Rushes in a watery place, And reeds in a hollow; A soaring skylark in the sky, A darting swallow; And where pale blossom used to hang Ripe fruit to follow. Minnie and Mattie And fat little May, Out in the country, Spending a day. Such a bright day, With the sun glowing, And the trees half in leaf, And the grass growing. Pinky white pigling Squeals through his snout, Woolly white lambkin Frisks all about. Cluck! cluck! the nursing hen Summons her folk,— Ducklings all downy soft Yellow as yolk. Cluck! cluck! the mother hen Summons her chickens To peck the dainty bits Found in her pickings. Minnie and Mattie And May carry posies, Half of sweet violets, Half of primroses. Give the sun time enough, Glowing and glowing, He’ll rouse the roses And bring them blowing. Don’t wait for roses Losing to-day, O Minnie, Mattie, And wise little May. Violets and primroses Blossom to-day For Minnie and Mattie And fat little May. Heartsease in my garden bed, With sweetwilliam white and red, Honeysuckle on my wall:— Heartsease blossoms in my heart When sweet William comes to call, But it withers when we part, And the honey-trumpets fall. If I were a Queen, What would I do? I’d make you King, And I’d wait on you. If I were a King, What would I do? I’d make you Queen, For I’d marry you. What are heavy? sea-sand and sorrow: What are brief? to-day and to-morrow: What are frail? Spring blossoms and youth What are deep? the ocean and truth. Stroke a flint, and there is nothing to admire: Strike a flint, and forthwith flash out sparks of fire. There is but one May in the year, And sometimes May is wet and cold; There is but one May in the year Before the year grows old. Yet though it be the chilliest May, With least of sun and most of showers, Its wind and dew, its night and day, Bring up the flowers. The summer nights are short Where northern days are long: For hours and hours lark after lark Trills out his song. The summer days are short Where southern nights are long: Yet short the night when nightingales Trill out their song. The days are clear, Day after day, When April’s here, That leads to May, And June Must follow soon: Stay, June, stay!— If only we could stop the moon And June! Twist me a crown of wind-flowers; That I may fly away To hear the singers at their song, And players at their play. Put on your crown of wind-flowers But whither would you go? Beyond the surging of the sea And the storms that blow. Alas! your crown of wind-flowers Can never make you fly: I twist them in a crown to-day, And to-night they die. Brown and furry Caterpillar in a hurry, Take your walk To the shady leaf, or stalk, Or what not, Which may be the chosen spot. No toad spy you, Hovering bird of prey pass by you Spin and die, To live again a butterfly. A toadstool comes up in a night,— Learn the lesson, little folk:— An oak grows on a hundred years, But then it is an oak.