CHARADE.
Reading edition
A nimble spring, a noiseless tread, A playful poise of the restless head, A sleepy song of sweet content, While slyly on schemes of mischief bent— 'Tis thus the days of my first are spent. To do my second is surely human; They say the fault was first with a woman. 'Tis a little word, but its power was great, To change the course of a happy fate. My third is seen in many a land, Where ancient temples ruined stand, Like a grim sentry, placed before, To guard an open palace door. My whole, with slow and measured grace, Among the lowly takes its place: Nor dreams its future yet shall be A wondrous thing of mystery.
