Classic Poem

The child lay sick on her tiresome bed;
Her face was whitened and drawn with pain,
And her mother sorrowed, and sadly said,
While tears fell fast on the golden head,
“Ah, me, will she ever be well again?”

The bird outside on the window-sill
Sung loud a joyful and merry strain;
He pecked at the glass with his yellow bill;
He danced, and warbled with glad good-will,
“Come out-of-doors and be well again!”

The bee plunged in at the open door,
And beat his forehead against the pane,
Bright were the golden rings he wore;
He buzzed on the ceiling, the wall, the floor,
And said, “Come out, and be well again!”

The breeze came in at the lifted sash,
Full of the strength of the sweet salt main;
It told of the brook's soft purl and plash,
Of new-fledged birds in the roadside ash,
And whispered, “Come and be well again!”

The flowers leaned from their crystal vase;
They were brought by her mates from dell and plain;
They kissed and fondled her fevered face;
They beckoned and nodded with wooing grace,
And said, “Arise, and be well again!”

The rain came out of its cloud, and beat
With dripping fingers against the pane;
And “Come!” it gurgled; “the air is sweet,
There are grassy pools for your burning feet;
Come out-of-doors and be well again!”

She writhed and moaned in her fever-toss,
And mocking visions beset her brain;
She dreamed of showers and cool moist moss,
Of clear waves, foaming the ledge across,
To turn the mill-wheel with might and main.

“Give me your bloom, O flowers,” said she;
“Give me your fresh, sweet breath, O rain;
Give me your vigor, O tireless bee;
Give me your life, O wind of the sea,
That I may be strong and well again!”

And long ere the forest nuts were browned,—
When fields were rich with the rustling grain,
And early apples grew red and round,—
Out with the reapers, alert and sound,
The little maiden was well again!