Fly, Doves, up in the sky,
With Minna and me,
After the bee.
Up one path,
Down another,
Run the little girls,
Holding their dove chariots in front of them;
But the bee is hidden in the trumpet of a honeysuckle,
With his wings folded along his back.
The dove chariots are thrown away,
And the little girls wander slowly through the garden,
Sucking the salvia tips,
And squeezing the snapdragons
To make them gape.
m so hot,
Lets pick a pansy
And see the little man in his bath,
And play were he.
A royal bath-tub,
Hung with purple stuffs and yellow.
The great purple-yellow wings
Rise up behind the little red and green man;
The purple-yellow wings fan him,
He dabbles his feet in cool green.
Off with the green sheath,
And there are two spindly legs.
Heigho! sighs Minna.
Heigho! sighs Stella.
There is not a flutter of wind,
And the sun is directly overhead.
Along the edge of the garden
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