Tis midsummers eve & the suns shut his eye

Tis midsummers eve & the suns shut his eye
& behind golden mountains dropt into the sky
The swallows kept crossing the brook to dip in
To wash off the soot that so blackens his skin
But he washed it in vain as he's caught his last flye
& sits on the chimney his plumage to dry
While insects of all sorts & sizes take leave
To come out & be merry on midsummer eve
& the moth a coy lover now cunningly creeps
Out o nights to steal kisses from blossoms asleep
Which the butterflye bold as the bee for a plot
Has been kissing all day wether willing or not
The cockchaffer here with his old sullen drone
Sings as if he thought no song so sweet as his own
& bumble bee trim with the red breeches on
& waistcoat more black—then yon cloud that is gone
See him hang with his load of gold dust on his thigh
After draining all day the rich honey flowers dry
He strove as when sober straight forward to go
But he reeled & mistook the way homeward & so
In this green snubby lane in a wearisome plight
On that hugh thistles flower hes gone bed for the night
Far away from his warm bank & own mossy nest
Strange visions of terror seem haunting his breast
For hold out a finger & he in alarm
He'll hold up his legs to protect him from harm
Heres the modestly seeming half drunk butterflye
Beneath a broad leaf is contented to lye
Yet dew no[r] yet rain can get into his bed
Hes safe as a pallace was over his head
Heres the light agile spider a weaving a way
At his web of rich network as though twas noon day
While the grass hopper jumps in no fear of his neck
Among the silk grass & the sport he does make
Seems to please mouse & cricket while singing hard bye
For loud is their twitter & hearty their joy
Een the brook hears the noise & leaps up at his banks
As if he was anxious to join in their pranks
But as strange as a fish out of water would be
His heels they flye up & down headlong goes he
All the way as he rolls making whimpers & moans
As though he was hurt by the pebbles & stones
The bell of the crowfoot the king cup of flowers
Was full to oerflowing from days hasty showers
But insects not liking the liquer at all
The wind shook the stems & soon emptied them all
While eve in good nature to give them a turn
Fills them up with new dewdrops a fresh from her urn
Heres a red clock a clay peeping out of her bed
In a bell blossoms hood where she doubtless had fled
From a shepherd boys hand who aloud in his play
Bade the clockaclay tell him the time of the day
Crying one o clock two o clock now fly away
& quick in this woodland flowers bosom he flew
Where the eyes of his enemies could not pursue
The winds were so frolic & playful all day
Among the gay meadows & sweet smelling hay
That the grass & the flowers with their unweary guest
Couldnt get all the day scarce a moment of rest
Heres the daisey gone bed on the silk grass to lie
With a goblet of dew drops to drink when hes dry
& the right merry wind at his gambols again
Is shaking his head to awake him in vain
Though he wakes him to dance like a drunkard he tries
For he reels & neer offers to open his eyes
Yet heres some seems oerjoyed in this sweet summer light
Dressing up to sip dew in gay partys at night
The dog rose it smiles in the nights sooty face
& the wood lily stoops as to shun his embrace
While the gaudy convolvulous tastefully tied
Round the maple tree leaning the water beside
Open mouthed seems to drink all the dews as they come
& still he looks pale in the midst of his bloom
For sitting up late must disturb him of rest
& therefore the daiseys old plan is the best
Who closes his eye when the sun goes away
& is well & refreshed at the peep of the day
Others glad that the pasture is freed from the cow
Seem to shrink in no fear to be trampled on now
The nightingale triumphs so sweet in her mirth
That stars seem to listen the music of earth
Yet hell not die of hunger unless it should rain
For hes victuals enough till the sun comes again
Heres the old fairey rings by this dark thickets side
Where the owl roosts in fear & the foxes abide
Where faireys dance round them more still then a sigh
Yet the shepherd when late hears the noise passing bye
& oer his snug fire in his cottage at night
Hell talk till the candle burns blue with affright
Of the pranks that they play & the sports they pursue
& the mischief when vexed that they venture to do
How they steal into barns & fall thrashing the corn
Till the cock on the dunghill gins sounding his horn
Then all in an instant flye silent away
With an ear in their hands & so many are they
That the old startled farmer with anguish & awe
When he comes in the morning finds nothing but straw
& why shouldnt we of our troubles take leave
& with nature make merry at midsummer eve
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