Tread lightly here, for here, ’tis said,
When piping winds are hush’d around,
A small note wakes from underground,
Where now his tiny bones are laid.
No more in lone and leafless groves,
With ruffled wing and faded breast,
His friendless, homeless spirit roves;
—Gone to the world where birds are blest!
Where never cat glides o’er the green,
Or school-boy’s giant form is seen;
But Love, and Joy, and smiling Spring
Inspire their little souls to sing!
Inscribed on an urn in the flower-garden at Hafod.