The Congo and Other Poems Part 14

Twelve snails went walking after night.

They'd creep an inch or so, Then stop and bug their eyes And blow.

Some folks... are... deadly... slow.

Twelve snails went walking yestereve, Led by their fat old king.

They were so dull their princeling had No sceptre, robe or ring-- Only a paper cap to wear When nightly journeying.

This king-snail said: "I feel a thought Within.... It blossoms soon....

O little courtiers of mine,...

I crave a pretty boon....

Oh, yes... (High thoughts with effort come And well-bred snails are ALMOST dumb.) "I wish I had a yellow crown As glistering... as... the moon."

III. What the Rattlesnake Said

The moon's a little prairie-dog.

He s.h.i.+vers through the night.

He sits upon his hill and cries For fear that _I_ will bite.

The sun's a broncho. He's afraid Like every other thing, And trembles, morning, noon and night, Lest _I_ should spring, and sting.

IV. The Moon's the North Wind's Cooky

(What the Little Girl Said)

The Moon's the North Wind's cooky.

He bites it, day by day, Until there's but a rim of sc.r.a.ps That crumble all away.

The South Wind is a baker.

He kneads clouds in his den, And bakes a crisp new moon _that... greedy North... Wind... eats... again!_

V. Drying their Wings

(What the Carpenter Said)

The moon's a cottage with a door.

Some folks can see it plain.

Look, you may catch a glint of light, A sparkle through the pane, Showing the place is brighter still Within, though bright without.

There, at a cosy open fire Strange babes are grouped about.

The children of the wind and tide-- The urchins of the sky, Drying their wings from storms and things So they again can fly.

VI. What the Gray-winged Fairy Said

The moon's a gong, hung in the wild, Whose song the fays hold dear.

Of course you do not hear it, child.

It takes a FAIRY ear.

The full moon is a splendid gong That beats as night grows still.

It sounds above the evening song Of dove or whippoorwill.

VII. Yet Gentle will the Griffin Be

(What Grandpa told the Children)

The moon? It is a griffin's egg, Hatching to-morrow night.

And how the little boys will watch With shouting and delight To see him break the sh.e.l.l and stretch And creep across the sky.

The boys will laugh. The little girls, I fear, may hide and cry.

Yet gentle will the griffin be, Most decorous and fat, And walk up to the milky way And lap it like a cat.

Second Section: The Moon is a Mirror

I. Prologue. A Sense of Humor

No man should stand before the moon To make sweet song thereon, With dandified importance, His sense of humor gone.

Nay, let us don the motley cap, The jester's chastened mien, If we would woo that looking-gla.s.s And see what should be seen.

O mirror on fair Heaven's wall, We find there what we bring.

So, let us smile in honest part And deck our souls and sing.

Yea, by the chastened jest alone Will ghosts and terrors pa.s.s, And fays, or suchlike friendly things, Throw kisses through the gla.s.s.

II. On the Garden-wall

Oh, once I walked a garden In dreams. 'Twas yellow gra.s.s.

And many orange-trees grew there In sand as white as gla.s.s.

The curving, wide wall-border Was marble, like the snow.