The sun, with his great eye,
Sees not so much as I;
And the moon, all silver-proud,
Might as well be in a cloud.
And O the spring– the spring
I lead the life of a king!
Couch’d in the teeming grass,
I spy each pretty lass.
I look where no one dares,
And I stare where no one stares,
And when the night is nigh,
Lambs bleat my lullaby

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