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...THE RIGHTS OF WOMAN by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD AN EXPATIATION ON THE COMBINING OF WEATHERS AT THIRTY .... by HAYDEN CARRUTH TRANSLUCENT FINGERS by MALCOLM COWLEY MIDSUMMER BIRDS by ROBERT FROST MOTHER NIGHT by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON |