‘I write about the butterfly, It is a pretty thing; And flies about like the birds, But it does not sing. ’First it is a little grub,

We sighing said, “Our Pan is dead… His pipe hangs mute beside the riv… Around it wistful sunbeams quiver, But Music’s airy voice is fled. Spring mourns as for untimely fros…

From our happy home Through the world we roam One week in all the year, Making winter spring With the joy we bring,

He that is down need fear no fall, He that is low no pride. He that is humble ever shall Have God to be his guide. I am content with what I have,

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…

‘Gingerbread, Go to the head. Your task is done; A soul is won. Take it and go

‘Beds to the front of them, Beds to the right of them, Beds to the left of them, Nobody blundered. Beamed at by hungry souls,

‘Don’t drive me away, But hear what I say: Bad men want the gold; They will steal it to-night, And you must take flight;

O flower at my window Why blossom you so fair, With your green and purple cup Upturned to sun and air? ‘I bloom, blithesome Bessie,

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

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,

“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,

Awake! Awake! for the earliest gl… Of golden sunlight shines On the rippling waves, that bright… Beneath the flowering vines. Awake! Awake! for the low, sweet…

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…