The hills untied their bonnets,
The bobolinks begun.
Then I said softly to myself,
"That must have been the sun!"

* * *

But how he set, I know not.
There seemed a purple stile
Which little yellow boys and girls
Were climbing all the while

Till when they reached the other side,
A dominie in gray
Put gently up the evening bars,
And led the flock away.




XXIII.

The butterfiy's assumption-gown,
In chrysoprase apartments hung,
This afternoon put on.


How condescending to descend,
And be of buttercups the friend
In a New England town!