To bring to his home "The Good Fairy Glee."
In rags and in sorrow and always alone
He walked in the fields where, with pitying moan,
He prayed he might hear the song of the trees
And sweet fairy whispers as borne on the breeze.
His prayers were not answered and no sound he heard
Of brooklets or breezes or sweet singing bird.
No wonder from earth he was glad to depart,
Dying, 'tis said, from a real broken heart.