A RIDE TO TOWN
Oh, the road that leads to town
On a summer morning!
Yellow sunshine on the fields,
Mist the hills adorning;
Leaves soft blowing in the breeze
Fresh from summer showers;
Roadside, as we drive along,
Crowded thick with flowers.
Aunt Matilda flaps the reins;
“Raisins, flour, and butter;
We must not forget the yeast”;
(How the corn leaves flutter;)
“We must get a skein of yarn
And some gingham patches”;
(How the river, where it turns,
Sky’s own color matches!)
“Here we are at Peter’s Mill;
Yes, they’re busy grinding”;
Through Green Meadow, just beyond,
Bubble Brook is winding;
Satin crows perch on the trees;
Auntie counts her money;
While she’s gone I sing my joy;—
Bees are making honey!
THE SWANS
On the tiny lake with the fairy bridge, where the rainbow fountains play,
The grass slopes down to the water’s edge, in an easy, velvet way;
And there the white bird-boats float by, in a long, parading line,
And I am a princess on the shore, to play they are really mine.
Some birds belong to the sky and hills, and some must stay in the tree,
The wee brown partridge runs in the grass,—as wild as a bird can be;
They all belong to the free outdoors, the eagles, the owls, and the larks,
But the tall white swans, with their stately necks, were made for the city parks.