By brook and bent,
Alert and diligent,
All day my merry wag-tail went,
Soberly clad
She seemed, in feathers sad
Which yet a fair white braiding had;
Nor did she fail
With jerking beak and tail
Quite to dislodge th’ incurious snail,
And thence away
To the pollard where all day
Her brown big-footed babies lay.
—I do desire
No better, nor look higher,
Pied wag-tail, than thy plain attire;
Nor would I roam
Afar, but kindly come
Back to th’ acclaiming mouths at home.
Like thee to run
About my works begun
And pluck delights from ev’ry one.
Where (might I do’t)
Living, my only suit,
And dead, my dearest attribute.