Twitter and sing;
And, taking the gold-dust under me,
I'd splash the hips of the buzzing bee,
That he might have meal to make his bread,
With honey spread,
For his thousand babies all in rows,
Each in a bandbox up to his nose.

I'd count the curls of the hyacinth
By the fallen plinth,
And make them glossy with morning dew
By sunrise tinted with purple and blue;
And out of the sunset sky I'd get
For the violet
Yellow and red, and dark marine,
And purples deep, and a tender green;
And all night long, as they lay in sleep,
I would paint and steep
Their velvet cheeks in a hundred dyes,
That well they might open great staring eyes.

Unseen I would come where the tired ants tug
At a heavy slug,
With my rye-beard lance I'd push it along,
And they'd think, "All at once we are wondrous strong!"
In the nest of the robin, under the eaves
Of the apple-leaves,
I'd drop a worm in the gaping throats
That answer my chirp of the mother's notes.
When bonny Miss Harebell thirsts in vain