| |
| THOUGH I am humble, slight me not, | |
| But love me for the Poet’s sake; | |
| Forget me not till he ’s forgot, | |
| For care or slight with him I take. | |
| |
| For oft he passed the blossoms by | 5 |
| And turned to me with kindly look; | |
| Left flaunting flowers and open sky, | |
| And wooed me by the shady brook. | |
| |
| And like the brook his voice was low: | |
| So soft, so sad the words he spoke, | 10 |
| That with the stream they seemed to flow; | |
| They told me that his heart was broke. | |
| |
| They said the world he fain would shun, | |
| And seek the still and twilight wood,— | |
| His spirit, weary of the sun, | 15 |
| In humblest things found chiefest good; | |
| |
| That I was of a lowly frame, | |
| And far more constant than the flower, | |
| Which, vain with many a boastful name, | |
| But fluttered out its idle hour; | 20 |
| |
| That I was kind to old decay, | |
| And wrapped it softly round in green,— | |
| On naked root, and trunk of gray, | |
| Spread out a garniture and screen. | |
| |
| They said that he was withering fast, | 25 |
| Without a sheltering friend like me; | |
| That on his manhood fell a blast, | |
| And left him bare, like yonder tree; | |
| |
| That spring would clothe his boughs no more, | |
| Nor ring his boughs with song of bird— | 30 |
| Sounds like the melancholy shore | |
| Alone were through his branches heard. | |
| |
| Methought, as then he stood to trace | |
| The withered stems, there stole a tear, | |
| That I could read in his sad face— | 35 |
| Brothers! our sorrows make us near. | |
| |
| And then he stretched him all along, | |
| And laid his head upon my breast, | |
| Listening the water’s peaceful song: | |
| How glad was I to tend his rest! | 40 |
| |
| Then happier grew his soothed soul; | |
| He turned and watched the sunlight play | |
| Upon my face, as in it stole, | |
| Whispering, “Above is brighter day!” | |
| |
| He praised my varied hues,—the green, | 45 |
| The silver hoar, the golden, brown; | |
| Said, Lovelier hues were never seen; | |
| Then gently pressed my tender down. | |
| |
| And where I sent up little shoots, | |
| He called them trees, in fond conceit: | 50 |
| Like silly lovers in their suits | |
| He talked, his care awhile to cheat. | |
| |
| I said, I ’d deck me in the dews, | |
| Could I but chase away his care, | |
| And clothe me in a thousand hues, | 55 |
| To bring him joys that I might share. | |
| |
| He answered, earth no blessing had | |
| To cure his lone and aching heart; | |
| That I was one, when he was sad, | |
| Oft stole him from his pain, in part. | 60 |
| |
| But e’en from thee, he said, I go | |
| To meet the world, its care and strife, | |
| No more to watch this quiet flow, | |
| Or spend with thee a gentle life. | |
| |
| And yet the brook is gliding on, | 65 |
| And I, without a care, at rest, | |
| While he to toiling life is gone; | |
| Nor finds his head a faithful breast. | |
| |
| Deal gently with him, world! I pray; | |
| Ye cares! like softened shadows come; | 70 |
| His spirit, well-nigh worn away, | |
| Asks with ye but awhile a home. | |
| |
| O, may I live, and when he dies | |
| Be at his feet a humble sod; | |
| O, may I lay me where he lies, | 75 |
| To die when he awakes in God! | |
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