Sir Moth, or the merry Cobweb,
Or the whimsical Mustard-seed!
A HUMMING-BIRD.
Twelve daughters of the Trumpet-vine
Spread wide their scarlet silks to-day.
Sir Summer Breeze, my gossip fine,
Can you the reason say?
“Oh listen while I whisper low!
The Honeysuckle told the Bee,