We have our cities’ parks and grass, you see!”

Well—so have we!

But ’tis the country that they sing of most. “Alas,”

They sing, “for our wide acres of soft grass!—

To please us living and to hide us dead—”

You’d think Walt Whitman’s first was all they read!

You’d think they all went out upon the quiet

Nebuchadnezzar to outdo in diet!

You’d think they found no other green thing fair,

Even its seed an honor in their hair!