Bells For John Whitesides Daughter

 There was such speed in her little body, 
And such lightness in her footfall, 
It is no wonder her brown study Astonishes us all 

Her wars were bruited in our high window.
 
We looked among orchard trees and beyond 
Where she took arms against her shadow, 
Or harried unto the pond 

The lazy geese, like a snow cloud 
Dripping their snow on the green grass, 
Tricking and stopping, sleepy and proud, 
Who cried in goose, Alas, 

For the tireless heart within the little 
Lady with rod that made them rise 
From their noon apple-dreams and scuttle 
Goose-fashion under the skies! 

But now go the bells, and we are ready, 
In one house we are sternly stopped 
To say we are vexed at her brown study, 
Lying so primly propped.

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