There's the collar and churn, worn by Dash day by day,
And the chain that prevented his running away;
And the yoke for the oxen—Haw, Buck! and Gee, Bride!
And the Troth for the Squealers the hen-house beside.
There's the Dovecote, unroofed, and the sweep by the well,
And the ooze in the barnyard and natural-gas smell:
There's the hayrake and silo; the tin weathervane,
And the two, moss-grown graves where the Old Folks were lain.
And the milk-stools are there, and the cowpath and stile;
And a few hardy scarecrows remain yet awhile;