’Twas just the minute when the snipe, As though clock-wakened, every jack, An hour ere dawn, dart in and out The mist-wreaths filling syke and slack, And flutter wheeling round about, And drumming out the Summer night. I lay star-gazing yet a bit; Then, chilly-skinned, I sat upright, To shrug the shivers from my back; And, drawing out a straw to suck, My teeth nipped through it at a bite... The liveliest lad is out of pluck An hour ere dawn--a tame cock-sparrow-- When cold stars shiver through his marrow, And wet mist soaks his mother-wit. But, as the snipe dropped, one by one; And one by one the stars blinked out; I knew ’twould only need the sun To send the shudders right about: And, as the clear East faded white, I watched and wearied for the sun-- The jolly, welcome, friendly sun-- The sleepy sluggard of a sun That still kept snoozing out of sight, Though well he knew the night was done And, after all, he caught me dozing, And leapt up, laughing, in the sky Just as my lazy eyes were closing: And it was good as gold to lie Full-length among the straw, and feel The day wax warmer every minute, As, glowing glad, from head to heel, I soaked and rolled rejoicing in it... When from the corner of my eye, Upon a heathery knowe hard-by, With long lugs cocked, and eyes astare, Yet all serene, I saw a hare. Upon my belly in the straw, I lay, and watched her sleek her fur, As, daintily, with well-licked paw, She washed her face and neck and ears: Then, clean and comely in the sun, She kicked her heels up, full of fun, As if she did not care a pin Though she should jump out of her skin, And leapt and lolloped, free of fears, Until my heart frisked round with her. "And yet, if I but lift my head, You’ll scamper off, young Puss," I said. "Still, I can’t lie, and watch you play, Upon my belly half-the-day. The Lord alone knows where I’m going: But, I had best be getting there. Last night I loosed you from the snare-- Asleep, or waking, who’s for knowing!-- So, I shall thank you now for showing Which art to take to bring me where My luck awaits me. When you’re ready To start, I’ll follow on your track. Though slow of foot, I’m sure and steady..." She pricked her ears, then set them back; And like a shot was out of sight: And, with a happy heart and light, As quickly I was on my feet; And following the way she went, Keen as a lurcher on the scent, Across the heather and the bent, Across the quaking moss and peat. Of course, I lost her soon enough, For moorland tracks are steep and rough; And hares are made of nimbler stuff Than any lad of seventeen, However lanky-legged and tough, However, kestrel-eyed and keen: And I’d at last to stop and eat