All my little folks are there,
Waiting me with pleasant looks:
Table ready set and chair.
Supper hanging on the hooks.
Soon as ever I get in,
Quick my faggot down I fling;
Little prattlers then begin,
Teasing me to talk and sing.
Welcome, red and roundy sun.
Dropping lowly in the west,
Now my hard day's work is done,
I'm as happy as the best.
37. The Last Rose of Summer.
The last rose of summer
Is faded and fled,
The leaves that adorn'd her
Are dying or dead;
The autumn is coming,
And, strong in its blast,
Will open for winter
A passage at last.
Oh, how to my spirit
It seemeth to say,
Thus too is thy summer
Fast fading away;
And the things that thou lovest,
Though beautiful now,
And the friends thou hast chosen.
Are fragile as thou.
