To listen to the sound of passing feet,
That all the night with leaden echoes fill——
But he soon stopped. This was not like Meenie at all—Meenie, who was ever associated in his mind with flowers and birds and fair sunlight and the joy of the summer hills. He threw that spoiled sheet into the fire; and sought among the old pieces for one that he might copy out fairly for her; and this is what he eventually chose:
All on a fair May morning
The roses began to blow;
Some of them tipped with crimson,
Some of them tipped with snow.
But they looked the one to the other,
And they looked adown the glen;
They looked the one to the other,