THE MOSS SUPPLICATETH FOR THE POET. BY RICHARD H. DANA. THOUGH I am humble, slight me not, I, care or slight, with him would take. For oft he passed the blossoms by, And gazed on 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: They said, the world he fain would shun, In humblest things found chiefest good;→ E⭑ 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; That I was kind to old decay, And wrapt 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, That on his manhood fell a blast, And left him bare, like yonder tree; MOSS SUPPLICATETH FOR THE POET. That spring would clothe his boughs no more, Alone were through his branches heard. And then he stretched him all along, 55 56 MOSS SUPPLICATETH FOR THE POET. 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, And where I sent up little shoots, He called them trees, in fond conceit: He talked, his care awhile to cheat. I said, I'd deck me in the dews, And clothe me in a thousand hues, He answered, earth no blessing had To cure his lone and aching heart- Oft stole him from his pain, in part. But e'en from thee, he said, I go, To meet the world, its care and strife, MOSS SUPPLICATETH FOR THE POET. No more to watch this quiet flow, Or spend with thee a gentle life. And yet the brook is gliding on, And I, without a care, at rest, While back to toiling life he's gone, Where finds his head no faithful breast. Deal gently with him, world, I pray ; Ye cares, like softened shadows come; His spirit, wellnigh worn away, O, may I live, and when he dies Be at his feet an humble sod; |