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 gloomBecause thought's tide is out, heart's rhythm is lowWith weariness. Friendly thou art and know Good friend in me, who yet did dare presume To take thee from thy home, thy little doomTo 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?