44 



He hangs ia the Willows a night and a day; 

 He rifles the buckwheat patches; 

 Then battens his store of pelf galore 

 Under the tautest hatches. 



He woos the poppy and weds the Peach, 

 Inveigles Daffodilly, 

 And then like a tramp abandons each 

 For the gorgeous Canada Lily. 



There's not a soul in the garden world 

 But wishes the day were shorter, 

 When Mariner B. puts out to sea 

 With the wind in the proper quarter. 



He pilfers from every port of the wind. 

 From April to golden autumn; 

 But the thieving ways of his mortal days 

 Are those his mother taught him. 



He looks like a gentleman, lives like a lord. 

 And works like a Trojan hero; 

 Then loafs all winter upon his hoard, 

 With the mercury down at zero. 



BLISS CARMAN. 



