| |
| WHEN Grasshopper, chirping late, | |
| Easing thus his merry heart, | |
| Not from cares but over-joy | |
| Tells that Summer ’s out of date, | |
| Yet thereat no fears annoy | 5 |
| His blithe spirit—not one smart | |
| For lost moments, wishes ill— | |
| As he sang so sings he still; | |
| In his life-dregs keeping holy | |
| That joy-essence fresh and clear, | 10 |
| Free from taint of melancholy, | |
| Which from Nature, when the Year | |
| Saw his birthday young like him, | |
| He received, a boon of Glory | |
| Man might envy, whom a whim— | 15 |
| A mere nothing—can o’er-dim … | |
| |
| When the Redbreast whistles blithe, | |
| Taking of sweet song his fill, | |
| Tho’ the other birds be still; | |
| And the lambs full-sized bleat strong, | 20 |
| Well-wool’d ’gainst the Winter’s chill; | |
| When no more the reaping-scythe | |
| Finds a cornstalk to cut down, | |
| And the stubble field looks brown | |
| Where the formless vapour shows | 25 |
| Objects indistinct and wrong; | |
| When the daylight shorter grows, | |
| And owl’s and bat’s delight is long; | |
| When, nigh eveless, Night draws on, | |
| Waiting scarce for set of sun; | 30 |
| Like enchantress whose high spell | |
| Works a sudden miracle … | |
| |
| When the peasant, weather-wise, | |
| Shakes his grey head at the skies; | |
| By his blazing cottage-flame | 35 |
| Mutters Winter’s chilly name, | |
| Lives o’er the past, in many a tale, | |
| And prophesies, and quaffs his ale: | |
| While in chimney-nook to sleep | |
| Tirèd dog and urchin creep: | 40 |
| |
| When the weather-signs are rife, | |
| Telling of new Season’s life; | |
| And all creatures, instinct-wise, | |
| Tho’ taught not to philosophise, | |
| Now prepare, each in his way, | 45 |
| To protract life’s little day; | |
| And thy own heart plainer still | |
| Than falling leaf or faded hill, | |
| Tells thee that the Summer ’s flown | |
| With all joys that thou hast known … | 50 |
| |
| Then look thro’ thy heart, and say | |
| What the Summer in its day | |
| Has ripen’d there of good and bright | |
| That may glad thy after-sight. | |
| Has it had its harvest-home? | 55 |
| Its Spring growth? its Summer bloom? | |
| And, when bloom has pass’d away, | |
| Has it had its seeding-day | |
| Of well-ripen’d season’d thought | |
| From Experience duly bought; | 60 |
| Of wise joys which in the mind | |
| Seeds of better leave behind; | |
| Joys by sorrow touch’d and tried, | |
| And freed from earthly dross and pride; | |
| Such as unreproved and free | 65 |
| Sweeten after-memory? | |
| Has the Summer left for thee | |
| In the soul’s high-granary | |
| Produce not of hasty growth | |
| But of well-maturèd worth? | 70 |
| Fellow-creature Love and Peace, | |
| With a mind and heart at ease, | |
| And a love for everything | |
| With which Man holds communing, | |
| From the meanest worm that creeps | 75 |
| To the babe that cradled sleeps? | |
| Has the Summer left thy heart | |
| That which passes show, the art | |
| Like wise Nature to prepare | |
| From the Past a Future fair? | 80 |
| As the Earth within her breast, | |
| When she seems at barren rest | |
| Still prepares in her good time | |
| Coming Springs, and from the slime | |
| Of the brute soil moulds to life | 85 |
| Forms with grace and beauty rife; | |
| So within thy inmost soul | |
| Striving t’wards a higher goal, | |
| From this life’s impediments, | |
| And the body’s downward bents, | 90 |
| Frame thou the wings to upward aims | |
| As from the gross wood rise pure flames. | |
| In thy spirit’s fertile womb | |
| Mould thou shapes not for the tomb: | |
| There let Faith beget on Love | 95 |
| The angel thou shalt be Above! | |
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