Poems (Hardy)/Bright little comrade
BRIGHT LITTLE COMRADE
BRIGHT little comrade from the woods, come show
Thy antic cheer about my sunlit room
Of books, that stand in moods of gloom
Because thought's tide is out, heart's rhythm is low
With weariness. Friendly thou art and know
Good friend in me, who yet did dare presume
To take thee from thy home, thy little doom
To make for thee, and longer life bestow.
So, thou hast not been eaten by the snake;
Thy gentle blood no weasel drank at night;
Thou hast not starved >mid winter's frozen wood,
Nor waited vainly for the sun to make
Sweet the wild nuts for thee. Yet, little sprite,
Thou still doth question if my deed were good?
Thy antic cheer about my sunlit room
Of books, that stand in moods of gloom
Because thought's tide is out, heart's rhythm is low
With weariness. Friendly thou art and know
Good friend in me, who yet did dare presume
To take thee from thy home, thy little doom
To make for thee, and longer life bestow.
So, thou hast not been eaten by the snake;
Thy gentle blood no weasel drank at night;
Thou hast not starved >mid winter's frozen wood,
Nor waited vainly for the sun to make
Sweet the wild nuts for thee. Yet, little sprite,
Thou still doth question if my deed were good?