Robert Louis Stevenson

A Child's Garden of Verses. 39. 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.

Those green and sweetly smelling crops
    They led the waggons 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!

Oh, what a joy to clamber there,
    Oh, what a place for play, 
With the sweet, the dim, the dusty air,
    The happy hills of hay!