The Stag In The Ox Stall

Safe enough lay the poor hunted Deer
In the ox-stall, with nothing to fear
From the careless-eyed men:
Till the Master came; then
There was no hiding-place for the Deer.

An Eye Is Keen In Its Own Interest

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 Fox & The Mask

Walter Crane, Simple Poetry

The Blind Doe

Walter Crane, Simple Poetry

The Ass In The Lion's Skin

Walter Crane, Simple Poetry

The Crow & The Pitcher

Walter Crane, Simple Poetry

English

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The Eye Of The Master.

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A stag took refuge from the chase
Among the oxen of a stable,
Who counsel'd him, as saith the fable,
To seek at once some safer place.
'My brothers,' said the fugitive,
'Betray me not, and, as I live,
The richest pasture I will show,
That e'er was grazed on, high or low;
Your kindness you will not regret,
For well some day I'll pay the debt.'
The oxen promised secrecy.
Down crouch'd the stag, and breathed more free.
At eventide they brought fresh hay,
As was their custom day by day;
And often came the servants near,
As did indeed the overseer,
But with so little thought or care,
That neither horns, nor hide, nor hair
Reveal'd to them the stag was there.
Already thank'd the wild-wood stranger
The oxen for their trea...

Jean de La Fontaine

The Deer & The Lion

From the hounds the swift Deer sped away,
To his cave, where in past times he lay
Well concealed; unaware
Of a Lion couched there,
For a spring that soon made him his prey.

Fate Can Meet As Well As Follow

Walter Crane

The Blind Doe

A poor half-blind Doe her one eye
Kept shoreward, all danger to spy,
As she fed by the sea,
Poor innocent! she
Was shot from a boat passing by.

Watch On All Sides

Walter Crane

The Stag And The Vine.

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A stag, by favour of a vine,
Which grew where suns most genial shine,
And form'd a thick and matted bower
Which might have turn'd a summer shower,
Was saved from ruinous assault.
The hunters thought their dogs at fault,
And call'd them off. In danger now no more
The stag, a thankless wretch and vile,
Began to browse his benefactress o'er.
The hunters, listening the while,
The rustling heard, came back,
With all their yelping pack,
And seized him in that very place.
'This is,' said he, 'but justice, in my case.
Let every black ingrate
Henceforward profit by my fate.'
The dogs fell to - 'twere wasting breath
To pray those hunters at the death.
They left, and we will not revile 'em,
A warning for profaners of asylum.

Jean de La Fontaine

The Quarry

You hunted me with all the pack,
Too blind, too blind, to see
By no wild hope of force or greed
Could you make sure of me.

And like a phantom through the glades,
With tender breast aglow,
The goddess in me laughed to hear
Your horns a-roving go.

She laughed to think no mortal ever
By dint of mortal flesh
The very Cause that was the Hunt
One moment could enmesh:

That though with captive limbs I lay,
Stilled breath and vanquished eyes,
He that hunts Love with horse and hound
Hunts out his heart and eyes.

Walter De La Mare

The Stag Seeing Himself In The Water.

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Beside a placid, crystal flood,
A stag admired the branching wood
That high upon his forehead stood,
But gave his Maker little thanks
For what he call'd his spindle shanks.
'What limbs are these for such a head! -
So mean and slim!' with grief he said.
'My glorious heads o'ertops
The branches of the copse;
My legs are my disgrace.'
As thus he talk'd, a bloodhound gave him chase.
To save his life he flew
Where forests thickest grew.
His horns, - pernicious ornament! -
Arresting him where'er he went,
Did unavailing render
What else, in such a strife,
Had saved his precious life -
His legs, as fleet as slender.
Obliged to yield, he cursed the gear
Which nature gave him every year.

Too much the beautiful we ...

Jean de La Fontaine