THE FOOL'S SONG

Never, no never, listen too long,

To the chattering wind in the willow, the night bird's song.

‘ Tis sad in sooth to lie under the grass,

But none too gladsome to wake and grow cold where life's shadows pass.

Dumb the old Toll-Woman squats,

And, for every green copper battered and worn, doles out Nevers and Nots.

I know a Blind Man, too,

Who with a sharp ear listens and listens the whole world through.

Oh, sit we snug to our feast,

With platter and finger and spoon — and good victuals at least.