The butterfly chased in his foraging flight
'Mong the flowers; or the hummer, that gay little thief,
That pilfered the sweets from each petal and leaf.
But long years ago the old garden was sold!
Its walls, rustic gates, are all crumbled to mold;
Its beds and smooth pathways 'neath grass-tangles hid,
For the breezes of June-time are whispering 'mid
The flowers that blossom her pallet above,
Who tended that old-fashioned garden I love;
And singing their lullaby sweetest where lies