| Poems by Women |
THE POET AND THE WOOD-LOUSE
A portly Wood-louse, full of cares,
Transacted
eminent affairs
Along a parapet where pears
Unripened fell
And vines
embellished the sweet airs
With muscatel.
Day after day beheld him run
His scales a-twinkle in the sun
About his
business never done;
Night's slender span he
Spent in the home his wealth
had won -
A red-brick cranny.
Thus, as his Sense of Right directed,
He lived both honored and
respected,
Cherished his children and protected
His duteous wife,
And
naught of diffidence deflected
His useful life.
One mid-day, hastening to his Club,
He spied beside a water-tub
The
owner of each plant and shrub
A humble Bard -
Who turned upon the
conscious grub
A mild regard.
"Eh?" quoth the Wood-louse, "Can it be
A Higher Power looks down to
see
My praiseworthy activity
And notes me plying
My Daily Task? - Nor
strange, dear me,
But gratifying!"
To whom the Bard: I still divest
My orchard of the Insect Pest,
That
you are such is manifest,
Prepare to die. -
And yet, how sweetly does your
crest
Reflect the sky!
"Go then forgiven, (for what ails
Your naughty life this fact avails
Tu
pardon) mirror in your scales
Celestial blue,
Till the sun sets and the
light fails
The skies and you."
. . . . . . .
May all we proud and bustling parties
Whose lot in forum, street and mart
is
Stand in conspectu Deitatis
And save our face,
Reflecting where our
scaly heart is
Some skyey grace.
Helen Parry Eden
From: Stevenson, Burton Egbert.
The Home Book of Verse.
This poet:
[Author index]
This collection assembled by Jone Johnson Lewis.
Collection © 1999-2002 Jone Johnson Lewis.
Citing poems from these pages:
| Author. "Poem Title." Women's History: Poems by Women. Jone Johnson Lewis, editor. URL: (date of logon) |
