Was told to us by one we love.
They, in the valley’s sheltering care,
Soon crop the meadow’s tender prime,
And when the sod grows brown and bare,
The shepherd strives to make them climb
To airy shelves of pasture green,
That hang along the mountain’s side,
Where grass and flowers together lean,
And down through mists the sunbeams slide.
But naught can tempt the timid things