Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why This charm is wasted on the earth and sky, Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing, Then Beauty is its own excuse for being: Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose!

I never thought to ask, I never knew: But, in my simple ignorance, suppose The self-same Power that brought me there brought you.

_Ralph Waldo Emerson._

There Was a Boy

There was a Boy; ye knew him well, ye cliffs And islands of Winander!--many a time, At evening, when the earliest stars began To move along the edges of the hills, Rising or setting, would he stand alone, Beneath the trees, or by the glimmering lake; And there, with fingers interwoven, both hands Pressed closely palm to palm and to his mouth Uplifted, he, as through an instrument, Blew mimic hootings to the silent owls, That they might answer him,--And they would shout Across the watery vale, and shout again, Responsive to his call,--with quivering peals, And long halloos, and screams, and echoes loud Redoubled and redoubled; concourse wild Of jocund din! and, when there came a pause Of silence such as baffled his best skill, Then, sometimes, in that silence, while he hung Listening, a gentle shock of mild surprise Has carried far into his heart the voice Of mountain-torrents; or the visible scene Would enter unawares into his mind With all its solemn imagery, its rocks, Its woods, and that uncertain heaven received Into the bosom of the steady lake.

This boy was taken from his mates, and died In childhood, ere he was full twelve years old.

Pre-eminent in beauty is the vale Where he was born and bred: the church-yard hangs Upon a slope above the village-school; And through that church-yard when my way has led On Summer-evenings, I believe, that there A long half-hour together I have stood Mute--looking at the grave in which he lies!

_William Wordsworth._

The Quangle w.a.n.gle's Hat

On the top of the Crumpetty Tree The Quangle w.a.n.gle sat, But his face you could not see, On account of his Beaver Hat.

For his hat was a hundred and two feet wide, With ribbons and bibbons on every side, And bells, and b.u.t.tons, and loops, and lace, So that n.o.body ever could see the face Of the Quangle w.a.n.gle Quee.

The Quangle w.a.n.gle said To himself on the Crumpetty Tree, "Jam, and jelly, and bread Are the best of food for me!

But the longer I live on this Crumpetty Tree The plainer than ever it seems to me That very few people come this way And that life on the whole is far from gay!"

Said the Quangle w.a.n.gle Quee.

But there came to the Crumpetty Tree Mr. and Mrs. Canary; And they said, "Did ever you see Any spot so charmingly airy?

May we build a nest on your lovely Hat?

Mr. Quangle w.a.n.gle, grant us that!

Oh, please let us come and build a nest Of whatever material suits you best, Mr. Quangle w.a.n.gle Quee!"

And besides, to the Crumpetty Tree Came the Stork, the Duck, and the Owl; The Snail and the b.u.mblebee, The Frog and the Fimble Fowl (The Fimble Fowl, with a corkscrew leg); And all of them said, "We humbly beg We may build our homes on your lovely Hat,-- Mr. Quangle w.a.n.gle, grant us that!

Mr. Quangle w.a.n.gle Quee!"

And the Golden Grouse came there, And the Pobble who has no toes, And the small Olympian bear, And the Dong with a luminous nose.

And the Blue Baboon who played the flute, And the Orient Calf from the Land of Tute, And the Attery Squash, and the Bisky Bat,-- All came and built on the lovely Hat Of the Quangle w.a.n.gle Quee.

And the Quangle w.a.n.gle said To himself on the Crumpetty Tree, "When all these creatures move What a wonderful noise there'll be!"

And at night by the light of the Mulberry Moon They danced to the Flute of the Blue Baboon, On the broad green leaves of the Crumpetty Tree, And all were as happy as happy could be, With the Quangle w.a.n.gle Quee.

_Edward Lear._

The Singing Leaves

I

"What fairings will ye that I bring?"

Said the King to his daughters three; "For I to Vanity Fair am boun, Now say what shall they be?"

Then up and spake the eldest daughter, That lady tall and grand: "Oh, bring me pearls and diamonds great, And gold rings for my hand."

Thereafter spake the second daughter, That was both white and red: "For me bring silks that will stand alone, And a gold comb for my head."

Then came the turn of the least daughter, That was whiter than thistle-down, And among the gold of her blithesome hair Dim shone the golden crown.

"There came a bird this morning, And sang 'neath my bower eaves, Till I dreamed, as his music made me, 'Ask thou for the Singing Leaves.'"

Then the brow of the King swelled crimson With a flush of angry scorn: "Well have ye spoken, my two eldest, And chosen as ye were born,

"But she, like a thing of peasant race, That is happy binding the sheaves"; Then he saw her dead mother in her face, And said, "Thou shalt have thy leaves."

II

He mounted and rode three days and nights Till he came to Vanity Fair, And 'twas easy to buy the gems and the silk, But no Singing Leaves were there.

Then deep in the greenwood rode he, And asked of every tree, "Oh, if you have, ever a Singing Leaf, I pray you give it me!"

But the trees all kept their counsel, And never a word said they, Only there sighed from the pine-tops A music of seas far away.

Only the pattering aspen Made a sound of growing rain, That fell ever faster and faster.

Then faltered to silence again.

"Oh, where shall I find a little foot-page That would win both hose and shoon, And will bring to me the Singing Leaves If they grow under the moon?"

Then lightly turned him Walter the page, By the stirrup as he ran: "Now pledge you me the truesome word Of a king and gentleman,

"That you will give me the first, first thing You meet at your castle-gate, And the Princess shall get the Singing Leaves, Or mine be a traitor's fate."

The King's head dropt upon his breast A moment, as it might be; 'Twill be my dog, he thought, and said, "My faith I plight to thee."

Then Walter took from next his heart A packet small and thin, "Now give you this to the Princess Anne, The Singing Leaves are therein."

III

As the King rode in at his castle-gate, A maiden to meet him ran, And "Welcome, father!" she laughed and cried Together, the Princess Anne.

"Lo, here the Singing Leaves," quoth he, "And woe, but they cost me dear!"

She took the packet, and the smile Deepened down beneath the tear.

It deepened down till it reached her heart, And then gushed up again, And lighted her tears as the sudden sun Transfigures the summer rain.