So Oliver went, but the cowslips were tall at my feet, And all the white orchard with fast-falling blossom was litter'd; And under and over the branches those little birds twitter'd, While hanging head downwards they scolded because I was seven. A pity. A very great pity. One should be eleven. But soon I was happy, the smell of the world was so sweet, And I saw a round hole in an apple-tree rosy and old. Then I knew! for I peeped, and I felt it was right they should scold! Eggs small and eggs many. For gladness I broke into laughter; And then some one else--oh, how softly!--came after, came after With laughter--with laughter came after. And no one was near us to utter that sweet mocking call, That soon very tired sank low with a mystical fall. But this was the country--perhaps it was close under heaven; Oh, nothing so likely; the voice might have come from it even. I knew about heaven. But this was the country, of this Light, blossom, and piping, and flashing of wings not at all. Not at all. No. But one little bird was an easy forgiver: She peeped, she drew near as I moved from her domicile small, Then flashed down her hole like a dart--like a dart from the quiver. And I waded atween the long grasses and felt it was bliss. --So this was the country; clear dazzle of azure and shiver And whisper of leaves, and a humming all over the tall White branches, a humming of bees. And I came to the wall-- A little low wall--and looked over, and there was the river, The lane that led on to the village, and then the sweet river Clear shining and slow, she had far far to go from her snow; But each rush gleamed a sword in the sunlight to guard her long flow, And she murmur'd, methought, with a speech very soft--very low. 'The ways will be long, but the days will be long,' quoth the river, 'To me a long liver, long, long!' quoth the river--the river.