Page:Poems for Children Sigourney 1836.pdf/52

 

The tallest trees she ventured up, And scal'd the vine-clad wall, Singing and tasting every cup, But temperate in all.

One morn, as from her honied cell, 'Mid Autumn's frost she sped, Beneath a flowret's wither'd bell The Butterfly lay dead.

 

The Lady-Bug sat in the rose's heart, And smil'd with pride and scorn, As she saw a plain-drest Ant go by, With a heavy grain of corn; So, she drew the curtains of damask round, And adjusted her silken vest, 