THE SONG OF THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL FAIRY

By the furrowed fields I lie,
Calling to the passers-by:
If the weather you would tell,
Look at Scarlet Pimpernel. "

When the day is warm and fine,
I unfold these flowers of mine;
Ah, but you must look for rain
When I shut them up again !

Weather-glasses on the walls Hang in wealthy people's halls : Though I lie where cart-wheels pass, I'm the Poor Man's Weather-Glass !