That sound in the grass that is brushing his knees;
And down in the crowfoot, and up in the trees
They’re ringing, and ringing, and ringing.
SAID THE WHITE-HAIRED PRIEST
Said the white-haired priest, “So the boy has come,
And the old, old dreams are o’er you,
And you give no thought to the gray humdrum
Of the world that lies before you!
’Tis a queer old world; ’tis a jumble wild
Where the fairest hopes may smother;