Do not ask me why? or how?—
All in Fairyland it chanced,
As the leaves upon the bough
In the autumn breezes danced!
“Quip-a-quip-a-quip-a-queer!”
Said the Thrush unto his mate.
“We must soon be gone from here;
No one else would stay so late!”
Do not ask me why? or how?—
But his mate did sorely grieve: