FullReads

There was a cherry-tree. The Bluejay set
His blue against its white–O blue as jet
He seemed there then!–But now–Whoever knew
He was so pale a blue!

There was a cherry-tree–Our child-eyes saw
The miracle:–Its pure white snows did thaw
Into a crimson fruitage, far too sweet
But for a boy to eat.

There was a cherry-tree, give thanks and joy!–
There was a bloom of snow–There was a boy–
There was a Bluejay of the realest blue–
And fruit for both of you.

Then the old garden, with the apple-trees
Grouped ’round the margin, and “a stand of bees”
By the “white-winter-pearmain”; and a row
Of currant-bushes; and a quince or so.
The old grape-arbor in the center, by
The pathway to the stable, with the sty
Behind it, and upon it, cootering flocks
Of pigeons, and the cutest “martin-box”!–
Made like a sure-enough house–with roof, and doors
And windows in it, and veranda-floors
And balusters all ’round it–yes, and at
Each end a chimney–painted red at that
And penciled white, to look like little bricks;
And, to cap all the builder’s cunning tricks,
Two tiny little lightning-rods were run
Straight up their sides, and twinkled in the sun.
Who built it? Nay, no answer but a smile.–
It may be you can guess who, afterwhile.
Home in his stall, “Old Sorrel” munched his hay
And oats and corn, and switched the flies away,
In a repose of patience good to see,
And earnest of the gentlest pedigree.
With half pathetic eye sometimes he gazed
Upon the gambols of a colt that grazed
Around the edges of the lot outside,
And kicked at nothing suddenly, and tried
To act grown-up and graceful and high-bred,
But dropped, k’whop! and scraped the buggy-shed,
Leaving a tuft of woolly, foxy hair
Under the sharp-end of a gate-hinge there.
Then, all ignobly scrambling to his feet
And whinneying a whinney like a bleat,
He would pursue himself around the lot
And–do the whole thing over, like as not!…
Ah! what a life of constant fear and dread
And flop and squawk and flight the chickens led!
Above the fences, either side, were seen
The neighbor-houses, set in plots of green
Dooryards and greener gardens, tree and wall
Alike whitewashed, and order in it all:
The scythe hooked in the tree-fork; and the spade
And hoe and rake and shovel all, when laid
Aside, were in their places, ready for
The hand of either the possessor or
Of any neighbor, welcome to the loan
Of any tool he might not chance to own.