Like a tiny cloud or a sun-blind, spread,
While his brow was fanned by a gentle breeze,
Which seemed to descend from the waving trees.
'Twas a moment of bliss, till, lo! he saw
A pair of black wings and a darksome claw,
Which pierced through his face where 'twas peeled and raw.
"O joyful," he thought, "if this crow devours
The tormentors of these distracted hours!
Once rid of these plagues I could rot with ease;
They tickle far worse than a thousand fleas!"