Some of these times you'll be swinging on this wire, and you'll see me coming, and you'll swing, skip, and flirt yourself around, and chip up right spunky: 'SEE ME ?' I'll be saying 'See you?
Oh, Lord! See her!' You'll look, and there she'll stand.

The sunshine won't look gold any more, or the roses pink, or the sky blue, because she'll be the pinkest, bluest, goldest thing of all.

You'll be yelling yourself hoarse with the jealousy of her.

The sawbird will stretch his neck out of joint, and she'll turn the heads of all the flowers.

Wherever she goes, I can go back afterward and see the things she's seen, walk the path she's walked, hear the grasses whispering over all she's said; and if there's a place too swampy for her bits of feet; Holy Mother! Maybe--maybe she'd be putting the beautiful arms of her around me neck and letting me carry her over!" Freckles shivered as with a chill.