noons
` O , goosey-gander ! If I might wander , It should be toward the sun ; The blessed South Should fill my mouth With ripeness just begun . For bleak hills , bare , With stunted , spare , And scrubby , piney trees , Her gardens rare , And vineyards fair , And her rose-scented breeze . For fearful blast , Skies overcast , And sudden blare and scare Long , stormless moons , And placid noons , And -- all sorts of comfortablenesses , -- there ! ' '' `` That makes me think of father 's horse running away with him once , '' said Helena , `` when he had to head him right up against a brick wall , and knock everything all to smash before he could stop ! '' `` Anybody else ? '' `` Miss Kincaid , I think , '' said Mr. Geoffrey .