Chapter_47

4 0 00

We met on Nature’s stage,

And May had set the scene,

With bishop-caps standing in delicate ranks,

And violets blossoming over the banks,

While the brook ran full between.

The waters rang your call,

With frolicsome waves a-twinkle⁠—

They knew you as boy, and they knew you as man,

And every wave, as it merrily ran,

Cried, “Enter Rip van Winkle!”