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

194 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.