And blare out my "All-a-blowing, All-a-growing!" down the streets,
There's a something fresh and shining-like in every face I meets!
Tis the Spring-love breaking through them! Wy, the very dirt looks clean
In the shimmer of the sunlight, and the shadow of the green.
All-a-blowing! All-a-growing! When I shout, I seem to sing,
For my cry takes on a music. It's the very Voice of Spring!
"MEAT FOR YOUR MASTER!"
"We shall only be Two to-night; Cook—your Master and Me—so all we shall want will be Soup and Fish and Lamb and Asparagus, with a Soufflé to follow, and a little Sweet-bread after the Fish, you know!"