LXXIII

I’LL tell you how the sun rose, —

A ribbon at a time.

The steeples swam in amethyst,

The news like squirrels ran.

 

The hills untied their bonnets,

The bobolinks begun.

Then I said softly to myself,

“That must have been the sun!”

 

But how he set, I know not.

There seemed a purple stile

Which little yellow boys and girls

Were climbing all the while

 

Till when they reached the other side,

A dominie in gray

Put gently up the evening bars,

And led the flock away.