The Snail
To grass, or leaf, or fruit, or wall,
The snail sticks close, nor fears to fall,
As if he grew there, house and all
Together.
Within that house secure he hides,
When danger imminent betides
Of storm, or other harm besides
Of weather.
Give but his horns the slightest touch,
His self-collecting power is such,
He shrinks into his house, with much
Displeasure.
Where'er he dwells, he dwells alone;
Except himself has chattels none,
Well satisfied to be his own
Whole treasure.
Thus, hermit-like, his life he leads,
Nor partner of his banquet needs,
And if he meets one, only feeds
The faster.
Who seeks him must be worse than blind,
(He and his house are so combin'd)
If, finding it, he fails to find
Its master.
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Hi Friends,
Today's poem shows the lighter side of British hymn-writer and poet William Cowper (1731-1800).
While delightful, I must make a note that "The Snail" is not the most
scientifically accurate portrayal of the terrestrial gastropod. For
example, Mr. Cowper clearly never had the benefit of watching the snail love scene from "Microcosmos" to contradict the popular belief that the solitary snail is satisified to be his own whole treasure.
As a reminder, April is National Poetry Month, and I am celebrating by
sending out one poem per day for the duration of the month. You can
learn more about National Poetry Month at www.poets.org, the website of the Academy of American Poets.
Best,
Ellen
Labels: NPM