For that bright red obi,
So nicely tied,[ [4]
And that nice white girdle
About your hips.
Will you give it to the horse?
"Oh, no, no!"
Will you give it to the cow?
"Oh, no, no!"[ [5]
And up to the blue night would rise from all those wet leagues of labored field that great soft bubbling chorus which seems the very voice of the soil itself—the chant of the frogs. And O-Toyo would interpret its syllables to the child: Mé kayui! mé kayui! "Mine eyes tickle; I want to sleep."
All those were happy hours.