THIS eve I left the flocks to stray and crop the grass with no one by Because she so desired a nest, that little lass as old as I. I bore my treasure home: a nest the tiny finches fashion deft, As firm as ever mason wrought, as soft as ever weaver weft. The outer rim was like a wall built high, with creeping mosses clad, And all within was down and wool so fine and soft, O happy lad! How light the little eggs I hold! They'll make a necklace you shall wear Together threaded, little Anne, with strands from out your golden hair. If I could slip it o'er the cap you wear on Sundays, people would Believe you were a little saint just changed to child from angelhood! |