Next to nothing for use.
But a crop is a crop,
And who’s to say where
The harvest shall stop?
THE VALLEY’S SINGING DAY
The sound of the closing outside door was all.
You made no sound in the grass with your footfall,
As far as you went from the door, which was not far;
But you had awakened under the morning star
The first song-bird that awakened all the rest.