Or marks upon the limb the wish-ton-wish,
Who rests by day, that he may sweeter sing
His song at night, beside the cottage gate.
The thistle-seed, with wing of silver down,
Floats in the air, and flashes in the sun.
The dusky worm that feasted on the leaf
In the green spring-time, weaves his curious shroud,
And fastening it by thread of minute size,
To the tall poplar swings himself to sleep.
Type of the resurrection! lo, he hangs