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XVIII.
THE KITTEN,
AND
THE FALLING LEAVES.
That way look, my Infant, lo!
What a pretty baby show!
See the Kitten on the Wall,
Sporting with the leaves that fall,
Withered leaves—one—two—and three—
From the lofty Elder-tree!
Through the calm and frosty air
Of this morning bright and fair
Eddying round and round they sink
Softly, slowly: one might think,
From the motions that are made,
Every little leaf convey'd
Sylph or Faery hither tending,—
To this lower world descending,
Each invisible and mute,
In his wavering parachute.
