They don't know much about the moss
And all the stones they pass:
They never lie and play among
The forests in the grass:
They walk about a long way off;
And, when we're at the sea,
Let father stoop as best he can
He can't find things like me.
But, when the snow is on the ground
And all the puddles freeze,
I wish that I were very tall,
High up above the trees.
Laurence Alma Tadema.
Keeping Store
We have bags and bags of whitest down
Out of the milk-weed pods;
We have purple asters in lovely heaps,
And stacks of golden-rods—
We have needles out of the sweet pine woods,
And spools of cobweb thread;
We have bachelors' buttons for dolly's dress,
And hollyhock caps for her head.
Mary F. Butts.