'What smell be this,' says he,
'My nose on the sharp morning air
Snuffs up so greedily?'
Says I, 'It is wild roses
Do smell so winsomely,
And winy briar too,' says I,
'That in these thickets be.'
'And oh!' says he, 'what leetle bird
Is singing in yon high tree,
So every shrill and long-drawn note