Why were you born when the snow was falling ? You should have come to the cuckoo's calling, Or when grapes are green in the cluster. Or, at least, when lithe swallows muster... For their far off flying. From summer dying. So why did you die when the lambs were cropping ? You should have died at the apples' dropping. When the grasshopper comes to trouble, And the weat-fields are sodden stubble. And all winds go sighing... For sweet things dying.

How doth the little crocodile
Improve his shining tail,
And pour the waters of the Nile
On every golden scale !

How cheerfully he seems to grin,
How neatly spread his claws,
And welcomes little fish in,
With gently smiling jaws !