THE POET AND THEWOOD-LOUSE
Aportly Wood-louse, full of cares,Transacted eminent affairsAlong a parapet where pearsUnripened fellAnd vines embellished the sweet airsWith muscatel.Day after day beheld him runHis scales a-twinkle in the sunAbout his business never done;Night’s slender span heSpent in the home his wealth had won—A red-brick cranny.Thus, as his Sense of Right directed,He lived both honoured and respected,Cherished his children and protectedHis duteous wife,And nought of diffidence deflectedHis useful life.One mid-day, hastening to his Club,He spied beside a water-tubThe owner of each plant and shrubA humble BardWho turned upon the conscious grubA mild regard.“Eh?” quoth the Wood-louse, “Can it beA Higher Power looks down to seeMy praiseworthy activityAnd notes me plyingMy Daily Task?—Not strange, dear me,But gratifying!”To whom the Bard: “I still divestMy orchard of the Insect Pest,That you are such is manifest,Prepare to die.—And yet, how sweetly does your crestReflect the sky!“Go then forgiven, (for what ailsYour naughty life this fact availsTo pardon) mirror in your scalesCelestial blue,Till the sun sets and the light failsThe skies and you.”
Aportly Wood-louse, full of cares,Transacted eminent affairsAlong a parapet where pearsUnripened fellAnd vines embellished the sweet airsWith muscatel.Day after day beheld him runHis scales a-twinkle in the sunAbout his business never done;Night’s slender span heSpent in the home his wealth had won—A red-brick cranny.Thus, as his Sense of Right directed,He lived both honoured and respected,Cherished his children and protectedHis duteous wife,And nought of diffidence deflectedHis useful life.One mid-day, hastening to his Club,He spied beside a water-tubThe owner of each plant and shrubA humble BardWho turned upon the conscious grubA mild regard.“Eh?” quoth the Wood-louse, “Can it beA Higher Power looks down to seeMy praiseworthy activityAnd notes me plyingMy Daily Task?—Not strange, dear me,But gratifying!”To whom the Bard: “I still divestMy orchard of the Insect Pest,That you are such is manifest,Prepare to die.—And yet, how sweetly does your crestReflect the sky!“Go then forgiven, (for what ailsYour naughty life this fact availsTo pardon) mirror in your scalesCelestial blue,Till the sun sets and the light failsThe skies and you.”
Aportly Wood-louse, full of cares,Transacted eminent affairsAlong a parapet where pearsUnripened fellAnd vines embellished the sweet airsWith muscatel.
Day after day beheld him runHis scales a-twinkle in the sunAbout his business never done;Night’s slender span heSpent in the home his wealth had won—A red-brick cranny.
Thus, as his Sense of Right directed,He lived both honoured and respected,Cherished his children and protectedHis duteous wife,And nought of diffidence deflectedHis useful life.
One mid-day, hastening to his Club,He spied beside a water-tubThe owner of each plant and shrubA humble BardWho turned upon the conscious grubA mild regard.
“Eh?” quoth the Wood-louse, “Can it beA Higher Power looks down to seeMy praiseworthy activityAnd notes me plyingMy Daily Task?—Not strange, dear me,But gratifying!”
To whom the Bard: “I still divestMy orchard of the Insect Pest,That you are such is manifest,Prepare to die.—And yet, how sweetly does your crestReflect the sky!
“Go then forgiven, (for what ailsYour naughty life this fact availsTo pardon) mirror in your scalesCelestial blue,Till the sun sets and the light failsThe skies and you.”
May all we proud and bustling partiesWhose lot in forum, street and mart isStand in conspectu DeitatisAnd save our face,Reflecting where our scaly heart isSome skyey grace.
May all we proud and bustling partiesWhose lot in forum, street and mart isStand in conspectu DeitatisAnd save our face,Reflecting where our scaly heart isSome skyey grace.
May all we proud and bustling partiesWhose lot in forum, street and mart isStand in conspectu DeitatisAnd save our face,Reflecting where our scaly heart isSome skyey grace.