| |
| WHAT fragrant-footed comer | |
| Is stepping o’er my head? | |
| Behold, my queen! the Summer! | |
| Who deems her warriors dead. | |
| Now rise, ye knights of many fights, | 5 |
| From out your sleep profound! | |
| Make sharp your spears, my gallant peers, | |
| And prick the frozen ground. | |
| |
| Before the White Host harm her, | |
| We ’ll hurry to her aid; | 10 |
| We ’ll don our elfin armor, | |
| And every tiny blade | |
| Shall bear atop a dewy drop, | |
| The life-blood of the frost, | |
| Till from their king the order ring: | 15 |
| “Fall back! the day is lost.” | |
| |
| Now shame to knighthood, brothers! | |
| Must Summer plead in vain? | |
| And shall I wait till others | |
| My crown of sunshine gain? | 20 |
| Alone this day I ’ll dare the fray, | |
| Alone the victory win; | |
| In me my queen shall find, I ween, | |
| A sturdy paladin. | |
| |
| To battle! Ho! King Winter | 25 |
| Hath rushed on me apace,— | |
| My fragile blade doth splinter | |
| Beneath his icy mace. | |
| I stagger back. I yield—alack! | |
| I fall. My senses pass. | 30 |
| Woe worth the chance for doughtiest lance | |
| Of all the House of Grass! | |
| |
| Last hope my heart gives over. | |
| But hark! a shout of cheer! | |
| Don Daisy and Count Clover, | 35 |
| Sir Buttercup, are here! | |
| Behold! behold! with shield of gold | |
| Prince Dandelion comes. | |
| Lord Bumble-Bee beats valiantly | |
| His rolling battle-drums. | 40 |
| |
| My brothers leave their slumbers | |
| And lead the van of war; | |
| Before our swelling numbers | |
| The foes are driven far. | |
| The day’s our own; but, overthrown, | 45 |
| A little Knight in green, | |
| I kiss her feet and deem it sweet | |
| To perish for my queen. | |
| |
