There was such speed in her little body, <br />And such lightness in her footfall, <br />It is no wonder her brown study Astonishes us all <br /> <br />Her wars were bruited in our high window. <br />We looked among orchard trees and beyond <br />Where she took arms against her shadow, <br />Or harried unto the pond <br /> <br />The lazy geese, like a snow cloud <br />Dripping their snow on the green grass, <br />Tricking and stopping, sleepy and proud, <br />Who cried in goose, Alas, <br /> <br />For the tireless heart within the little <br />Lady with rod that made them rise <br />From their noon apple-dreams and scuttle <br />Goose-fashion under the skies! <br /> <br />But now go the bells, and we are ready, <br />In one house we are sternly stopped <br />To say we are vexed at her brown study, <br />Lying so primly propped.<br /><br />John Crowe Ransom<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bells-for-john-whiteside-s-daughter/
