Men and Monkeys
At race-time in the spring; nor song,
Caper, nor hurdy-gurdy tune
Seemed left in them this blazing noon
As wearily they trudged along.
They did not pause to look upon
The apple-blossom and the may;
They saw the road that reached away
Thro' leagues of dust, aye on and on.
They did not even stop to hear
The rare sweet call of the nightingale;
The hurdy-gurdy's squeak and yell
Was too accustomed in their ear.
I watched them plod their stolid way
Straight on; till suddenly I heard
The monkey mimic the singing-bird.
And snatch a trail of the flowering may.
And down the road I saw him still
Catching and clutching the blossom white.
Waving his long, black arms in delight.
Until they passed over the brow of the hill.
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