| What makes the dog's nose always cold? |
| I'll try to tell you, Curls of Gold, |
| If you will good and quiet be, |
| And come and stand by mamma's knee. |
| Well, years and years and years ago— |
| How many I don't really know— |
| There came a rain on sea and shore, |
| Its like was never seen before |
| Or since. It fell unceasing down, |
| Till all the world began to drown; |
| But just before it began to pour, |
| An old, old man—his name was Noah— |
| Built him an Ark, that he might save |
| His family from a wat'ry grave; |
| And in it also he designed |
| To shelter two of every kind |
| Of beast. Well, dear, when it was done, |
| And heavy clouds obscured the sun, |
| The Noah folks to it quickly ran, |
| And then the animals began |
| To gravely march along in pairs; |
| The leopards, tigers, wolves and bears, |
| The deer, the hippopotamuses, |
| The rabbits, squirrels, elks, walruses, |
| The camels, goats, cats and donkeys, |
| The tall giraffes, the beavers, monkeys, |
| The rats, the big rhinoceroses, |
| The dromedaries and the horses, |
| The sheep, and mice and kangaroos, |
| Hyenas, elephants, koodoos, |
| And hundreds more-'twould take all day, |
| My dear, so many names to say— |
| And at the very, very end |
| Of the procession, by his friend |
| And master, faithful dog was seen; |
| The livelong time he'd helping been, |
| To drive the crowd of creatures in; |
| And now, with loud, exultant bark, |
| He gaily sprang abroad the Ark. |
| Alas! so crowded was the space |
| He could not in it find a place; |
| So, patiently, he turned about, |
| Stood half way in, half way out, |
| And those extremely heavy showers |
| Descended through nine hundred hours |
| And more; and, darling, at the close, |
| 'Most frozen was his honest nose; |
| And never could it lose again |
| The dampness of that dreadful rain. |
| And that is what, my Curls of Gold, |
| Made all the doggies' noses cold. |
| Chained in the market-place he stood, |
| A man of giant frame, |
| Amid the gathering multitude |
| That shrunk to hear his name— |
| All stern of look and strong of limb, |
| His dark eye on the ground:— |
| And silently they gazed on him, |
| As on a lion bound. |
| |
| Vainly, but well, that chief had fought, |
| He was a captive now, |
| Yet pride, that fortune humbles not, |
| Was written on his brow. |
| The scars his dark broad bosom wore |
| Showed warrior true and brave; |
| A prince among his tribe before, |
| He could not be a slave. |
| |
| Then to his conqueror he spake: |
| "My brother is a king; |
| Undo this necklace from my neck, |
| And take this bracelet ring, |
| And send me where my brother reigns, |
| And I will fill thy hands |
| With store of ivory from the plains, |
| And gold-dust from the sands." |
| |
| "Not for thy ivory nor thy gold |
| Will I unbind thy chain; |
| That bloody hand shall never hold |
| The battle-spear again. |
| A price thy nation never gave |
| Shall yet be paid for thee; |
| For thou shalt be the Christian's slave, |
| In lands beyond the sea." |
| |
| Then wept the warrior chief and bade |
| To shred his locks away; |
| And one by one, each heavy braid |
| Before the victor lay. |
| Thick were the platted locks, and long, |
| And deftly hidden there |
| Shone many a wedge of gold among |
| The dark and crispèd hair. |
| |
| "Look, feast thy greedy eye with gold |
| Long kept for sorest need: |
| Take it—thou askest sums untold, |
| And say that I am freed. |
| Take it—my wife, the long, long day |
| Weeps by the cocoa-tree, |
| And my young children leave their play, |
| And ask in vain for me." |
| |
| "I take thy gold—but I have made |
| Thy fetters fast and strong, |
| And ween that by the cocoa shade |
| Thy wife will wait thee long," |
| Strong was the agony that shook |
| The captive's frame to hear, |
| And the proud meaning of his look |
| Was changed to mortal fear. |
| |
| His heart was broken—crazed his brain; |
| At once his eye grew wild; |
| He struggled fiercely with his chain, |
| Whispered, and wept, and smiled; |
| Yet wore not long those fatal bands, |
| And once, at shut of day, |
| They drew him forth upon the sands, |
| The foul hyena's prey. |
| |
| William Cullen Bryant. |
| He who has the vision sees more than you or I; |
| He who lives the golden dream lives fourfold thereby; |
| Time may scoff and worlds may laugh, hosts assail his thought, |
| But the visionary came ere the builders wrought; |
| Ere the tower bestrode the dome, ere the dome the arch, |
| He, the dreamer of the dream, saw the vision march! |
| |
| He who has the vision hears more than you may hear, |
| Unseen lips from unseen worlds are bent unto his ear; |
| From the hills beyond the clouds messages are borne, |
| Drifting on the dews of dream to his heart of morn; |
| Time awaits and ages stay till he wakes and shows |
| Glimpses of the larger life that his vision knows! |
| |
| He who has the vision feels more than you may feel, |
| Joy beyond the narrow joy in whose realm we reel— |
| For he knows the stars are glad, dawn and middleday, |
| In the jocund tide that sweeps dark and dusk away, |
| He who has the vision lives round and all complete, |
| And through him alone we draw dews from combs of sweet. |
| |
| Folger McKinsey. |