I've despised you, old worm, for I think you'll admit
That you never were beautiful even in youth;
I've impaled you on hooks, and not felt it a bit;
But all's changed now that Darwin has told us the truth
Of your diligent life, and endowed you with fame:
You begin to inspire me with kindly regard.
I have friends of my own, clever worm, I could name,
Who have ne'er in their lives been at work half so hard.
It appears that we owe you our acres of soil,
That the garden could never exist without you,
That from ages gone by you were patient in toil,
Till a Darwin revealed all the good that you do.
Now you've turned with a vengeance, and all must confess
Your behavior should make poor humanity squirm;
For there's many a man on this planet, I guess,
Who is not half so useful as you, Mister worm.
Punch.
GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET.
Green little vaulter in the sunny grass,
Catching your heart up at the feet of June,
Sole voice that's heard amidst the lazy noon,
Whenever the bees lag at the summoning brass;
And you, warm little housekeeper, who class
With those who think the candles come too soon,
Loving the fire, and with your tricksome tune
Nicks the glad silent moments as they pass.
O sweet and tidy cousins, that belong
One to the fields, the other to the hearth,
Both have your sunshine: both, though small, are strong
At your clear hearts; and both seem given to earth
To ring in thoughtful ears this natural song—
Indoors and out, summer and winter, Mirth.
Leigh Hunt.