And you hear the rain-crow calling, and the whistle of the quail;
And the catbird, and the blue jay, scold with vigor most intense,
As they build among the branches by the stake-and-rider fence.
There grew the tasseled milkweed with its bursting silken pods,
And the stately, waving branches of the yellow goldenrod;
The mullein stalk and asters, with teasels growing dense,
God's garden, in the angle of the stake-and-rider fence.
It was homely, but I loved it, and I wouldn't trade, would you?
For all the hothouse beauties that a florist ever knew.
Yes, I'd give up earthly honors, and count it recompense,