Where Dorothy will travel by and by.
The air is full of voices strange and sweet,
That crowd around her cradle as it swings.
She thinks they’re made of something white that shimmers on the grass,
For she doesn’t know a dew-drop from the bobolinks that pass,
And she doesn’t know a host of other things.
FIRST STAGE OF THE JOURNEY.
Sing ho! for the road that opens down