She asks a humming-bird:
"Why do you stand on the air
And no sun shining?"
She hears a chickadee:
"Far off I hear him talking
The way smooth bright pebbles
Drop into water."
Now let us follow her a step farther, to where the imagination takes a firmer hold:
"The world turns softly
Not to spill its lakes and rivers.
The water is held in its arms
And the sky is held in the water."
School lessons, and a reflection in a pond—that is the stuff of which all poetry is made. It is the fusion which shows the quality of the poet. Turn to the text and read "Geography." Really, this is an extraordinary child!
It is pleasant to watch her with the artist's eagerness intrigued by the sounds of words, for instance:
"—silvery lonesome lapping of the long wave."
Again, enchanted by a little bell of rhyme, we have this amusing catalogue: