William Allingham


Ring ting! I wish I were a Primrose,

A bright yellow Primrose, blowing in the spring!

The stooping bough above me,

The wandering bee to love me,

The fern and moss to creep across,

And the Elm-tree for our king!

Nay,—stay! I wish I were an Elm-tree,

A great lofty Elm-tree, with green leaves gay!

The winds would set them dancing,

The sun and moonshine glance in,

And birds would house among the boughs,

And sweetly sing.

Oh—no! I wish I were a Robin,—

A Robin, or a little Wren, everywhere to go,

Through forest, field, or garden,

And ask no leave or pardon,

Till winter comes with icy thumbs

To ruffle up our wing!

Well,—tell! where should I fly to,

Where go to sleep in the dark wood or dell?

Before the day was over,

Home must come the rover,

For mother's kiss,—sweeter this

Than any other thing.