The Shrill bat there its evening circles makes

The shrill bat there its evening circles makes
& scouts round tree & shed for many an hour
The yellow gossling dabbles in the lake
The puddly produce of an hasty shower
There the black hous bee sucks the garden flower
Till after sunset for its home is nigh
& white moth shelterd in its eldern bower
Woke ere the sun drops from the western sky
& dances in the leaves from daylights closing eye

Before the door on each grass screeded spot
Mottld with wormwood tufts & mallow blooms
The little child—dread winters frowns forgot
To the soft sunshine of the summer comes
Sweet is the sky to shelters smoky rooms
& glad he laughs at freedoms will to play
& many a bee its little malice hums
Amid the blossoms which he bears away
In the uncloying spoils of childhoods holiday

Go there in summer tho stiff painted pride
Disdains the picture thou wilt find it fair
& sweet as ere thy curious eye descryd
Twould find the beautys summer painteth there
To its lovd walls bees doth their honey bear
& hums a tune of summer poesey
The sparrow chirps its houshold music there
& childerns merry shouts have nought but joys to share

Spring seems in raptures with the lovly spot
& hastes her foot steps to its peace again
& wild flowers childern plants about the cot
Shews earlier flowers then those upon the plain
The gold eyd daisey with its ruddy stain
Will even venture ere the frosts are bye
& on the snow drops tiny couch remain
& neath a privet hedge soft sheltering nigh
The violet often blooms nor waits an april sky

Around its walls the wood bine idly weaves
Or greener shades of the untamed vine
That wildly mounts the house leek coverd eaves
& round the chimney if uncheckd woud twine
& in the garden night brown columbine
& pink & rose thy charmed sight shall hail
& mottld majoram tuffts that smell divine
These deck the cot & leisure to regale
Toil nears its sodded bench & tells its evening tale
Rate this poem: 


No reviews yet.