I.

WOOL-GATHERING.

“Where are my Five Wits gone, And will they come back soon?” They’re gone a-gathering wool In the Valleys of the Moon.

There the little Dream-Sheep, That look like mounds of snow, Through the green, green meadows Go grazing to and fro.

Thither have I sent them, Those Five Wits of mine, Two with bags, and two with crooks, And one with shears that shine.

They catch the little Dream-Sheep And cut their fleece away, All to weave a story from Upon another day!