Page:Collected poems vol 2 de la mare.djvu/177


 * And the horned snail leaves home:

I've sat there, whispering and listening there,
 * In the little green orchard.

Only it's strange to be feeling there,
 * In the little green orchard;
 * Whether you paint or draw,
 * Dig, hammer, chop, or saw;
 * When you are most alone.
 * All but the silence gone

Some one is waiting and watching there,
 * In the little green orchard.