THE HAYLOFT by Robert Louis Stevenson
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| THE HAYLOFT | |
| Through all the pleasant meadow-side The grass grew shoulder-high, Till the shining scythes went far and wide And cut it down to dry. These green and sweetly smelling crops They led in wagons home; And they piled them here in mountain-tops For mountaineers to roam. Here is Mount Clear, Mount Rusty-Nail, Mount Eagle and Mount High;-- The mice that in these mountains dwell, No happier are than I! O what a joy to clamber there, O what a place for play, With the sweet, the dim, the dusty air, The happy hills of hay! |
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| Robert Louis Stevenson, | |
