NATURE, Nature! you're enough

To put a quaker in a huff

Or make a martyr grumble.

Whenever something rich and rare-

On earth, at sea, or in the air—

Is placed in your especial care

You always let it tumble.

You don't, like other folks, confine

Your fractures to the hardware line,

And break the trifles they break:

But, scorning anything so small,

You take our nights and let them fall,

And in the morning, worst of all,

You go and let the day break.

You drop the rains of early Spring

(That set the wide world blossoming);—

The golden beams that mellow

Our grain towards the harvest-prime;

You drop, too, in the autumn-time,

With breathings from a colder clime,

The dead leaf, sere and yellow.

You drop and drop;—without a doubt

You 'll go on dropping things about,

Through still and stormy weather

Until a day when you shall find

You feel aweary of mankind,

And end by making up your mind

To drop us altogether.