THE FIND
I took a reed and blew a tune,
And sweet it was and very clear
To be about a little thing
That only few hold dear.
Three times the cuckoo named himself,
But nothing heard him on the hill,
Where I was piping like an elf
The air was very still.
'Tw'as all about a little thing
I made a mystery of sound,
I found it in a fairy ring
Upon a fairy mound.
June 2nd, 1917.
277
