Through all the pleasant meadow-side <br />The grass grew shoulder-high, <br />Till the shining scythes went far and wide <br />And cut it down to dry. <br /> <br />Those green and sweetly smelling crops <br />They led the waggons home; <br />And they piled them here in mountain tops <br />For mountaineers to roam. <br /> <br />Here is Mount Clear, Mount Rusty-Nail, <br />Mount Eagle and Mount High;-- <br />The mice that in these mountains dwell, <br />No happier are than I! <br /> <br />Oh, what a joy to clamber there, <br />Oh, what a place for play, <br />With the sweet, the dim, the dusty air, <br />The happy hills of hay!<br /><br />Robert Louis Stevenson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-hayloft/
