Songs of Seven.
I am old, so old, I can write a letter;
My birthday lessons are done;
The lambs play always, they know no better;
They are only one times one.
O moon ! in the night I have seen you sailing
And shining so round and low;
You were bright! ah bright! but your light is failing,—
You are nothing now but a bow.
You moon, have you done something wrong in heaven
That God has hidden your face?
I hope if you have you will soon be forgiven.
And shine again in your place.
O velvet bee, you're a dusty fellow.
You 've powdered your legs with gold!
O brave marsh marybuds, rich and yellow,
Give me your money to hold!
2
