A. A. Milne




The Invaders

In careless patches through the wood
The clumps of yellow primrose stood
And sheets of white anemones,
Like driven snow against the trees,
Had covered up the violet,
But left the blue bell bluer yet.Along the narrow carpet ride,
With primroses on either side,
Between their shadows and the sun
The cows came slowly, one by one,
Breathing the early morning air
And leaving it still sweeter there
And, one by one, intent upon
Their purposes, they followed on
In ordered silence... and were gone.

But all the little wood was still
As if it waited so, until
Some blackbirds on an outpost yew
Watching the slow procession through
Lifted his yellow beak at last
To whistle that the line had passed...
Then all the wood began to sing
Its morning anthem to the spring.