field grown old. And his song is the song of all the voices of the field. We have seeing of him and his brothers all days of the year.
After we had going past the next turn in the road I did look a look back. A little bush with some tallness was yet a-nodding. It was asking a question. I gave William Shakespeare two pats on the shoulder. That means turn about. He did. When we were come to the bush a-nodding, I leaned over to the tallness of it. I put my ear close so I could have hearing. It had wants to know what day this was. I did tell it this day was the going-away day of John of Gaunt and the borning day of Felix Mendelssohn in 1809. It had hearings, but it did not stop nodding. But it was asking no questions. It was nodding nods of the day this is. I felt the satisfaction feels it did feel when it did know the answer to its question. I do too have likes to ask questions about things so to have knows.
We went on in a slow way. I did look looks about. And there were birds—robins and two bluebirds and more larks of the meadow and other crows like unto Lars Porsena of Clusium. When we was come to another bend in the road, William Shakespeare made a stop. I made a slide off. I went to pick him some grass. A wagon went by. Two horses were in front of it, and on its high seat was a man with his hat on sideways and a woman with a big fascinator most hiding her face. There was seven children in the wagon—two with sleeps upon
