Hear what the mournful linnets say: “We built our nest compact and warm. But cruel boys came round our way And took our summerhouse by storm. “They crushed the eggs so neatly laid; So now we sit with drooping wing, And watch the ruin they have made, Too late to build, too sad to sing.” A baby’s cradle with no baby in it, A baby’s grave where autumn leaves drop sere; The sweet soul gathered home to Paradise, The body waiting here. Hop-o’-my-thumb and little Jack Horner, What do you mean by tearing and fighting? Sturdy dog Trot close round the corner, I never caught him growling and biting. Hope is like a harebell trembling from its birth. Love is like a rose the joy of all the earth; Faith is like a lily lifted high and white, Love is like a lovely rose the world’s delight; Harebells and sweet lilies show a thornless growth, But the rose with all its thorns excels them both. O wind, why do you never rest, Wandering, whistling to and fro, Bringing rain out of the west, From the dim north bringing snow? Crying, my little one, footsore and weary? Fall asleep, pretty one, warm on my shoulder: I must tramp on through the winter night dreary, While the snow falls on me colder and colder. You are my one, and I have not another; Sleep soft, my darling, my trouble and treasure; Sleep warm and soft in the arms of your mother, Dreaming of pretty things, dreaming of pleasure. Growing in the vale By the uplands hilly, Growing straight and frail, Lady Daffadowndilly. In a golden crown, And a scant green gown While the spring blows chilly, Lady Daffadown, Sweet Daffadowndilly. A linnet in a gilded cage,— A linnet on a bough,— In frosty winter one might doubt Which bird is luckier now. But let the trees burst out in leaf, And nests be on the bough, Which linnet is the luckier bird, Oh who could doubt it now? Wrens and robins in the hedge, Wrens and robins here and there; Building, perching, pecking, fluttering, Everywhere! My baby has a mottled fist, My baby has a neck in creases; My baby kisses and is kissed, For he’s the very thing for kisses. Why did baby die, Making Father sigh, Mother cry? Flowers, that bloom to die, Make no reply Of “why?” But bow and die. If all were rain and never sun, No bow could span the hill; If all were sun and never rain, There’d be no rainbow still. O wind, where have you been, That you blow so sweet? Among the violets Which blossom at your feet. The honeysuckle waits For Summer and for heat. But violets in the chilly Spring Make the turf so sweet. Brownie, Brownie, let down your milk White as swansdown and smooth as silk, Fresh as dew and pure as snow: For I know where the cowslips blow, And you shall have a cowslip wreath No sweeter scented than your breath. On the grassy banks Lambkins at their pranks; Woolly sisters, woolly brothers Jumping off their feet While their woolly mothers Watch by them and bleat.