BY-ROADS-I.
Summer
I.
High above the great winds pass,
Tossing the tree-tops to the sky;
And, just before they bluster by,
They stoop to earth to ripple the grass.
High above the great winds pass,
Tossing the tree-tops to the sky;
And, just before they bluster by,
They stoop to earth to ripple the grass.
II.
The gross black spider seems to nap,
Watching a gnat buzz idly by;
But his black eyes gleam, as a butterfly
Lurches—is caught—in the fine-spun trap.
The gross black spider seems to nap,
Watching a gnat buzz idly by;
But his black eyes gleam, as a butterfly
Lurches—is caught—in the fine-spun trap.
III.
The village street-lights do their best,
As the storm's lashed rushes come and go;
But only the lightning's flash can show
The tossing trees on the drenched hill's crest.
The village street-lights do their best,
As the storm's lashed rushes come and go;
But only the lightning's flash can show
The tossing trees on the drenched hill's crest.
IV.
A patient bee, with his gold-tipped waist,
Fills the sweet-clover with his hum,
A patient bee, with his gold-tipped waist,
Fills the sweet-clover with his hum,
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