large/7359/spc134_1408_librivox_64kb_mp3/spc134_hayloft_w_64kb_2
large/7359/spc134_1408_librivox_64kb_mp3/spc134_hayloft_w_64kb
English
7359
[Pg 48] 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. STOT ORG BY WILLIE THROUGH ALL THE PLEASANT MEADOW SIDES THE GRASS GREW SHOULDER HIGH TILL THE SHINING SIDES WENT FAR AND WIDE AND CUT IT DOWN TO DRY
a child who clambers and scrambles, All by himself and gathering brambles; Here is a tramp who stands and gazes; And there is the green for stringing the daisies Here is a cart run away in the road Lumping along with man and load; And here is a mill, and there is a river: Each a glimpse and gone for ever! [Pg 47] WINTER-TIME Late lies the wintry sun a-bed, A frosty, fiery sleepy-head; Blinks but an hour or two; and then, A blood-red orange, sets again. Before the stars have left the skies, At morning in the dark I rise; And shivering in my nakedness, By the cold candle, bathe and dress. Close by the jolly fire I sit To warm my frozen bones a bit; Or with a reindeer-sled, explore The colder countries round the door. When to go out, my nurse doth wrap Me in my comforter and cap; The cold wind burns my face, and blows Its frosty pepper up my nose. Black are my steps on silver sod; Thick blows my frosty breath abroad; And tree and house, and hill and lake, Are frosted like a wedding-cake.   THE HAY LOFT BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON RED FOR LIVER ROCK 
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file
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