Tony.

Whisk!—away in the sun His little flying feet Scamper as softly fleet As ever the rabbits run. He is gone like a flash, and then In a breath is back again. The silky flosses shine Down to his very toes: Tipped with white is his nose: And his ears are fleeces fine, Blowing a shadow-grace Breeze-like about his face. Quick to a whistled call Hearkens his ready ear, Scarcely waiting to hear; Silk locks, white feet, all Rush, like a furry elf Tumbling over himself. How does he sleep? He winks Twice with his mischief eyes; Dozes a bit; then lies Down with a sigh; then thinks Over some roguish play, And is up and away!