I met a little Elf-man, once,
Down where the lilies blow.
I asked him why he was so small
And why he didn’t grow.
He slightly frowned, and with his eye
He looked me through and through.
“I ’m quite as big for me,” said he,
“As you...
It seemed to be but chance, yet who shall say
That ’t was not part of Nature ’s own sweet way,
That on the field where once the cannon’s breath
Laid many a hero cold and stark in death,
Some little children, in the after-years,
Had come to play among...
Thy span of life was all too short—
A week or two at best—
From budding-time, through blossoming,
To withering and rest.
Yet compensation hast thou—aye!—
For all thy little woes;
For was it not thy happy lot
To live and die a rose...
