And there, gay Ariels of the sun,
The butterflies make bright its way,
And paths where chipmunks run.
Its lyric there the redbird lifts,
While, overhead, the swallow drifts
'Neath sun-soaked clouds of palest cream,—
In which the wind makes azure rifts,—
And there the wood-doves dream.
The brown grasshoppers rasp and bound