O say, dear sister, are you coming <br />Forth to the fields with me? <br />The very air is gaily ringing <br />With hum of bird and bee, <br />And crowds of swallows now are chirping <br />Up in our ancient thorn, <br />And earth and air are both rejoicing, <br />On this gay summer morn. <br /> <br />Shall we hie unto the streamlet’s side <br />To seek our little boat, <br />And, plying our oars with right good will, <br />Over its bright waves float? <br />Or shall we loll on the grassy bank <br />For hours dreamy, still, <br />To draw from its depths some silv’ry prize, <br />Reward of angler’s skill? <br /> <br />I do not talk of the tempting game <br />The forest covers hide, <br />So dear to the sportsman—plovers shy, <br />Pheasants with eye of pride, <br />For I know your timid nature shrinks <br />From flash of fire-arm bright, <br />And the birds themselves hear not the din <br />With more intense affright. <br /> <br />But we may tread the cool wood’s paths, <br />And wander there for hours, <br />Discovering hidden fairy dells, <br />Be-gemmed with lovely flowers; <br />And while you weave them in varied wreaths; <br />In oaks of giant size <br />I’ll seek for nests of cunning shape— <br />I, too, must win some prize. <br /> <br />Then, sister, listen! squander not <br />These hours of precious time <br />With stupid book or useless work— <br />It is indeed a crime; <br />But haste with me to the wood-lands green, <br />Where forest warblers sing <br />And bees are humming—like them, too, <br />We must be on the wing.<br /><br />Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-boy-s-appeal/
