Beyond the fence she hesitates, 
     And drops a paw, and tries the dust. 
It is a clearing—but she waits
      No longer minute than she must.

Though a dozen foes may dart
      From out the grass, she crouches by;
Then runs to where the silos start
      To heave their shadows far and high. 

Here she folds herself and sleeps;
      But in a moment she has put
The dream aside; and now she creeps
      Across the open, foot by foot,

Till at the threshold of a shed
      She smells the water and the corn
Where a sow is on her bed
      And little pigs are being born.

Silently she leaps, and walks
      All night upon a narrow rafter;
Whence at intervals she talks
      Wise to them she watches after.