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Page:Harper's New Monthly Magazine - v108.djvu/102

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I never saw the hills so far,
And blue, the way the pictures are

And flowers, flowers, growing thick,
But not a one for me to pick!

The land was running from the train,
All blurry through the window-pane;

And then it all looked flat and still,
When up there jumped a little hill!

I saw the windows, and the spires,
And sparrows sitting on the wires;

And fences running up and down;
And then we cut straight through a town.

I saw a valley like a cup;
And ponds that twinkled, and dried up;

I counted meadows that were burnt;
And there were trees, and then there weren't

We crossed the bridges with a roar,
Then (illegible text) the way we went before.

And tunnels made it dark and light
Like open-work of day and night;

Until I saw the chimneys rise,
And lights, and lights, and lights, like eyes.

And when they took me through the door,
I heard it all begin to roar.

I thought—as far as I could see—
That everybody wanted me!