Among the waving grass and cowslips yellow;
Dining on sunshine, breakfasting on dew,
He was a right contented little fellow.
Each morn his golden head he lifted straight
To catch the first sweet breath of coming day;
Each evening closed his sleepy eyes, to wait
Until the long, dark night should pass away.
One afternoon, in sad, unquiet mood,
I passed beside this tiny, bright-faced flower,
And begged that he would tell me, if he could,