The Peepers

    Little creatures may annoy us
        With their keen vexations,
When the spirit is in restlessness of mood —
    And as little overjoy us,
    And insensibly decoy us
        From sorrow or impatience,
When the heart’s door is open to the good.

    There is nothing born of Nature,
        Though it seem most lowly,
That may not be a blessing to the heart,
    For there’s fellowship of feature,
    Or Soul, in every creature,
        And the sympathy is holy —
Though our pride bar the portal to that part.

One even, when the bicker
        Of the cares world-common,
And the sight of little things and little men,
    Made the torch of hope flicker,
    And the hot pulse quicker,
        I wandered at the gloamin’
In the cool spring-breathing of the glen.

    The voice that was arousing
        The faint heart of spring-dawn,
It came from all the mead like one great cry,
    As if in gay carousing
    In wide air without housing,
        Or any dewy ring drawn,
Innumerable Fairies did shout in the sky.

    Or it might be the spirit
        Of the Spring to us calling,
For it seemed the very pulsing of the air;
    And none could come anear it
    But ever would he hear it,
Above him and around him, everywhere.

    ‘Cheer, cheer-up!’ said the Hymner,
        ‘Cheer, cheer-up!’ very shrilly,
And that was all the burden of the song;
    And as the day grew dimmer, 
    And the stars began to shimmer —
    Though the night air was chilly —
It rung louder, and the merrier along.

Little care, little trouble,
    And ye men, little hearted,
What place was there vacant for ye then;
    Many folded, many double,
    Ye were less than a bubble,
        Into sunny light darted
On the tide of that hymning in the glen.

    ‘Cheer, cheer-up!’ said the Fairies,
        ‘Cheer, cheer-up!’ never resting,
And the core of my bosom feels the cheer;
    No care within it tarries,
    For the music of them harries
        All the plagues that were resting
In my breast, far off, till its hope burns clear.

    I inquired me of the dwellers,
        The plowmen and the reapers,
And they said ‘‘twas the Peepers made the fray,
    Condemn the noisy fellows
    For uncomfortable yellers!’
        But I blest the little Peepers,
Though the Poets never gave to them a lay.