id "I die," and the goose asked "Why?"
And the dog said nothing, but searched for fleas.

The farmer he strode through the square farmyard;
(_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_)
His last brew of ale was a trifle hard--
The connection of which with the plot one sees.

The farmer's daughter hath frank blue eyes;
(_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_)
She hears the rooks caw in the windy skies,
As she sits at her lattice and shells her peas.

The farmer's daughter hath ripe red lips;
(_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_)
If you try to approach her, away she skips
Over tables and chairs with apparent ease.

The farmer's daughter hath soft brown hair;
(_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_)
And I've met with a ballad, I can't say where,
Which wholly consisted of lines like these.

She sat with her hands 'neath her dimpled cheeks,
(_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_)
And spake not a word. While a lady speaks
There is hope, but she didn't even sneeze.

She sat with her hands 'neath her crimson cheeks;
(_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_)
She gave up mending her father's breeks,
And let the cat roll on her best chemise.

She sat with her hands 'neath her burning cheeks,
(_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_)
And gazed at the piper for thirteen weeks;
Then she followed him out o'er the misty leas.

Her sheep followed her, as their tails did them.
(_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_)
And this song is considered a perfect gem,
And as to the meaning, it's what you please.

LOVERS, AND A REFLECTION

Imitation of Jean Ingelow

In moss-prankt dells which the sunbeams flatter,
(And heaven it knoweth what that may mean;
Meaning, however, is no great matter)
When woods are a-tremble, with rifts atween;

Thro' God's own heather we wonned together,
I and my Willie (O love my love):
I need hardly remark it was glorious weather,
And flitterbats wavered alow, above;

Boats were curtseying, rising, bowing,
(Boats in that climate are so polite,)
And sands were a ribbon of green endowing,
And O the sun-dazzle on bark and bight!

Thro' the rare red heather we danced together,
(O love my Willie!) and smelt for flowers:
I must mention again it was gorgeo