Impressions 



Poet 

 "Honest cat-bird, can it be, 

 All is thine and naught for me? 

 Blessings only for the bird, 

 Favors scant for human herd? 



Whence my shelter from the blast, 

 Eaging storms that night-long last? 

 Whence my loaf and needed drink, 

 Nature gives them, do you think? 

 Wherewithal shall I be clothed? 

 Nakedness is rightly loathed. 



Did I cease from daily toil, 

 Cease my weary hands to soil, 

 Cease my weary brain to use. 

 Nature would her gifts refuse; 

 Life is far from liberty. 

 If, cat-bird, you a man would be." 



Cat-'bird 

 " Slave of customs that unmake. 

 Customs sapping- half your strength; 

 Canst no hint from Nature take? 

 Wilt not wander any length 

 From the beaten path so deep, 

 You seldom o'er its edges peep? 



Ever bird, without a care. 

 Would I be, as free as air; 

 Shelter, food and clothing fine. 

 With no thought of whence, are mine, 

 And the beauties of the world 

 Without effort are unfurled. 

 93 



