What shall I do
when the Summer
troubles –
What, when the Rose
is ripe –
What when the Eggs
fly off in Music
From the Maple Keep?

What shall I do
when the Skies a′chirrup
Drop a Tune on Me –
When the Bee hangs
all Noon in the Buttercup
What will become of
Me?

Oh′ when the Squirrel
fills His Pockets
And the Berries stare

 ¦

How can I bear their
jocund Faces
Thou from Here, so far?

′Twould’nt afflict a Robin –
All His Goods have Wings –
⁺I – do not fly, so Wherefore
My Perennial Things?
+ fly not

Drab Habitation of Whom?

Tabernacle or Tomb –

Or Dome of Worm –

Or Porch of Gnome –

Or some Elf′s Catacomb?