The white owl

The currants moonwhite

as Mother Bunch

In their thick-bustled leaves were

laughing like Punch;

And, ruched as their country waterfalls,

The cherried maids walk beneath

the dark walls.

Where the moonlight was falling

thick as curd

Through the cherry-branches

half-unheard

Said old Mrs. Bunch,

the crop-eared owl,

To her gossip:

"If once I began to howl,

I am sure that my sobs would

drown the seas -

With my "oh's and my ah's"

and my "oh dear me's!"

Everything wrong

from cradle to grave -

No money to spend,

no Money to save!"

And the currant-bush began to rustle

As poor Mrs. Bunch arranged her bustle.