Need he interfere with me,
Who care only to be blest?
Go thy way, unhappy bee,
Leave a butterfly at rest.
Butterflies with painted wings
Are a part of Nature's plan;
Is not every bird that sings,
Wiser than a busy man?

Harry's rich tenor delighteth my ears
Oft as I hear it; 'tis ever the same;
Brings to my eyes a soft _soupçon_ of tears,
Sends from my heart little thrills through my frame.




MY SONG.


When the sea
Speaks to me,
Sure I may reply to it;
When the skies
Catch my eyes,
I must smile a little bit.
When the trees
Try to please
With their buds and blossoms new,