Chapter III

That, Fragoletta, is the rain Beating upon the window-pane; But lo! the golden sun appears, To kiss away the window's tears. That, Fragoletta, is the wind That rattles so the window-blind; And yonder shining thing's a star, Blue eyes,--you seem ten times as far. That, Fragoletta, is a bird That speaks, yet never says a word; Upon a cherry-tree it sings, Simple as all mysterious things; Its little life to peck and pipe As long as cherries ripe and ripe, And minister unto the need Of baby-birds that feed and feed. This, Fragoletta, is a flower, Open and fragrant for an hour, A flower, a transitory thing, Each petal fleeting as a wing, All a May morning blows and blows, And then for everlasting goes.