Who'll carry him to the grave?
"I," said the Kite,
"If 't is not in the night,
And I'll carry him to his grave."
Who'll carry the link?
"I," said the Linnet,
"I'll fetch it in a minute,
And I'll carry the link."
Who'll be the chief mourner?
"I," said the Dove,
"I mourn for my love,
And I'll be chief mourner."
Who'll bear the pall?
"We," said the Wren,
Both the cock and the hen,
"And we'll bear the pall."
Who'll sing a psalm?
"I," said the Thrush,
As she sat in a bush,
"And I'll sing a psalm."
And who'll toll the bell?
"I," said the Bull,
"Because I can pull;"
And so, Cock Robin, farewell.
EPITAPH FOR ROBIN REDBREAST.
Thou shalt have a little bed
Made for thee, and overspread
With brown leaves for coverlet,
Which the tearful dew has wet.
I, among the songs of Spring,
Will miss the song thou didst not sing.
"PLAY WITH ME!"
The kitten came this morning, and said,
With a touch of her paw and a turn of her head?
"Play, play with me!"