The meadow is a battle-field
Where Summer’s army comes:
Each soldier with a clover shield,
The honey-bees with drums.
Boom, rat-tá!—they march and pass
The captain tree who stands
Saluting with a sword of grass
And giving the commands.
‘T is only when the breezes blow
Across the woody hills,
They shoulder arms and, to and fro,
March in their full-dress drills.
Boom, rat-tá!—they wheel in line
And wave their gleaming spears.
“March!” cries the captain, giving sign,
And every soldier cheers.
But when the day is growing dim
They gather in their camps,
And sing a good thanksgiving hymn
Around their fire-fly lamps.
Call “good-night!” to the sky.—
I hope they all have overcoats
To keep them warm and dry!