The little brook began to trill,

I looked—a sweet and childlike face,

Reflected like a blooming vase,

Was smiling from the water clear,

With buttercups behind her ear.

A flock of swallows hove in sight,

On came the summer clad in white,

With sunshine falling from her hair

Upon her shoulders white and bare,

And pressing through the tangled grass,

A daisy rose to watch her pass.