Could I Sing, this Would be My Song
Of Tarantula,
Weaving web of silken woof;
House complete from floor to roof;
Perfect, safe, and plunder proof;
Good Tarantula.
Toiling, toiling ceaselessly;
What a home! How skilfully
All is wrought, and thriftily !
Wise Tarantula.
Ah! Tarantula,
Soft thy silken tapestry,-
Fold on fold of drapery;-
Deftly done, and daintily;
Say; Tarantula,
When thy wise work was begun,
Didst thou say, “when all is done,
And the goal is truly won,”-
Brave Tarantula-
Life will then be all complete;
All its fortune at my feet;
I shall have rewards most sweet?”
And, Tarantula,
Were thy dreams visions of rest,
Of a home by kindness blest,
Of a life in graces drest?
Tell, Tarantula.
—
Of a Humming Bird,
Dainty, dazzling, starry thing;
Woven rainbows on each wing!
Fluttering and fluttering
Till the air is stirred
With the wondrous winnowing
Of the restless, tireless wing;
Nothing doth it sing or bring;
Witching Humming Bird.
In and out my Bower;
Dip thy beak-thou knowest well
Where the nectar fountains swell-
In the honeysuckle cell;
Dewdrops for thy dower;
Flitting in and out again;
Sipping sweets without refrain
Nothing can thy flight restrain-
Pleasure, beauty, power.
Idle Humming Bird;
Wantoning the hours away,
In thy ceaseless aimless play;
Caring only for today.
Who hath ever heard
Of a playful pretty thing,
Living always on the wing,
No home, and no song to sing?
Naughty Humming Bird!
—
Of a friend, who came
One day to my Summer bower.-
For a walk and for a flower-
Spending there a charmed hour;
Naming the sweet name
Of one loved whom we had known;
A sweet spirit, who had flown
From this world, and whiter grown
Up in Heaven’s flame.
Then we talking trode
Through the garden, at the gate
Lingering, in the sunset late;
Then we spied, in all its state,
Tarantula’s abode.
Laughingly I named the skill,
And the stern, untiring will
Which had wrought that house so still.
Nearer then she glode.
“But Tarantula
Hath a horrid house,” said she.
“Look, he kills a honey bee!
Skill indeed for misery-
Sly Tarantula!”
Sudden paleness, as of pain,
Touched her face; no word again
She spoke. Thy shaft was not in vain,
O, Tarantula!
—
Of a forest glade,
Where the mottled mosses creep,
And the pied wind-flowers peep
From the shadows dark and deep.
In the deepest shade
Is a thicket, overgrown
With the wild clematis blown;
And the tendrils it hath thrown
Have a bower made.
Softly, not a word;
Gem of beauty never prest
Brow of maiden, nor her breast,
Lovely as this dainty nest;
And one tiny bird,
Waiting, waiting patiently
For the life that soon will be
Which she feels, but cannot see-
Patient little bird.
Now the air is stirred.
Witching wings are hurrying;
Hastening, and hurrying;
All the leaflets flurrying;
And they bring this word.
“Far away from glade and glen,
Over field and over fen,
Near the haunted homes of men,
I have buzzed and whirred;
All the drops of honey dew
I have gathered sweet, for you-
Mate of mine, so fond, so true.”
Darling Humming Bird!
(Cora L V Richmond)
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