The poor old man

I'm sure that you would never guess

The tales I hear from birds and flowers,

Without them sure 'twould be a mess

I'd make of all the summer hours;

But these fair things they make for me

A lovely life of joy and glee.

I saw some sheep upon some grass,

The sheep were fat, the grass was green,

The sheep were white as clouds that pass,

And greener grass was never seen;

I thought, " Oh, how my bliss is deep,

With such green grass and such fat sheep!

And as I watch bees in a hive,

Or gentle cows that rub 'gainst trees,

I do not envy men who live,

No fields, no books upon their knees.

I'd rather lie beneath small stars

Than with rough men who drink in bars.