Page:Poems Cook.djvu/315

The cap of Liberty, forsooth!
Thou art the thing to me in truth;
For slavish fashion ne'er can break
Into the green paths where I take
          My Old Straw Hat.

My Old Straw Hat, my conscience tells
Thou hast been hung with Folly's bells;
Yet Folly rings a pleasant chime,
If the rogue will but "mind his time,"
And not come jingling on the way
When sober minstrels ought to play.
For oft when hearts and eyes are light,
Old Wisdom should keep out of sight.
But now the rustic bench is left,
The tree of every leaf bereft,
And merry voices, all are still,
That welcomed to the well-known hill
          My Old Straw Hat.

Farewell, old friend, thy work is done;
The misty clouds shut out the sun;
The grapes are pluck'd, the hops are off,
The woods are stark, and I must doff
My Old Straw Hat-but "bide a wee,"
Fair skies we've seen, yet we may see
Skies full as fair as those of yore,
And then we'll wander forth once more.
Farewell, till drooping bluebells blow,
And violets stud the warm hedgerow—
Farewell, till daisies deck the plain—
Farewell, till spring days come again—
          My Old Straw Hat!

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