I am rich Although I lie On the shady side of a summer ditch. I see the faery children pass by To the wedding-feast of the Kings son, In a ballroom under a big buck thistle. The Queen has asked me to join the fun And play gay reels on my tin-whistle. And wont I play the queerest tunes Till they shout like mad For the whistling lad. And rattle out time with old tea-spoons. What if the ballroom disappears And the little dancers fade Into the mists of long shed tears! I lie in the ditches' shade Where the summer sun At half-past-one Scorches not one green blade.