Boundin’ heart, and laughin’ eye,
In the twinklin’ sunlight walkin’;
Love, you tell me, passes by—
Wisha, Mary, don’t be talkin’.
THE WIREE’S SONG
The wiree sang that Christmas Day,
A rippling, limpid, liquid lay
In clump and cover trilling;
On ripened grain and gleaming road
The molten, golden sunlight glowed,