For works with similar titles, see Thought.
THOUGHT
There's a speck on the calm of that beautiful space,
'Way above the great arch, a small blot I can trace.
I must tear it away, or I may not know peace.
Such a mar to fair scenery, indeed that must cease.
Ah, What! Is this speck such a beautiful tree,
With glorious leaves, and blossoms so free!
Great wonderful branches' full grace I can see.
Large white bowls are the blossoms, with light and dark green—
Leaves,—all shining out large, and with fine glossy sheen.
Perched high in the air, with throat swollen in song,
Feathers trembling in rapture, his joy quivering long,
Such a dear little bird, scarlet bright, within sight,
Singing head upward to the sky, blue and so white.
'Way above the great arch, a small blot I can trace.
I must tear it away, or I may not know peace.
Such a mar to fair scenery, indeed that must cease.
Ah, What! Is this speck such a beautiful tree,
With glorious leaves, and blossoms so free!
Great wonderful branches' full grace I can see.
Large white bowls are the blossoms, with light and dark green—
Leaves,—all shining out large, and with fine glossy sheen.
Perched high in the air, with throat swollen in song,
Feathers trembling in rapture, his joy quivering long,
Such a dear little bird, scarlet bright, within sight,
Singing head upward to the sky, blue and so white.
Climbing to the full top of a mountain so high,
Looking down with delight,—and pray what did I spy?
Splendid bird, very huge, poised there ready for flight,
Glorious shining without, brilliant gold, and half white.
Time dragged on me too lazy, the distance too long,
I must dash out my brains to catch that bird's sweet song.
Looking down with delight,—and pray what did I spy?
Splendid bird, very huge, poised there ready for flight,
Glorious shining without, brilliant gold, and half white.
Time dragged on me too lazy, the distance too long,
I must dash out my brains to catch that bird's sweet song.
It is well.—Do you know what 'twas greeted my sight,
Closing roughly from primrose the wonderful light?
A' great, rough, ugly boulder, weathered, old and much scarred,
All cut over with letters, its rough surface so marred;
As I gazed with disgust at the great bulgy thing
Came the thought of my red-bird; his rapture did bring
Me a thought, sitting there with my eyes on the ground,
While his carol went through me:—Look up and not down.
Closing roughly from primrose the wonderful light?
A' great, rough, ugly boulder, weathered, old and much scarred,
All cut over with letters, its rough surface so marred;
As I gazed with disgust at the great bulgy thing
Came the thought of my red-bird; his rapture did bring
Me a thought, sitting there with my eyes on the ground,
While his carol went through me:—Look up and not down.