II

NEST EGGS

IRDS all the sunny day
Flutter and quarrel

Here in the arbour-like

Tent of the laurel.

Here in the fork

The brown nest is seated;

Four little blue eggs

The mother keeps heated.

While we stand watching her,
Staring like gabies,
Safe in each egg are the

Bird's little babies.

Soon the frail eggs they shall

Chip, and upspringing, Make all the April woods. Merry with singing.

Younger than we are,

O children, and frailer, Soon in blue air they'll be, Singer and sailor.

We, so much older,

Taller and stronger,

We shall look down on the

Birdies no longer.

They shall go flying

With musical speeches
High overhead in the
Tops of the beeches.

In spite of our wisdom
And sensible talking,
We on our feet must go
Plodding and walking.

A

III

THE FLOWERS

LL the names I know from nurse:

Gardener's garters, Shepherd's purse,

Bachelor's buttons, Lady's smock,

And the Lady Hollyhock.

Fairy places, fairy things,

Fairy woods where the wild bee wings,

Tiny trees for tiny dames

These must all be fairy names!

Tiny woods below whose boughs
Shady fairies weave a house;
Tiny tree-tops, rose or thyme,
Where the braver fairies climb!

Fair are grown-up people's trees,
But the fairest woods are these;
Where if I were not so tall,
I should live for good and all.

G

IV

SUMMER SUN

REAT is the sun, and wide he goes

Through empty heaven without repose; And in the blue and glowing days

More thick than rain he showers his rays.

Though closer still the blinds we pull
To keep the shady parlour cool,

Yet he will find a chink or two
To slip his golden fingers through.

The dusty attic spider-clad

He, through the keyhole, maketh glad;
And through the broken edge of tiles,
Into the laddered hay-loft smiles.

Meantime his golden face around
He bares to all the garden ground,
And sheds a warm and glittering look
Among the ivy's inmost nook.

Above the hills, along the blue,

Round the bright air with footing true,
To please the child, to paint the rose,
The gardener of the World, he goes.

WH

V

THE DUMB SOLDIER

HEN the grass was closely mown,
Walking on the lawn alone,

In the turf a hole I found
And hid a soldier underground.

When the grass is ripe like grain,
When the scythe is stoned again,
When the lawn is shaven clear,
Then my hole shall reappear.

I shall find him, never fear,
I shall find my grenadier;
But for all that 's gone and come,
I shall find my soldier dumb.

He has lived, a little thing,
In the grassy woods of spring;
Done, if he could tell me true,
Just as I should like to do.

He has seen the starry hours
And the springing of the flowers;
And the fairy things that pass
In the forests of the grass.