XXII.

A DAY.

I'll tell you how the sun rose, -- A ribbon at a time. The steeples swam in amethyst, The news like squirrels ran.

The hills untied their bonnets, The bobolinks begun. Then I said softly to myself, "That must have been the sun!"

* * *

But how he set, I know not. There seemed a purple stile Which little yellow boys and girls Were climbing all the while

Till when they reached the other side, A dominie in gray Put gently up the evening bars, And led the flock away.

The butterfly's assumption-gown, In chrysoprase apartments hung, This afternoon put on.

How condescending to descend, And be of buttercups the friend In a New England town!