Page:Field Poems of Childhood.djvu/108



HEN Brother Bill and I were boys, How often in the summer we Would seek the shade your branches made, O fair and gracious bell-flower tree! Amid the clover bloom we sat And looked upon the Holyoke range, While Fido lay a space away, Thinking our silence very strange.

The woodchuck in the pasture-lot, Beside his furtive hole elate, Heard, off beyond the pickerel pond, The redwing-blackbird chide her mate. The bumblebee went bustling round, Pursuing labors never done— With drone and sting, the greedy thing Begrudged the sweets we lay upon!