At Noey's House by James Whitcomb Riley — Read

At Noey's house -- when they arrived with him -- / How snug seemed everything, and neat and trim: / The little picket-fence, and little gate -- / It's little pulley, and its little weight, -- / All glib as clock-work, as it clicked behind / Them, on the little red brick pathway, lined / With little paint-keg-vases and teapots / Of wee moss-blossoms and forgetmenots: / And in the windows, either side the door, / Were ranged as many little boxes more / Of like old-fashioned larkspurs, pinks and moss / And fern and phlox; while up and down across / Them rioted the morning-glory-vines / On taut-set cotton-strings, whose snowy lines / Whipt in and out and under the bright green / Like basting-threads; and, here and there between, / A showy, shiny hollyhock would flare / Its pink among the white and purple there.

And still behind the vines, the children saw / A strange, bleached, wistful face that seemed to draw / A vague, indefinite sympathy. A face / It was of some newcomer to the place. -- / In explanation, Noey, briefly, said / That it was "Jason," as he turned and led / The little fellows 'round the house to show / Them his menagerie of pets. And so / For quite a time the face of the strange guest / Was partially forgotten, as they pressed / About the squirrel-cage and rousted both / The lazy inmates out, though wholly loath / To whirl the wheel for them. -- And then with awe / They walked 'round Noey's big pet owl, and saw / Him film his great, clear, liquid eyes and stare / And turn and turn and turn his head 'round there / The same way they kept circling -- as though he / Could turn it one way thus eternally.