And when the rippling brooks are deep, Filled to the overflowing, When o'er the hills and meadows fair The south wind's softly blowing,
With sun a-shining, birds a-singing Till their joyous throats are thrilled, And with all the world in laughter,-- 'Tis then the swallows build.
"What shall we plant for our Summer, my boy,-- Seeds of enchantment and seedlings of joy? Brave little cuttings of laughter and light? Then shall our summer be flowery and bright."
"Nay!--You are wrong in your planting," said he, "Have we not grass and the weeds and a tree? Why should we water and weary away For sake of a flower that lives but a day!"
So she made gardens which he would not dig, Tended her apricot, apple and fig. Then, when one morning he chanced to appear, Sadly he noticed--"No trespassing here."
If I could dig holes in the ground like a rabbit, D'you know what I'd do? Well, I'd dig a deep hole-- Right under that tree-- Then I'd go down--and down, And find out where the tree starts, And I'd find out how it eats and drinks, And what makes it grow.... Yes I would! P'r'aps I could dig a hole right up into that tree, And--see--it--grow!... But p'r'aps I couldn't.
Anyway I could dig 'way down, And see all the flower seeds, And all the grass seeds, And under that big rock there might be some rock seeds. And I'd see everything start growing.
Do all the seeds make noises When they start to grow? What do You s'pose about that? I s'pose they sing, 'Cause they're so glad to come up here and see the sunshine....
Well, anyway I'd find out all about it, 'way down there, And then I'd want to come up home, And I'd have so much to tell to You!
If I could dig holes like a rabbit, That's just what I would do.
Mother says there's a little god Lives in my garden. I asked her--"In the tree?"-- I asked her--"In the fountain?" And she said, yes, that she, Plain as plain could be, Everywhere could see The little god. "What's he look like, mother?" "Oh," she said, "like the flowers, Like the summer showers, Like the morning dew,-- Like you." She says he's everywhere In my garden--I can't see him there.
At evening when I go to bed I see the stars shine overhead; They are the little daisies white That dot the meadow of the Night.