Classic Poem

Now from the veld's broad bosom,
Long seamed with scars,
Spring countless baby-flowers
Like twinkling stars;
Light, loving breezes tickle
Their tiny ears,
Their eyes are washed with dew-drops
Instead of tears;
They sway with silent laughter,
They peep and play,
Converse in wordless whispers
The livelong day;
And when nurse Night comes stealing
O'er mountains steep,
They close their tired eyelids
In blissful sleep.