Rachel Field Poems

In the morning, very early,
That's the time I love to go
Barefoot where the fern grows curly
And grass is cool between each toe,
On a summer morning-O!
On a summer morning!
...

Something told the wild geese
It was time to go.
Though the fields lay golden
Something whispered,-'Snow.'
...

If once you have slept on an island
You'll never be quite the same;
You may look as you looked the day before
And go by the same old name,
...

This is the key to the playhouse
In the woods by the pebbly shore,
It's winter now, I wonder if
There's snow about the door?
...