A GARDENER-SAGE
That day the artful crow
Begins to build his house.
Begins to build his house.
But then—the wonder 's big!—
If Sunday fell that day,
Nor straw, nor scraw, nor twig,
Till Monday would he lay.
His black wings to his side,
He'd drone upon his perch,
Subdued and holy-eyed
As though he were at church.
If Sunday fell that day,
Nor straw, nor scraw, nor twig,
Till Monday would he lay.
His black wings to his side,
He'd drone upon his perch,
Subdued and holy-eyed
As though he were at church.
The crow 's a gentleman
Not greatly to my mind,
He'll steal what seeds he can,
And all you hide he'll find.
Yet though he 's bully and sneak.
To small birds bird of prey,
He counts the days of the week,
And keeps the Sabbath Day.
Not greatly to my mind,
He'll steal what seeds he can,
And all you hide he'll find.
Yet though he 's bully and sneak.
To small birds bird of prey,
He counts the days of the week,
And keeps the Sabbath Day.
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