SONG.
What magician pulls the string
That uncurtains pretty Spring?
And the swallow with his wing
Against the sky 1
Who brings the branch its green,
And the honey-bee a queen?
"Is it I?"
Said April, "I?"
"Yes, 'tis I."
What aërial artist limns
Rock and cloud, with brush that dims
Titian's oils and Hogarth's whims
In shape and dye?
What Florimel embowers
Lawn and lake with arching flowers?
"Is it I?"
Said bright July, "I?"
"Yes, 'tis I."
What good genii drop the grains
Of brown sugar in the canes?
Who fills up the apple's veins
With sweetened dew?
Who hangs the painted air
With the grape and golden pear?
Is it you,
October? You?
Yes, 'tis you.
Who careering sweeps the plain,
Scoffing at the violet's pain.
Echoing back and back again
His wild halloo?
Who makes the Yule-fire foam
Round the happy hearth of home?
Is it you,
December? You?
Aye, 'tis you.
T. W. K.