One Service Breeds Another

One of this person's white-skinned friends, Bill Hawkins,
Who labours at the waterside,
Had occasion, at the time of unkind weather,
To rescue from the certain peril of drowning
One who had slipped from the edge of a wharf to the dock.

Without reward the flower serves the bee.
The mother serves the child with pain and toil.
The soldier serves his king without king's gratitutde.
And this person has noted with much private amusement,
How, since this one service rendered,
Bill Hawkins goes ever from his accustomed path
To add service to service to the one he rescued;
While the rescued one looks ever upon Bill Hawkins
With eyes of no-approval, indeed, with intense disgust.



An Offer of a Lodging

Little maid of the yellow curls
You look sad as you pass my window.
You look as though you would like to creep into some warm nest,
And hide your golden head.

Oh, look, little maid! I have made you a nest!
Creep into it, and I will hide you away,
Quietly, in the nest of my heart,