. A little sigh, a little shiver— And that means liver. A little liver when June is nigh, And then we die. Daffodils in English fields And breezes in the clover; But here's a sun would strike you dead Seven times over! Cook's tourist comes and goes— He is but a rover, While I watch the burning sun Turn over and over. And I dream of daffodils And the breezy clover; Turning on my little bed, Over and over. In England elm-leaves fall When winter winds blow keen, But the Indian pipâl Is always gay and green. Ne'er in rain or sunshine Leaf or blossom dies— But I'd give the world for an English elm Under English skies! Here's a mongoose Dead in the sluice Of the bath-room drain. How was he slain? He must have lain Days, it is plain . . . Stopper your nose, Throw him out to the crows. Tara Chand is the gardener's mate, And labours late and early; But Dunni is my pony's sais, And steals the golden barley. Golden barley, roses red, Rejoice in your morning beauty! For I have broken Tara's head, And given Dunni chuti.