Page:Harper's New Monthly Magazine - v108.djvu/102



I never saw the hills so far, And blue, the way the pictures are

And flowers, flowers, growing thick, But not a one for me to pick!

The land was running from the train, All blurry through the window-pane;

And then it all looked flat and still, When up there jumped a little hill!

I saw the windows, and the spires, And sparrows sitting on the wires;

And fences running up and down; And then we cut straight through a town.

I saw a valley like a cup; And ponds that twinkled, and dried up;

I counted meadows that were burnt; And there were trees, and then there weren't

We crossed the bridges with a roar, Then the way we went before.

And tunnels made it dark and light Like open-work of day and night;

Until I saw the chimneys rise, And lights, and lights, and lights, like eyes.

And when they took me through the door, I heard it all begin to roar.

I thought—as far as I could see— That everybody wanted me!