The Singing of a Singer

Singer was stirring the cauldron when some incautious step among the lumber had fallen upon his ear. A little further off, another man lay slumbering, rolled in a brown cloak, with a butterfly hovering above his face. All this was an eclaring white with daisies, and at the extreme verge, a bow, a sheaf of arrows, and part of a dears carcass hung on a flowering hawthorn. And close by, in an attitude of listening as though he had caught some sound of their clamoring among the ruins, a tall, red-faced, battered-looking man stood poised: 'Oh, sir, we walk not here

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