And left my rhymes behind,
And past the sill and down the hill
Went forth my work to find.
And first I spied a romping child.
“My child,” I stopt and said,
“The sun is bright; the air is mild;
Your cheeks with health are red.
“It does you good to leap and run,
And chase your mates about”—
But ah, my talk had scarce begun