Here, Robin on a tussock sits,
And Cuckoo with his call of hope
Cuckoos awhile, then off he flits,
While peals of dingle-dongle keep
Troop discipline among the sheep
That graze across the slope.
A brook from fields of gentle sun,
Through the glade his water heaves,
The falling cone would well-nigh stun
That squirrel wantonly lets drop,