A LIKENESS
Some kinds of flowers are wild and free
And grow where’er they choose
Across the meadow, down the hill
Or underneath the trees.
But other kinds are caught, poor things,
As any garden shows,
And made to stand in planted beds
In straight and stupid rows;
And likewise, little children,
When morning brightest shines,
Are caught and planted down at school
In firm and even lines.
HAY COCKS
A band of giants, strong and tall,
With heavy feet and knotted hands
Came marching, with enormous stride
Across the meadow lands;
They tore the branches from the trees
They dashed the water from the brook
And often, in an angry rage
Their locks of heavy hair they shook.
“Hold!” Mother Earth in anger cried,
“Such mischief, sirs, I shall forbid!”
And reaching up she drew them down
And in her darkness they were hid
Deep, dark, and close; and now the eyes
Of country dwellers, as they pass,
See only tops of tousled heads
Above the meadow grass.