The Germ eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 346 pages of information about The Germ.

  And then a drift of wind perhaps will come,
    And blow the insects hovering all about
    Into the water.  Some of them get out;
    Others swim with sharp twitches; and you doubt
  Whether of life or death for other some.

  Meanwhile the blueflies sway themselves along
    Over the water’s surface, or close by;
    Not one in ten beyond the grass will fly
    That closely skirts the stream; nor will your eye
  Meet any where the sunshine is not strong.

  After a time you find, you know not how,
    That it is quite a stretch of energy
    To do what you have done unconsciously,—­
    That is, pull up the grass; and then you see
  You may as well rise and be going now.

  So, having walked for a few steps, you fall
    Bodily on the grass under the sun,
    And listen to the rustle, one by one,
    Of the trees’ leaves; and soon the wind has done
  For a short space, and it is quiet all;

  Except because the rooks will make a caw
    Just now and then together:  and the breeze
    Soon rises up again among the trees,
    Making the grass, moreover, bend and tease
  Your face, but pleasantly.  Mayhap the paw

  Of a dog touches you and makes you rise
    Upon one arm to pat him; and he licks
    Your hand for that.  A child is throwing sticks,
    Hard by, at some half-dozen cows, which fix
  Upon him their unmoved contented eyes.

  The sun’s heat now is painful.  Scarce can you
    Move, and even less lie still.  You shuffle then,
    Poised on your arms, again to shade.  Again
    There comes a pleasant laxness on you.  When
  You have done enough of nothing, you will go.

  Some hours perhaps have passed.  Say not you fling
    These hours or such-like recklessly away. 
    Seeing the grass and sun and children, say,
    Is not this something more than idle play,
  Than careless waste?  Is it a little thing?

The Light beyond


  Though we may brood with keenest subtlety,
    Sending our reason forth, like Noah’s dove,
    To know why we are here to die, hate, love,
  With Hope to lead and help our eyes to see
  Through labour daily in dim mystery,
    Like those who in dense theatre and hall,
    When fire breaks out or weight-strained rafters fall,
  Towards some egress struggle doubtfully;
  Though we through silent midnight may address
    The mind to many a speculative page,
  Yearning to solve our wrongs and wretchedness,
  Yet duty and wise passiveness are won,—­
    (So it hath been and is from age to age)—­
  Though we be blind, by doubting not the sun.


Project Gutenberg
The Germ from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
Follow Us on Facebook