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68 THE LISTENING-PATROL
The grasses hang damp o'er each wee glowworm lamp
That is placed on the ground for a fairy camp-fire,
And the night-breezes wheel where the mice squeak and squeal,
Making sounds like the enemy cutting our wire.
Here are thousands of toads in their ancient abodes,
Each toad on its stool and each stool in its place,
And a robin sits by with a vigilant eye
On a grim garden-spider's wife washing her face.
Now Bill never sees any marvels like these,
When I speak of the sights he looks up with amaze,