1 68 Language Through Nature 



Because he has no hands, and begs; 

 He's asking for my nuts, I know: 

 May I not feed them on the snow?" 



Half lost within her boots, her head 

 Warm-sheltered in her hood of red, 

 Her plaid skirt close about her drawn, 

 She floundered down the wintry lawn; 

 Now struggling through the misty veil 

 Blown round her by the shrieking gale; 

 Now sinking in a drift so low 

 Her scarlet hood could scarcely show 

 Its dash of color on the snow. 



She dropped for bird and beast forlorn 



Her little store of nuts and corn, 



And thus her timid guests be-spoke: 



"Come, squirrel, from your hollow oak, 



Come, black old crow, 



Come, poor blue-jay, 



Before your supper's blown away ! 



Don't be afraid, we all are good; 



And I'm mamma's Red Riding Hood!" 



O Thou whose care is over all, 

 Who heedest even the sparrow's fall, 



