A Child's Garden of Verses by Robert Louis Stevenson

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