And nobody there my lone to share
But Nicholas Nye.

Nicholas Nye was lean and gray,

Lame of a leg and old,

More than a score of donkey's years
He had seen since he was foaled;
He munched the thistles, purple and spiked,
Would sometimes stoop and sigh,

And turn to his head, as if he said,

"Poor Nicholas Nye!"

Alone with his shadow he'd drowse in the meadow,

Lazily swinging his tail,

At break of day he used to bray

Not much too hearty and hale;

But a wonderful gumption was under his skin,'

And a clear calm light in his eye,

And once in a while, he'd smile -
Would Nicholas Nye.

Seem to be smiling at me, he would,

From his bush in the corner, of may,
Bony and ownerless, widowed and worn
Knobble-kneed, lonely and gray;
And over the grass would seem to pass
'Neath the deep dark blue of the sky,

Something much better than words between me
And Nicholas Nye.

But dusk would come in the apple boughs,
The green of the glow-worm shine,

70

OVER hill, over dale,

Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,

Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon's sphere;
And I serve the fairy queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green.
The cowslips tall her pensioners be:
In their gold coats spots you see;
Those be rubies, fairy favours,
In those freckles live their savours;
I must go seek some dewdrops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

A SONG

A WIDOW bird sate mourning for her love

Upon a wintry bough;

The frozen wind crept on above

The freezing stream below.

!