To grass, or leaf, or fruit, or wall, The Snail sticks close, nor fears to fall, As if he grew there, house and all Together. Within that house secure he hides, When danger imminent betides Of storm, or other harm besides Of weather. Give but his horns the slightest touch, His self-collecting power is such, He shrinks into his house with much Displeasure. Where'er he dwells, he dwells alone, Except himself has chattels none, Well satisfied to be his own Whole treasure. Thus, hermit-like, his life he leads, Nor partner of his banquet needs, And if he meets one, only feeds The faster. Who seeks him must be worse than blind (He and his house are so combined) If, finding it, he fails to find Its master. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A SONG OF ETERNITY IN TIME by SIDNEY LANIER BINGEN ON THE RHINE by CAROLINE ELIZABETH SARAH SHERIDAN NORTON SONG OF SHERWOOD by ALFRED NOYES AN HYMN TO THE EVENING by PHILLIS WHEATLEY COMPARISON OF LOVE TO A STREAM FALLING FROM THE ALPS by THOMAS WYATT NUPTIAL ODE ON THE MARRIAGE OF HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCE OF WALES by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN |