To have all this snow tucked away, for you see
Nobody will guess how it came there,—but me!”
Green leaves on the upland, green leaves on the plain,
And bluebirds and robins and south winds again.
The brook in the meadow is wide awake now,
And fragrant bloom drops from the old willows bough,
When Ethel remembers her treasure, her prize,
That under the edge of the great boulder lies;
And stealthily creeping close down to the brink,
Where the slender reeds quiver—now what do you think