THE CHIMNEY SWEEPER. A LITTLE black thing among the snow, 'Because I was happy upon the heath, ' And smil'd among the winter's snow, They clothed me in the clothes of death, And taught me to sing the notes of woe. And because I am happy and dance and sing, They think they have done me no injury, 'And are gone to praise God and His Priest and King, Who make up a heaven of our misery.' NURSE'S SONG. WHEN the voices of children are heard on the green, And whisperings are in the dale, The days of my youth rise fresh in my mind, My face turns green and pale. Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down, And the dews of night arise; Your spring and your day are wasted in play, THE SICK ROSE. O ROSE, thou art sick! Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy, Does thy life destroy. THE FLY. LITTLE Fly, Thy summer's play Has brushed away. Am not I A fly like thee? Or art not thou A man like me? For I dance, And drink, and sing, If thought is life, And strength, and breath; And the want Of thought is death; Then am I A happy fly, If I live, Or if I die. |