Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE KITTEN AND THE FALLING LEAVES, by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH Recitation Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: That way look, my infant, lo Last Line: To gambol with life's falling leaf. Subject(s): Animals; Cats | ||||||||
THAT way look, my Infant, lo! What a pretty baby-show! See the Kitten on the wall, Sporting with the leaves that fall, Withered leaves--one--two--and three-- From the lofty elder-tree! Through the calm and frosty air Of this morning bright and fair, Eddying round and round they sink Softly, slowly: one might think, From the motions that are made, Every little leaf conveyed Sylph or Faery hither tending,-- To this lower world descending, Each invisible and mute, In his wavering parachute. --But the Kitten, how she starts, Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts! First at one, and then its fellow, Just as light and just as yellow; There are many now--now one-- Now they stop and there are none: What intenseness of desire In her upward eye of fire! With a tiger-leap half-way Now she meets the coming prey, Lets it go as fast, and then Has it in her power again; Now she works with three or four, Like an Indian conjurer, Quick as he in feats of art, Far beyond in joy of heart. Were her antics played in the eye Of a thousand standers-by, Clapping hands with shout and stare, What would little Tabby care For the plaudits of the crowd? Over happy to be proud, Over wealthy in the treasure Of her own exceeding pleasure! 'Tis a pretty baby-treat; Nor, I deem, for me unmeet; Here, for neither Babe nor me, Other playmate can I see. Of the countless living things, That with stir of feet and wings (In the sun or under shade, Upon bough or grassy blade) And with busy revellings. Chirp and song, and murmurings, Made this orchard's narrow space, And this vale, so blithe a place; Multitudes are swept away Never more to breathe the day: Some are sleeping; some in bards Travelled into distant lands; Others slunk to moor and wood, Far from human neighbourhood; And among the Kinds that keep With us closer fellowship, With us openly abide, All have laid their mirth aside. Where is he that giddy Sprite, Blue-cap, with his colours bright, Who was bleet as bird could be, Feeding in the apple-tree; Made such wanton spoil and rout, Turning blossoms inside out; Hung--head pointing towards the ground-- Fluttered, perched, into a round Bound himself, and then unbound: Lithest, gaudiest Harlequin! Prettiest Tumbler ever seen! Light of heart and light of limb; What is now become of Him? Lambs, that through the mountains went Frisking, bleating merriment, When the year was in its prime, They are sobered by this time. If you look to vale or hill, If you listen, all is still, Save a little neighbouring rill, That from out the rocky ground Strikes a solitary sound. Vainly glitter hill and plain, And the air is calm in vain; Vainly Morning spreads the lure Of a sky serene and pure; Creature none can she decoy Into open sign of joy: Is it that they have a fear Of the dreary season near? Or that other pleasures be Sweeter even than gaiety? Yet, whate'er enjoyments dwell In the impenetrable cell Of the silent heart which Nature Furnishes to every creature; Whatsoe'er we feel and know Too sedate for outward show, Such a light of gladness breaks, Pretty Kitten! from thy freaks,-- Spreads with such a living grace O'er my little Dora's face; Yes, the sight so stirs and charms Thee, Baby, laughing in my arms, That almost I could repine That your transports are not mine, That I do not wholly fare Even as ye do, thoughtless pair! And I will have my careless season Spite of melancholy reason, Will walk through life in such a way That, when time brings on decay, Now and then I may possess Hours of perfeet gladsomeness. --Pleased by any random toy; By a kitten's busy joy, Or an infant's laughing eye Sharing in the ecstasy; I would fare like that or this, Find my wisdom in my bliss; Keep the sprightly soul awake And have faculties to take, Even from things by sorrow wrought, Matter for a joeund thought, Spite of care, and spite of grief, To gambol with Life's falling Leaf. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOW THE MIRROR LOOKS THIS MORNING by HICOK. BOB THE LONELY MAN by RANDALL JARRELL IN SEVERAL COLORS by JANE KENYON OPENING HER JEWEL BOX by WILLIAM MATTHEWS HAZARD FACES A SUNDAY IN THE DECLINE by WILLIAM MEREDITH A JEWISH FAMILY; IN A SMALL VALLEY OPPOSITE ST. GOAR by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH |
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