Bells for John Whiteside’s 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.