O Bed! O Bed! Delicious Bed! That

He Lies Like A Hedgehog Rolled Up The Wrong Way, Tormenting Himself With His Prickles.

Sweet Are The Little Brooks That Run O'er Pebbles Glancing In The Sun, Singing In Soothing Tones.

Such A Blush In The Midst Of Brown Was Born, Like Red Poppies Grown With Corn.

We Watch'd Her Breathing Through The Night, Her Breathing Soft And Low, As In Her Breast The Wave Of Life Kept Heaving To And Fro.

The Year's In Wane; There Is Nothing Adorning; The Night Has No Eve, And The Day Has No Morning; Cold Winter Gives Warning!