Who fancied what a pretty sight...

Who fancied what a pretty sight

This Rock would be if edged around

With living snow-drops? circlet bright!

How glorious to this orchard-ground!

Who loved the little Rock, and set

Upon its head this coronet?

Was it the humour of a child?

Or rather of some gentlemaid,

Whose brows, the day that she was styled

The shepherd-queen, were thus arrayed?

Of man mature, or matron sage?

Or old man toying with his age?

I asked —‘ twas whispered; The device

To each andall might well belong:

It is the Spirit of Paradise

That prompts such work, a Spirit strong,

That gives to all the self-same bent

Where life is wise and innocent.