Which makes the tender sense appear
In these both slumbering and clear,
Around the snowy stork would rally,
And ventured not, but wished to dally.
“Come here, come here,” a voice then crying,
The stork soon ruffles up his frill,
He sees two tiny urchins flying
So near as to be touched at will.
But oh, what wings, now waving lightly!
And feathers too, these shifting brightly