When the lamps are lighted at night;
Sweet are the flowers of life
When the flowers of summer bloomed.
"Sweet are the flowers of life
Dead with the snows of winter;
Sweet are the flowers of life
When the days of spring come on.
[B] These lines were actually composed by a six-year-old child.
"That's all of that one. I made another one when I digged after the turtle. I will say that. It is a very pretty one," observed the poet with charming candor, and, taking a long breath, he tuned his little lyre afresh:
"Sweet, sweet days are passing