168
what's o'clock
"Morning and night, to the green parrakeet
She sang, and Oh, her singing was sweet!"
The road dipped down to a marsh, and the meadowlarks sang as he passed them, but his ears rang with another singing so that he heard nothing.
"By the North Wind's whistle, he is blind!" said a moose-wood to an elder-bush.
"Hush," cried the grape-vines, "you do not catch his dust. It is the dust of something a long way off."
She sang, and Oh, her singing was sweet!"
The road dipped down to a marsh, and the meadowlarks sang as he passed them, but his ears rang with another singing so that he heard nothing.
"By the North Wind's whistle, he is blind!" said a moose-wood to an elder-bush.
"Hush," cried the grape-vines, "you do not catch his dust. It is the dust of something a long way off."
"Her kisses were a flower red;
I saw them on the bird's green head.
Her breasts were white as almond bean
And the parrakeet nestled in between."
"Oh, gently, gently," sighed the sentimental vines, but the long lines of trees behind them objected that he took a great while to go by.
I saw them on the bird's green head.
Her breasts were white as almond bean
And the parrakeet nestled in between."
"Oh, gently, gently," sighed the sentimental vines, but the long lines of trees behind them objected that he took a great while to go by.
