You are nothing now but a bow.
You moon, have you done something wrong in heaven,
That God has hidden your face?
I hope, if you have, you will soon be forgiven,
And shine again in your place.
O velvet bee, you’re a dusty fellow;
You’ve powdered your legs with gold!
O brave marshmary buds, rich and yellow,
Give me your money to hold!
And show me your nest with the young ones in it,—