Oh my friend, oh brilliant bug,
Why are you weeping on the rug?
The bug replied, O glossy raven,
With your head all shorn and shaven,
I am now weeping,
And sad watch keeping,
Over, Ah me!
The Noble Flea.
The raven he,
Wept over the flea,
And flew to a green palm tree--
And in grief, _dropped a feather_,
Like snow in winter weather.
The palm tree said my glossy raven,
Why do you look so craven,
Why did you drop a feather,
Like snow in winter weather?
The raven said,
The flea is dead!
I saw the brilliant bug weeping
And his sad watch keeping,
Alas, Alas, Ah me!
Over the Noble Flea.
Then the green Palm tree,
Wept over the noble flea.
Said he, The flea is dead!
And _all his branches shed_!
The Shaggy Wolf he strayed,
To rest in the Palm tree's shade
He saw the branches broken,