I THRIVE on moonbeams dipt in dew; My drink is clover wine; My dress I sew of morning gauze With needles from the pine. My husband is a robber bold, He waylays lab'ring bees And robs them of the golden store They carry down the breeze; He lurks amid the moving grass, A wasp's sting is his sword; The scrambling beetle's burnished back He valiantly doth board, And breaks him to the webbed rein ... We have a garden, too, Where blossom flowerets so small That they escape man's view. Above our little cottage roof There bends a blade of grass, And by our door ant caravans In long brown columns pass. Nor do we envy gods, or men, Or purple pomp of kings; Enough the glory and the joy We find in little things. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO KNOW IN REVERIE THE ONLY PHENOMENOLOGY OF THE ABSOLUTE by HAYDEN CARRUTH A PECK OF GOLD by ROBERT FROST ESTRANGEMENT by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON MY LIGHT WITH YOURS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |