In spring time when the leaves are young,
Clear dewdrops gleam like jewels, hung
On boughs the fair birds roost among.
When summer comes with sweet unrest,
Birds weary of their mother’s breast,
And look abroad and leave the nest.
In autumn ere the waters freeze,
The swallows fly across the seas: —
If we could fly away with these!
In winter when the birds are gone,
The sun himself looks starved and wan,
And starved the snow he shines upon.
Boats sail on the rivers,
And ships sail on the seas;
But clouds that sail across the sky
Are prettier than these.
There are bridges on the rivers,
As pretty as you please;
But the bow that bridges heaven,
And overtops the trees,
And builds a road from earth to sky,
Is prettier far than these.
Rushes in a watery place,
And reeds in a hollow;
A soaring skylark in the sky,
A darting swallow:
And where pale blosson used to hang
Ripe fruit to follow.
Hurt No Living Thing
Hurt no living thing,
Ladybird nor butterfly,
Nor moth with dusty wing,
Nor cricket chirping cheerily,
Nor grasshopper, so light of leap,
Nor dancing gnat,
Nor beetle fat,
Nor harmless worms that creep.