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ST JOHN OF BOHEMIA.
21
"But don't they pray, too, sometimes?" "Yes."
"Then, good St. John, I say
My mother needs a prettier dress;—
Please send one right away."

(St. John, hurled from a parapet
At some wild Emperor's frown:
Five stars brood on the Moldan yet,
Five stars that saw him drown.)

"We want a new piano, too;
Our old one used to play,
But it forgets its music. You
Are kind to all who pray?

"And there's the butter, too. But see,—
Why, here he is!" And then
Came laughing from behind a tree
The handsomest of men,

Clothed in dark forest-green, his head
High as an oak's need be,
And shadowed by a plume. He said:
"Come, little ones, with me."