Part 35

XVI.

SECRETS.

The skies can't keep their secret! They tell it to the hills -- The hills just tell the orchards -- And they the daffodils!

A bird, by chance, that goes that way Soft overheard the whole. If I should bribe the little bird, Who knows but she would tell?

I think I won't, however, It's finer not to know; If summer were an axiom, What sorcery had snow?

So keep your secret, Father! I would not, if I could, Know what the sapphire fellows do, In your new-fashioned world!

XVII.

Who robbed the woods, The trusting woods? The unsuspecting trees Brought out their burrs and mosses His fantasy to please. He scanned their trinkets, curious, He grasped, he bore away. What will the solemn hemlock, What will the fir-tree say?

XVIII.

TWO VOYAGERS.

Two butterflies went out at noon And waltzed above a stream, Then stepped straight through the firmament And rested on a beam;

And then together bore away Upon a shining sea, -- Though never yet, in any port, Their coming mentioned be.

If spoken by the distant bird, If met in ether sea By frigate or by merchantman, Report was not to me.

XIX.

BY THE SEA.

I started early, took my dog, And visited the sea; The mermaids in the basement Came out to look at me,

And frigates in the upper floor Extended hempen hands, Presuming me to be a mouse Aground, upon the sands.

But no man moved me till the tide Went past my simple shoe, And past my apron and my belt, And past my bodice too,

And made as he would eat me up As wholly as a dew Upon a dandelion's sleeve -- And then I started too.

And he -- he followed close behind; I felt his silver heel Upon my ankle, -- then my shoes Would overflow with pearl.

Until we met the solid town, No man he seemed to know; And bowing with a mighty look At me, the sea withdrew.

XX.

OLD-FASHIONED.

Arcturus is his other name, -- I'd rather call him star! It's so unkind of science To go and interfere!

I pull a flower from the woods, -- A monster with a glass Computes the stamens in a breath, And has her in a class.

Whereas I took the butterfly Aforetime in my hat, He sits erect in cabinets, The clover-bells forgot.

What once was heaven, is zenith now. Where I proposed to go When time's brief masquerade was done, Is mapped, and charted too!

What if the poles should frisk about And stand upon their heads! I hope I 'm ready for the worst, Whatever prank betides!