THE BEAN-STALK
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o, Giant! This is I!I have built me a bean-stalk into your sky!La,--but it's lovely, up so high! This is how I came,--I putHere my knee, there my foot,Up and up, from shoot to shoot--And the blessed bean-stalk thinningLike the mischief all the time,Till it took me rocking, spinning,In a dizzy, sunny circle,Making angles with the root,Far and out above the cackleOf the city I was born in,Till the little dirty cityIn the light so sheer and sunnyShone as dazzling bright and prettyAs the money that you findIn a dream of finding money--What a wind! What a morning!-- Till the tiny, shiny city,When I shot a glance below,Shaken with a giddy laughter,Sick and blissfully afraid,Was a dew-drop on a blade,And a pair of moments afterWas the whirling guess I made,--And the wind was like a whip Cracking past my icy ears,And my hair stood out behind,And my eyes were full of tears,Wide-open and cold,More tears than they could hold,The wind was blowing so,And my teeth were in a row,Dry and grinning,And I felt my foot slip,And I scratched the wind and whined,And I clutched the stalk and jabbered,With my eyes shut blind,--What a wind! What a wind! Your broad sky, Giant,Is the shelf of a cupboard;I make bean-stalks, I'mA builder, like yourself,But bean-stalks is my trade,I couldn't make a shelf,Don't know how they're made,Now, a bean-stalk is more pliant--La, what a climb!
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