A week ago I had a fire br To warm my feet, my hands and face; br Cold winds, that never make a friend, br Crept in and out of every place. br br Today the fields are rich in grass, br And buttercups in thousands grow; br I'll show the world where I have been-- br With gold-dust seen on either shoe. br br Till to my garden back I come, br Where bumble-bees for hours and hours br Sit on their soft, fat, velvet bums, br To wriggle out of hollow flowers.