A dozen more—a vineyard crosses!
The pine trees young aside are brushed,
As though they were but nodding grasses;
She laughs aloud—the birds are hushed,
And hide away until she passes!
She heeds them not,—the giant mite,
So bent upon her own wild pleasure;
And now she sees a wondrous sight,
A curious thing for her to treasure!
“Oh, what a lovely toy I’ve found!”