, their soft wings make,
Unfurling farther flight to take.
All through my house is set out food,
Ready and plenty, safe and good,
In vessels made of cunning shapes,
Whose liquid spicy sweet escapes
By drops at brims of yellow bowls,
Or tips of trumpets red as coals,
Or cornucopias pink and white,
By millions set in circles tight;
Red wine turned jelly, and in moulds
Of pointed calyx laid on folds
Of velvet green; fruit-grains of brown,
Like dusty shower thickly strewn
Gives, as he bustles round, to me;
Before my eyes slim spiders take
Their silken ladders out and make
No halt, no secret, scaling where
They like, and weaving scaffolds there;
The beaded ants prick out and in,
Mysterious and dark and thin;
With glittering spears and gauzy mail
Legions of insects dart and sail,
Swift Bedouins of the pathless air,
Finding rich plunder everywhere;
Sweet birds, with motion more serene
Than stillest rest, soar up between
The fleecy clouds, then, sinking slow,
Light on my roof. I do not know
That they are there till fluttering
Low sounds, like the unravelling
Of tight-knit web, their soft wings make,
Unfurling farther flight to take.
All through my house is set out food,
Ready and plenty, safe and good,
In vessels made of cunning shapes,
Whose liquid spicy sweet escapes
By drops at brims of yellow bowls,
Or tips of trumpets red as coals,
Or cornucopias pink and white,
By millions set in circles tight;
Red wine turned jelly, and in moulds
Of pointed calyx laid on folds
Of velvet green; fruit-grains of brown,
Like dusty shower thickly strewn
