Poems (Piatt)/Volume 2/A Strange Country
Appearance
A STRANGE COUNTRY.
It's a strange story I must tellOf a strange country, Louis? Well,The strangest country that I knowIs one where palm-trees do not grow;It lies within the very reach Of your two hands, and blue-birds flitAmong the flowers of pear and peach, In pleasant dews, all over it.
In this strange country, then, last night,A lady in the gracious lightOf garden-lamps and rising moon(Hush! you may do your guessing soon),With bits of stone she chose to wear, That elfin queens, perhaps, had lost,Outflashed the fire-flies in the air,— And what a sum her party cost!
This morning, with a beard as whiteAs his own shroud should be, in sightOf her high windows' precious lace,A man—with, oh! so sad a faceOne scarce could look at it for tears— Stood with a staff, and slowly said:"It's the first time in all these years; But, Madam, I must ask for bread."
The lady, lily-like, withinHer hands, that did not toil nor spin,Held all sweet things this world can give;The man, for just the breath to live,Early and late, in sun and snow, Had done his best.—I thought you knew!. . . It must be a strange country, though, Where such strange stories can be true.