| "AND LOOK HERE, FRITZ— | —WHATEVER HAPPENS— | —SEE YOU KEEP— |
| —THEM HANDS OF YOURS— | —WELL ABOVE— | —YOUR BLINKIN' HEAD." |
A SONG OF THE WOODLAND ELVES.
We hear the ruthless axes; we watch our rafters fall;
The seawind blows unhindered where stood our banquet-hall;
Our grassy rings are trampled, our leafy tents are torn—
Yet more would we, and gladly, to help the English-born.
For, leafy-crowned or frosted, the English oaks are ours;
The beeches are our playrooms, the elms our outlook towers;