The Man & The Snake

In pity he brought the poor Snake
To be warmed at his fire. A mistake!
For the ungrateful thing
Wife & children would sting.
I have known some as bad as the Snake.

Beware How You Entertain Traitors

Walter Crane

Walter Crane was an English artist and book illustrator, considered to be one of the most prolific and influential children's book creators of his generation. Born on August 15, 1845, and passing away on March 14, 1915, he was part of the Arts and Crafts movement and is known for his innovative contributions to children's literature. His work often combined art and poetry, aiming to educate and delight young readers.

Walter Crane

The Miser & His Gold

Walter Crane, Simple Poetry

Hausegesinde

Walter Crane, Simple Poetry

Bo-Peep

Walter Crane, Simple Poetry

English

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The Snake & The File

A Snake, in a fix, tried a File
For a dinner. "'Tis not worth your while,"
Said the steel, "don't mistake;
I'm accustomed to take,
To give's not the way of a File."

We May Meet Our Match

Walter Crane

The Countryman And The Serpent.

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A countryman, as Aesop certifies,
A charitable man, but not so wise,
One day in winter found,
Stretch'd on the snowy ground,
A chill'd or frozen snake,
As torpid as a stake,
And, if alive, devoid of sense.
He took him up, and bore him home,
And, thinking not what recompense
For such a charity would come,
Before the fire stretch'd him,
And back to being fetch'd him.
The snake scarce felt the genial heat
Before his heart with native malice beat.
He raised his head, thrust out his forkèd tongue,
Coil'd up, and at his benefactor sprung.
'Ungrateful wretch!' said he, 'is this the way
My care and kindness you repay?
Now you shall die.' With that his axe he takes,
And with two blows three serpents makes.
Trunk, head, and ...

Jean de La Fontaine

The Snake.

My love and I, the other day,
Within a myrtle arbor lay,
When near us, from a rosy bed,
A little Snake put forth its head.

"See," said the maid with thoughtful eyes--
"Yonder the fatal emblem lies!
"Who could expect such hidden harm
"Beneath the rose's smiling charm?"

Never did grave remark occur
Less à-propos than this from her.

I rose to kill the snake, but she,
Half-smiling, prayed it might not be.

"No," said the maiden--and, alas,
    Her eyes spoke volumes, while she said it--
"Long as the snake is in the grass,
    "One may, perhaps, have cause to dread it:
"But, when its wicked eyes appear,
    "And when we know for what they wink so,
"One must be very simple, dear,
    "To let it wound one--do...

Thomas Moore

The Hospitable Caledonian And The Thankless Viper

A Caledonian piper
Who was walking on the wold
Nearly stepped upon a viper
Rendered torpid by the cold;
By the sight of her admonished,
He forbore to plant his boot,
But he showed he was astonished
By the way he muttered "Hoot!"

Now this simple-minded piper
Such a kindly nature had
That he lifted up the viper
And bestowed her in his plaid.
"Though the Scot is stern, at least he
No unhappy creature spurns,
'Sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie,'"
Quoth the piper (quoting Burns).

This was unaffected kindness,
But there was, to state the fact,
Just a slight soupcon of blindness
In his charitable act.
If you'd watched the piper, shortly
You'd have seen him leap aloft,
As this snake, of ways uncourtly,
Bit him sudd...

Guy Wetmore Carryl

The Grateful Snake.

Ingratitude! of earth the shame!
Thou monster, at whose hated name,
    The nerves of kindness ake;
Would I could drive thee from mankind,
By telling how a grateful mind,
    Once dignified a snake.

The tale is antient, and is sweet,
To mortals, who with joy repeat,
    What soothes the feeling heart;
The first of virtues, that may boast
The power to soothe, and please it most,
    Sweet gratitude, thou art.

The reptile, whom thy beauties raise,
Has an unquestion'd claim to praise,
    That justice will confirm!
The Muses, with a graceful pride,
May turn from thankless man aside,
    To celebrate a worm!

In Arcady, grave authors write,
There liv'd a Serpent, the delight,
    Of an ingenuous child;
Proud of his kindnes...

William Hayley

The Rattlesnake

        Coiled like a clod, his eyes the home of hate,
        Where rich the harvest bows, he lies in wait,
        Linking earth's death and music, mate with mate.

        Is 't lure, or warning?    Those small bells may sing
        Like Ariel sirens, poised on viewless wing,
        To lead stark life where mailed death is king;

        Else nature's voice, in that cold, earthy thrill,
        Bids good avoid the venomed fang of ill,
        And life and death fight equal in her will.

John Charles McNeill