Her pretty feet, like snails, did creep A little out, and then, As if they played at bo-peep, Did soon draw in again.

Thus woe succeeds a woe, as wave a wave.

Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee, The shooting stars attend thee; And the elves also, Whose little eyes glow Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.

Fair daffadills, we weep to see You haste away so soon: As yet the early rising sun Has not attained his noon.

Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren't go a-hunting, For fear of little men.

They darted down and rose up like a wave Or buzzed impetuously as before; One would have thought the corpse was held a slave To living by the life it bore!

And there, a field rat, startled, squealing bleeds, His belly close to ground. I see the blade, Blood-stained, continue cutting weeds and shade