 | Sonnets of the Wingless Hours |  |
105
THE DEATH OF PUCK.
II.
The Robin gave three hops, and chirped, and said:
‘Yes, I knew Puck, and loved him; though I trow
He mimicked oft my whistle chuckling low;
Yes, I knew cousin Puck; but he is dead.
‘Yes, I knew Puck, and loved him; though I trow
He mimicked oft my whistle chuckling low;
Yes, I knew cousin Puck; but he is dead.
We found him lying on his mushroom bed—
The Wren and I—half covered up with snow,
As we were hopping where the berries grow.
We think he died of cold. Ay, Puck is fled.’
The Wren and I—half covered up with snow,
As we were hopping where the berries grow.
We think he died of cold. Ay, Puck is fled.’
And then the Wood-Mouse said: ‘We made the Mole
Dig him a little grave beneath the moss,
And four big Dormice placed him in the hole.
Dig him a little grave beneath the moss,
And four big Dormice placed him in the hole.
The Squirrel made with sticks a little cross;
Puck was a Christian elf, and had a soul;
And all we velvet jackets mourn his loss.’
Puck was a Christian elf, and had a soul;
And all we velvet jackets mourn his loss.’
| Sonnets of the Wingless Hours | |