Like little children out from school We come in bevies, primly gay; On sunlit lawn, in shadow cool With meek propriety we play And in and out about the grass We weave, not for a moment still; Determined, ere the daylight pass, To make our fun and eat our fill. Our crimson kirtles bob about As here and there we bend and prance; And in and out, and in and out— Like little children at a dance— We never weary; nothing strange, We’ll tarry with you all the day, Providing that you can arrange Good faring, and a field for play. We build our quaint nests, swinging low Like childish stockings from a peg— Hung topsy-turvy by the toe, The snug heel holding many an egg. We set them in the scrubs remote Where no trespasser rude may roam, And sit and sound a plaintive note To call a laggard help-mate home. Watch when the late spring days are here; Watch in some meadow by a stream, When cobwebs drift and disappear, And every drugged day is a dream;— Watch till a crimson kirtle’s spied In sunlit grass or shadow cool, Here comes our bevy, straggling wide, Like little children out from school.