And nobody there my lone to share Nicholas Nye was lean and gray, Lame of a leg and old, More than a score of donkey's years And turn to his head, as if he said, "Poor Nicholas Nye!" Alone with his shadow he'd drowse in the meadow, Lazily swinging his tail, At break of day he used to bray Not much too hearty and hale; But a wonderful gumption was under his skin,' And a clear calm light in his eye, And once in a while, he'd smile - Seem to be smiling at me, he would, From his bush in the corner, of may, Something much better than words between me But dusk would come in the apple boughs, 70 OVER hill, over dale, Thorough bush, thorough brier, Thorough flood, thorough fire, WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE A SONG A WIDOW bird sate mourning for her love Upon a wintry bough; The frozen wind crept on above The freezing stream below. ! |