I shall find him, never fear, He has lived, a little thing, He has seen the starry hours In the silence he has heard Not a word will he disclose, Pleasant summer over And all the summer flowers, The red fire blazes, The grey smoke towers. Sing a song of seasons! VII THE GARDENER THE gardener does not love to talk, He makes me keep the gravel walk; And when he puts his tools away, Away behind the currant row Old and serious, brown and big. He digs the flowers, green, red, and blue, Nor wishes to be spoken to. He digs the flowers and cuts the hay, And never seems to want to play. Silly gardener! summer goes, And winter comes with pinching toes, THE GARDENER Well now, and while the summer stays, O how much wiser you would be 87 VIII HISTORICAL ASSOCIATIONS EAR Uncle Jim, this garden ground DEAR That now you smoke your pipe around, Has seen immortal actions done Here we had best on tip-toe tread, Here is the sea, here is the sand, But yonder, see! apart and high, With Robert Bruce and William Tell, Was bound by an enchanter's spell. |