And flow, since all the little birds are singing

In bush and brake,

And all the honey flower bells dimly ringing,

And grasses shake—

And grasses shake before the reapers' coming.;

While through and through

This sweetness locusts shrill and bees are humming,

I'll sing to you

A little song, with bird-notes all a-twitter,

With honey flowing

From tilted flower-cups with dew a-glitter,

With fireflies glowing;

And over it roses in knots, and myrtle,

As thickly lay

(And violets) as on a maiden's kirtle,

A holiday.

Sweetened all through with flowers, with which 'tis filled

So full, you see

It needs (and also honey round it spilled)

A sweet song be.

—M. E. W.

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