The Life-Preservers

It happened on Ascension Day; She came along the flowery way, A tiny cricket bearing. He lodged within a cage of wood, Though prisoned, yet in heartsome mood, For strong his chirp and daring.

’Twas Florence in a radiant spring, Ah, could my verses to you bring A glimpse of half its wonder! Could make you taste the honeyed air, And breathe the flowers everywhere, The green grass waving under.

The cricket shone as black as jet; No less the locks that waving met The little maiden’s shoulder. Her voice, at first, was scarcely heard-- A cricket’s voice, from nesting stirred-- But soon, like his, grow bolder.

“Ne’er have I seen a cricket caged,” I said, “nor as a pet engaged, Although a household blessing!” “Good sir,” she lisped, “Ascension morn Must every child in Florence born, A cricket be possessing.

“And early, early do we look In every park and grassy nook, Where crickets breed and nourish; And when they’re caught and prisoned here, We’ll live and thrive another year, If through the day they flourish!”

“My little maid, it cannot be A cricket holds your life in fee And all on him you’re chancing!” “Old man,” she cried, “there’s not a doubt, All Florentines have found it out!” And down the road went dancing.

I shook my head. The world is rife With toil and care; a bubble’s life, And death will come to prick it; But of all fragile things that be Most frail is that, it seems to me, Which hangs upon a cricket!