You love the best at noontide hour,
Prepare the mead, whose luscious draught,
The best of former nations quaff'd.
Little rambler, do you know
Why it is we love you so?
It is for the ceaseless hymn,
That you warble, as you swim
Through the odoriferous air,
Light as fairy gossamer—
'Tis, for you are always gay,