HOW keepeth my lady the weeds from

her posies,

All in the gay summer-time!

Why is it the rose-chafer eats not her roses

From the song of the lark till the four-o'clock

closes?

Five fierce lily-tigers in spotted cuirasses

She posteth at each of her green garden-

passes,

And they frighten away the chafers and

grasses,

All in the gay summer-time.

Original