Saith Puck

And the spirit of June is a pure delight,

With a cheer for the gladdest comer.

And a little gray bird on sycamore twig,

And flittered away to his wooing.

I peered on a leaf and a moth slept there.

And all for a tip-toed minute!"

Reward to his Puck,

The nation much luck.

[Pg 66]

And call up the court—

For song and for sport.

What ever the cost—

Their space is all lost."

And a blue-bell he tinkleth,

As thick as stars twinkleth.

Hath showered his graces,

And the favored of places.

And passeth that by;

To the tail of each eye.

 Prev. P 32/36 next