"Up!" they cry, "the day is come On the shining valleys: We have beat the morning drum; Playmates, join your allies!" NEST EGGS Birds all the sunny day Flutter and quarrel Here in the arbor-like Tent of the laurel. Here in the fork The brown nest is seated; Four little blue eggs The mother keeps heated. While we stand watching her, Staring like gabies, Safe in each egg are the Bird's little babies. Soon the frail eggs they shall Chip, and upspringing Make all the April woods Merry with singing. Younger than we are, O children, and frailer, Soon in blue air they'll be, Singer and sailor. We, so much older, Taller and stronger, We shall look down on the Birdies no longer. They shall go flying With musical speeches High overhead in the Tops of the beeches. In spite of our wisdom And sensible talking, We on our feet must go Plodding and walking. THE FLOWERS All the names I know from nurse: Gardener's garters, Shepherd's purse, Bachelor's buttons, Lady's smock, And the Lady Hollyhock. Fairy places, fairy things, Fairy woods where the wild bee wings, Tiny trees for tiny dames-- These must all be fairy names! Tiny woods below whose boughs Shady fairies weave a house; Tiny tree-tops, rose or thyme, Where the braver fairies climb! Fair are grown-up people's trees, But the fairest woods are these; Where if I were not so tall, I should live for good and all. AUTUMN FIRES In the other gardens And all up the vale, From the autumn bonfires See the smoke trail! Pleasant summer over And all the summer flowers, The red fire blazes, The gray smoke towers. Sing a song of seasons! Something bright in all! Flowers in the summer, Fires in the fall! ARMIES IN THE FIRE The lamps now glitter down the street; Faintly sound the falling feet; And the blue even slowly falls About the garden trees and walls. Now in the falling of the gloom The red fire paints the empty room; And warmly on the roof it looks, And flickers on the backs of books. Armies march by tower and spire Of cities blazing, in the fire;-- Till as I gaze with staring eyes, The armies fade, the lustre dies. Then once again the glow returns; Again the phantom city burns; And down the red-hot valley, lo! The phantom armies marching go! Blinking embers, tell me true Where are those armies marching to, And what the burning city is That crumbles in your furnaces! [Illustration] SUMMER SUN Great is the sun and wide he goes Through empty heaven without repose; And in the blue and glowing days More thick than rain he showers his rays.