STERILE these stones
By time in ruin laid.
Yet many a creeping thing
Its haven has made
In these least crannies, were falls
Dark's dew, and noonday shade.
 
The claw of the tender bird
Finds lodgment here;
Dye-winged butterflies poise;
Emmet and beetle steer
Their busy course; the bee
Drones, laden, near.
 
Their myriad-mirrored eyes
Great day reflect.
By their exquisite farings
Is this granite specked;
Is trodden to infinite dust;
By gnawing lichens decked.