Of rosy innocence, by lips that ne’er
Such liberty had dared to take before.
The clock strikes twelve, and from his cozy perch
Beside the fattest pullet, lo, the cock
Proclaims the approaching morn with shrillest crow!
The corn is husked, and now they gather round
The board, while lovely maidens wait to serve
With ready hand, the laborers of the eve.
Now from the lips of village sire ascends
The prayer for Heaven’s rich blessing on their food;