THE SONG OF THE STURDY SNAILS
Gristly bare-bone fingers
On my window-pane—
The drumbeat of a ghost
Louder than the rain!
Oh frail, storm-shaken hut—
No candle, not a spark
Of fire within the grate.
Oh the lonely dark!
Trembling by the window
I watched the lightning flash
And saw the little villains
Upon the outer sash
And other small musicians
Upon the window-pane—
Garden snails, a-dragging
Their shells amid the rain!
The thunder blew away.
My happiness began.
Over the dripping darkness
Rills of moonlight ran.
In the silence rich
The scratching of the shells
Became a crooning music
A lazy peal of bells.
So fearless in the night
My sluggard brothers bold!
Your fancies swift and glowing;
Your footsteps slow and cold!
My happy beggar-brothers
Tuning all together,
Playing on the pane
Praise of stormy weather!
Upon a ragged pillow
At last I laid my head
And watched the sparkling window
And the wan light on my bed.
Through the glass came flying
Dream snails, with leafy wings—
Glided on the moonbeams—
And all the snails were kings!
With crowns of pollen yellow
And eyes of firefly gold
Behold—to crooning music
Their coiling wings unrolled!
These tiny kings I saw
Reigning over white
Bisque jars of fairy flowers
In sturdy proud delight.
These jars in fairyland
Await good snails that keep
Vigils on the windows
Of beggars fast asleep.