And golden-belted Oberon
Swing in his hammock like a Don,—
For palfrey prints his tiny shoe
On every branch that's wet with dew.
My story's told, now for our play!"
"And is the story true, O May?"
With air of one who knows the truth,
The sweet-eyed May, tall for her youth,
The overhanging branch down drew,
And shewed the prints of palfrey's shoe—
And laughing said: "Now you all see
Why it is called Horse-Chestnut tree."
[MY ROBIN.]
[B. B. D.]