AT THE STILE. The leaves are growing ruddy as the sun begins to dip, The birds are twitt'ring forth their
... stay so long? There are butterflies and dragonflies all ready to be chased, There are daisy-chains to weave, there are blackberries to taste; Why not play about the meadows for a while? Why linger, linger, linger at the stile? Impatient little Lucy is ...