VIII.
Reading edition
A murmur in the trees to note, Not loud enough for wind; A star not far enough to seek, Nor near enough to find;
A long, long yellow on the lawn, A hubbub as of feet; Not audible, as ours to us, But dapperer, more sweet;
A hurrying home of little men To houses unperceived, — All this, and more, if I should tell, Would never be believed.
Of robins in the trundle bed How many I espy Whose nightgowns could not hide the wings, Although I heard them try!
But then I promised ne'er to tell; How could I break my word? So go your way and I'll go mine, — No fear you'll miss the road.