HONEY DRIPPING FROM THE COMB


How slight a thing may set one's fancy drifting
Upon the dead sea of the Past!--A view--
Sometimes an odor--or a rooster lifting
A far-off "_Ooh! ooh-ooh!_"

And suddenly we find ourselves astray
In some wood's-pasture of the Long Ago--
Or idly dream again upon a day
Of rest we used to know.

I bit an apple but a moment since--
A wilted apple that the worm had spurned.--
Yet hidden in the taste were happy hints
Of good old days returned.--

And so my heart, like some enraptured lute,
Tinkles a tune so tender and complete,
God's blessing must be resting on the fruit--
So bitter, yet so sweet!




AS MY UNCLE USED TO SAY


I've thought a power on men and things,