Page:Morning-Glories and Other Stories.djvu/207

I should have loved the blessèd sun.
   And tried to follow him;
But, no, I turned my face away,
   And my bright spark grew dim.
My daily duties were not done;
   I did not tend the flowers;
I did not help the honey-bees
   Improve their shining hours;
No baby butterfly I taught
   To spread its tender wing;
No young bird ever learned of me
   The airy songs we sing.
I left my playmates, one and all,
   So innocent, so gay,—
I would not listen to their words.
   But coldly turned away.
All day I slept, with folded wings,
   Lulled by the singing brook.
Where tall ferns made a shady tent,
   And guarded my still nook.
But, when the stars came out, I woke;
   I loved the meadows damp;
I liked to hear the cricket sing;
   To watch the glow-worm's lamp.
The round-eyed owl, and beetle fierce,
   The hungry, buzzing gnat,
The giddy moth, the croaking frog,
   And stealthy-wingèd bat.
These were the friends I freely chose
   These, and the primrose pale;
I did not even seek to know
   A star or nightingale.
I turned away from lovely things,
   I revelled in the dark,
And day by day more faintly shone
   My precious bosom-spark,
Until, at last, it came to be
   This feeble, fitful light.
And my dim eyes no power had
   To see, except by night.