“Here’s a nut, there’s a nut; Hide it quick away, In a hole, under leaves, To eat some winter day. Acorns sweet are plenty,

Four little chests all in a row, Dim with dust, and worn by time, All fashioned and filled, long ago… By children now in their prime. Four little keys hung side by side…

Little shadows, little shadows Dancing on the chamber wall, While I sit beside the hearthston… Where the red flames rise and fall… Caps and nightgowns, caps and nigh…

Thistledown in prison sings: Bright shines the summer sun, Soft is the summer air; Gayly the wood-birds sing, Flowers are blooming fair.

I am the monarch of the Sea, The ruler of the Queen’s Navee,— When at anchor here I ride, My bosom swells with pride, And I snap my fingers at a foeman…

‘I wish I had a quiet tomb, Beside a little rill; Where birds, and bees, and butterf… Would sing upon the hill.’

Brighter shone the golden shadows; On the cool wind softly came The low, sweet tones of happy flow… Singing little Violet’s name. ‘Mong the green trees was it whisp…

‘J’avais une colombe blanche, J’avais un blanc petit pigeon, Tous deux volaient, de branche en… Jusqu’au faîte de mon dongeon: Mais comme un coup de vent d’autom…

Now the day is done, Now the shepherd sun Drives his white flocks from the s… Now the flowers rest On their mother’s breast,

We are sending you, dear flowers Forth alone to die, Where your gentle sisters may not… O’er the cold graves where you lie… But you go to bring them fadeless…

‘Give me freshening breeze, my boy… A white and swelling sail, A ship that cuts the dashing waves… And weathers every gale. What life is like a sailor’s life,

‘Dear Grif, Here is a whiff Of beautiful spring flowers; The big red rose Is for your nose,

Long ago in a poultry yard One dull November morn, Beneath a motherly soft wing A little goose was born. Who straightway peeped out of the…

‘We are sending you, dear flowers, Forth alone to die, Where your gentle sisters may not… O’er the cold graves where you lie… But you go to bring them fadeless…

Hither, hither, from thy home, Airy sprite, I bid thee come! Born of roses, fed on dew, Charms and potions canst thou brew… Bring me here, with elfin speed,