XXXIX. 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.
                These green and sweetly-smelling crops
                  They led in wagons home:
                And they piled them here in mountain-tops
                  For mountaineers to roam.
                Here is Mount Clear, Mount Rusty Nail,
                  Mount Eagle and Mount High;-
                The mice that in these mountains dwell,
                  No happier are than I!
                O what a joy to clamber there,
                  O what a place for play,
                With the sweet, the dim, the dusty air,
                The happy hills of hay.