The bee with his comb, The mouse at her dray, The grub in his tomb, While winter away; But the firefly and hedge-shrew and lobworm, I pray, 5 How fare they? Ha, ha, thanks for your counsel, my Zanze! "Feast upon lampreys, quaff Breganze"-- The summer of life so easy to spend, And care for tomorrow so soon put away! 10 But winter hastens at summer's end, And firefly, hedge-shrew, lobworm, pray, How fare they? No bidding me then to--what did Zanze say? "Pare your nails pearlwise, get your small feet shoes 15 More like"--what said she?--"and less like canoes!" How pert that girl was!--would I be those pert, Impudent, staring women! It had done me, However, surely no such mighty hurt To learn his name who passed that jest upon me: 20 No foreigner, that I can recollect, Came, as she says, a month since, to inspect Our silk-mills--none with blue eyes and thick rings Of raw-silk-colored hair, at all events. Well, if old Luca keep his good intents, 25 We shall do better, see what next year brings! I may buy shoes, my Zanze, not appear More destitute than you perhaps next year! Bluph--something! I had caught the uncouth name But for Monsignor's people's sudden clatter 30 Above us--bound to spoil such idle chatter As ours; it were indeed a serious matter If silly talk like ours should put to shame The pious man, the man devoid of blame, The--ah, but--ah, but, all the same, 35 No mere mortal has a right To carry that exalted air; Best people are not angels quite: While--not the worst of people's doings scare The devil; so there's that proud look to spare! 40 Which is mere counsel to myself, mind! for I have just been the holy Monsignor: And I was you too, Luigi's gentle mother, And you too, Luigi!--how that Luigi started Out of the turret--doubtlessly departed 45 On some good errand or another, For he passed just now in a traveler's trim, And the sullen company that prowled About his path, I noticed, scowled As if they had lost a prey in him. 50 And I was Jules the sculptor's bride, And I was Ottima beside, And now what am I?--tired of fooling. Day for folly, night for schooling! New Year's day is over and spent, 55 Ill or well, I must be content. Even my lily's asleep, I vow: Wake up--here's a friend I've plucked you! Call this flower a heart's-ease now! Something rare, let me instruct you, 60 Is this, with petals triply swollen, Three times spotted, thrice the pollen; While the leaves and parts that witness Old proportions and their fitness,