The Untimely End Of One Silverfish

He made a last and fervent wish
then swallowed a young silverfish.
The fish whose outlook now was grim
was neither fish nor could he swim.
Dumped in the gastric acid's juice
he wished he were a duck or goose,
if not a fish, which we have shown
and it is understood and known
that fowl can paddle, float and rise
from lakes and rivers just like flies.
Those pesky little insects eat
small microorganisms neat,
they find them where the cows let go
thus bovine is the word to know.
The man who swallowed as I mentioned
was neither mean nor ill-intentioned,
he was the owner of the beast
(the other cow was long deceased)
he milked the animal for pleasure
a bucket keeping acc'rate measure.
So skilled he was in getting milk
he read a book, bound in pure silk
while rhythmically with his digits
caressing each, just as one fidgets
extracting milk while reading stories
about the man they call Tom Torries.
The book had rested in his study
a gift from an old Fuddy Duddy,
and there had suffered indignation
a silverfishies infestation.
So you can see that not all fishes
succeed inspite their fervent wishes,
and those who live in printed matter
while eating glue, thus getting fatter
must be prepared for their creator,
a story I may tell you later.

In Youth I have Known One

How often we forget all time, when lone
Admiring Nature's universal throne;
Her woods - her winds - her mountains - the intense
Reply of Hers to Our intelligence!

I.

In youth I have known one with whom the Earth
In secret communing held - as he with it,
In daylight, and in beauty, from his birth:
Whose fervid, flickering torch of life was lit
From the sun and stars, whence he had drawn forth
A passionate light - such for his spirit was fit -
And yet that spirit knew - not in the hour
Of its own fervour - what had o'er it power.

II.

Perhaps it may be that my mind is wrought
To a fever by the moonbeam that hangs o'er,
But I will half believe that wild light fraught
With more of sovereignty than ancient lore
Hath ever told - or is it of a thought
The unembodied essence, and no more
That with a quickening spell doth o'er us pass
As dew of the night time, o'er the summer grass?

III.

Doth o'er us pass, when as th' expanding eye
To the loved object - so the tear to the lid
Will start, which lately slept in apathy?
And yet it need not be - (that object) hid
From us in life - but common - which doth lie
Each hour before us - but then only bid
With a strange sound, as of a harpstring broken
T' awake us - 'Tis a symbol and a token -

IV.

Of what in other worlds shall be - and given
In beauty by our God, to those alone
Who otherwise would fall from life and Heaven
Drawn by their heart's passion, and that tone,
That high tone of the spirit which hath striven
Though not with Faith - with godliness - whose throne
With desperate energy 't hath beaten down;
Wearing its own deep feeling as a crown.