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After I waved good-bye to the dear baby, I thought I'd go around by the
lane
where I first saw them and heard him say to her that poetry. It is such a lovely lane. I call it our lane. Of course, it doesn't belong to
Brave Horatius
and
Lars Porsena of Clusium
and
Thomas Chatterton Jupiter Zeus
and I and all the rest of us. It belongs to a big man that lives in a big house, but it is our lane more than it is his lane, because he doesn't know the grass and flowers that grow there, and the birds that nest there, and the lizards that run along the fence, and the caterpillars and beetles that go walking along the roads made by the
wagon wheels
. And he doesn't stop to talk to the trees that grow all along the lane. |
