A hurrying home of little men
  To houses unperceived, —­
All this, and more, if I should tell,
  Would never be believed.

Of robins in the trundle bed
  How many I espy
Whose nightgowns could not hide the wings,
  Although I heard them try!

But then I promised ne’er to tell;
  How could I break my word? 
So go your way and I’ll go mine, —­
  No fear you’ll miss the road.

IX.

Morning is the place for dew,
  Corn is made at noon,
After dinner light for flowers,
  Dukes for setting sun!

X.

To my quick ear the leaves conferred;
  The bushes they were bells;
I could not find a privacy
  From Nature’s sentinels.

In cave if I presumed to hide,
  The walls began to tell;
Creation seemed a mighty crack
  To make me visible.

XI.

A rose.

A sepal, petal, and a thorn
  Upon a common summer’s morn,
A flash of dew, a bee or two,
A breeze
A caper in the trees, —­
  And I’m a rose!

XII.

High from the earth I heard a bird;
  He trod upon the trees
As he esteemed them trifles,
  And then he spied a breeze,
And situated softly
  Upon a pile of wind
Which in a perturbation
  Nature had left behind. 
A joyous-going fellow
  I gathered from his talk,
Which both of benediction
  And badinage partook,
Without apparent burden,
  I learned, in leafy wood
He was the faithful father
  Of a dependent brood;
And this untoward transport
  His remedy for care, —­
A contrast to our respites. 
  How different we are!

XIII.

Cobwebs.

The spider as an artist
  Has never been employed
Though his surpassing merit
  Is freely certified

By every broom and Bridget
  Throughout a Christian land. 
Neglected son of genius,
  I take thee by the hand.

XIV.

A well.

What mystery pervades a well! 
  The water lives so far,
Like neighbor from another world
  Residing in a jar.

The grass does not appear afraid;
  I often wonder he
Can stand so close and look so bold
  At what is dread to me.

Related somehow they may be, —­
  The sedge stands next the sea,
Where he is floorless, yet of fear
  No evidence gives he.

But nature is a stranger yet;
  The ones that cite her most
Have never passed her haunted house,
  Nor simplified her ghost.

To pity those that know her not
  Is helped by the regret
That those who know her, know her less
  The nearer her they get.