It was the daughter of a fairy witch,—
A sweet, though wayward child.
“Go, naughty Elfinella, bring a switch
From yonder fruit tree wild!”
( It was the charming time of all the year,—
The darling month of May
And every bush and thicket, far and near,
With leaves and flowers was gay. )
Poor Elfinella heard, and off she went,
With lagging steps and slow,
To where, amidst the wild, a fruit tree bent,
Her branches spreading low.
With blossomy boughs the motherly old tree
The tearful child begirt:
“My twigs are clothed with flowers; and you will see
The switch will never hurt!”
She broke a branch, with blossoms thickly set,
And lightly homeward tripped,—
The switch was used — but little did she fret;
For she with flowers was whipped!