There are plenty of beautiful ways to go—

 But only one way that two only know.

 Where are we going, children dear?

 To a beautiful country that’s very near,

 Hand in hand is the way to go

 Up into fairyland you know.

 E. Nesbit.

HOP PICKING.

Ah me, how pleasant to go down

Ah

 From the forlorn and faded town

 To Kentish wood and fold and lane,

 And breathe God’s blessed air again;

 Where glorious yellow corn-fields blaze

 And nuts hang over woodland ways.

 To pick the sweet keen-scented hops,

 (See from each pole a dream-wreath drops)

 To toil all day in pure clear air,

 Laughter and sunshine everywhere—

 With reddening woods and sweet wet soil

 Prev. P 10/16 next