While the breath from her wings
Such happiness brings
That, gaping and snoring, he sank to rest.
But 'twas short, though sweet, like a donkey's trot—
He woke, not refreshed, but dreadfully hot,
When he found why such visions his fancies fill,—
He had fallen asleep near an old ant hill.
And the ants while he slept
Had over him crept,
Into his shoes,