Grass and children
There seems no end to them.
But if there were but one blade of grass
Men would see that it is fairer than lilies,
And if we saw the first child
We should worship it as the God come on earth.

Sometimes I hear the veery's clarion,
Or brazen trump of the impatient jay,
And in secluded woods the chicadee
Doles out her scanty notes, which sing the praise
Of heroes, and set forth the loveliness
Of virtue evermore.

True kindness is a pure divine affinity,
Not founded upon human consanguinity.
It is a spirit, not a blood relation,
Superior to family and station.

The unfaded patch
of floor mat
where the divorced wife's dresser stood

Underneath the water-weeds
Small and black, I wriggle,
And life is most surprising!
Wiggle! waggle! wiggle!
There's every now and then a most
Exciting change in me,
I wonder, wiggle! waggle!
What I shall turn out to be!

Upon the lofty elm tree sprays
The vireo rings the changes sweet,
During the trivial summer days,
Striving to lift our thoughts above the street.

An endless line of tubs, all in an endless row
And a little child at play who rolls them to and fro.
But each contains a man — rattled about like a stone
A man of a Philosophic Age, when each man lives alone.

A scribbler from the Northern bear,
This month to Dublin shall repair,
And there shall write, and write, and write,
And vent his gall, and spleen, and spite;
But none alive shall feel the smart;
Then home he'll go and break his heart.

Under cherries many people have gathered,
what are they doing to amuse themselves?
I too stood under a cherry tree, just to see,
but my heart was cold,
as petals scattered and fell, only tears came down.
How touching,
now at the noon of a spring day
when I did not force myself to watch sad things.

No generous action can delay
Or thwart our higher, steadier aims,
But if sincere and true are they,
It will arouse our sight and nerve our frames.