MEADOWS shadowy and sunny,

Pink with clover, sweet with honey,

Green with grass that shakes and swings,

Rustling 'till it almost sings,

From her open window show

For a pleasant mile or so.

She with earnest, pensive look,

Bending o'er an open book,

Her own happy self forgets

Following a story-child's

Pretty pleasures and regrets.

Straightening up her golden head,

Now she sees the fields instead,

Where the grass and clover stir,

And her glad self and her day

Radiantly come back to her.