Where do you come from, Mr. Jay?—'From the land of Play, from the land of Play.'And where can that be, Mr. Jay?—'Far away—far away.'Where do you come from, Mrs. Dove?—'From the land of Love, from the land of Love.'And how do you get there, Mrs. Dove?—'Look above—look above.'Where do you come from, Baby Miss?—'From the land of Bliss, from the land of Bliss.'And what is the way there, Baby Miss?—'Mother's kiss—mother's kiss.'
Where do you come from, Mr. Jay?—'From the land of Play, from the land of Play.'And where can that be, Mr. Jay?—'Far away—far away.'
Where do you come from, Mrs. Dove?—'From the land of Love, from the land of Love.'And how do you get there, Mrs. Dove?—'Look above—look above.'
Where do you come from, Baby Miss?—'From the land of Bliss, from the land of Bliss.'And what is the way there, Baby Miss?—'Mother's kiss—mother's kiss.'
Lark-bird, lark-bird soaring high,Are you never weary?When you reach the empty sky,Are the clouds not dreary?Don't you sometimes long to beA silent gold-fish in the sea?Gold-fish, gold-fish diving deep,Are you never sad, say?When you feel the cold waves creepAre you really glad, say?Don't you sometimes long to singAnd be a lark-bird on the wing?
Lark-bird, lark-bird soaring high,Are you never weary?When you reach the empty sky,Are the clouds not dreary?Don't you sometimes long to beA silent gold-fish in the sea?
Gold-fish, gold-fish diving deep,Are you never sad, say?When you feel the cold waves creepAre you really glad, say?Don't you sometimes long to singAnd be a lark-bird on the wing?
O little lambs! the month is cold,The sky is very gray;You shiver in the misty grassAnd bleat at all the winds that pass;Wait! when I'm big—some day—I'll build a roof to every fold.But now that I am small, I'll prayAt mother's knee for you;Perhaps the angels with their wingsWill come and warm you, little things;I'm sure that, if God knew,He'd let the lambs be born in May.
O little lambs! the month is cold,The sky is very gray;You shiver in the misty grassAnd bleat at all the winds that pass;Wait! when I'm big—some day—I'll build a roof to every fold.
But now that I am small, I'll prayAt mother's knee for you;Perhaps the angels with their wingsWill come and warm you, little things;I'm sure that, if God knew,He'd let the lambs be born in May.
When father takes his spade to dig,Then Robin comes along;He sits upon a little twigAnd sings a little song.Or, if the trees are rather far,He does not stay alone,But comes up close to where we areAnd bobs upon a stone.
When father takes his spade to dig,Then Robin comes along;He sits upon a little twigAnd sings a little song.
Or, if the trees are rather far,He does not stay alone,But comes up close to where we areAnd bobs upon a stone.
Little Master Mouse,You'd better leave this house;Crumbs are scarce upon the floor,And pussy sleeps behind the door.Mousie soft and grey,I wish you'd run away!Cook will catch you in a trap,And mice mayn't sit in mother's lap....
Little Master Mouse,You'd better leave this house;Crumbs are scarce upon the floor,And pussy sleeps behind the door.
Mousie soft and grey,I wish you'd run away!Cook will catch you in a trap,And mice mayn't sit in mother's lap....
Bat, Bat, that flies at nightWhen angels' breath has blown the light,When all the bees are hived in bedAnd swallow sleeps with hidden head:Songless bird! until this hour,Among the bells in the ivied towerHave you hung dreaming in your house?Are you a living wingèd mouse?—Bat, Bat, I often doubt;And when I see you flit about,I wonder if the dead birds roamIn circles round their nestlings' home....
Bat, Bat, that flies at nightWhen angels' breath has blown the light,When all the bees are hived in bedAnd swallow sleeps with hidden head:Songless bird! until this hour,Among the bells in the ivied towerHave you hung dreaming in your house?Are you a living wingèd mouse?—Bat, Bat, I often doubt;And when I see you flit about,I wonder if the dead birds roamIn circles round their nestlings' home....
O Swallow! if I had your wingsI would not stay below;I'd leave off catching flies and thingsAnd up to Heaven I'd go.I'd sail above the tallest treeThat waves its arms on high;Beyond the furthest cloud we see,And deeper than the sky.Perhaps, when live birds find the way,They're all sent down again,And that is why you dive to-dayFor insects in the rain.
O Swallow! if I had your wingsI would not stay below;I'd leave off catching flies and thingsAnd up to Heaven I'd go.
I'd sail above the tallest treeThat waves its arms on high;Beyond the furthest cloud we see,And deeper than the sky.
Perhaps, when live birds find the way,They're all sent down again,And that is why you dive to-dayFor insects in the rain.
Little ladies, white and green,With your spears about you,Will you tell us where you've beenSince we lived without you?You are sweet, and fresh, and clean,With your pearly faces;In the dark earth where you've beenThere are wondrous places:Yet you come again, serene,When the leaves are hidden;Bringing joy from where you've beenYou return unbidden—Little ladies, white and green,[31]Are you glad to cheer us?Hunger not for where you've been,Stay till Spring be near us!
Little ladies, white and green,With your spears about you,Will you tell us where you've beenSince we lived without you?
You are sweet, and fresh, and clean,With your pearly faces;In the dark earth where you've beenThere are wondrous places:
Yet you come again, serene,When the leaves are hidden;Bringing joy from where you've beenYou return unbidden—
Little ladies, white and green,[31]Are you glad to cheer us?Hunger not for where you've been,Stay till Spring be near us!
The flowers in the gardenAre very cold at night;When I look out of windowTheir beds are hard and white.The primrose and the scilla,The merry crocus too—O Jane! if we were flowers,What should we children do?We'd have to sleep all nakedBeneath the windy trees;Yet we should die, I know it,With even a chemise....
The flowers in the gardenAre very cold at night;When I look out of windowTheir beds are hard and white.
The primrose and the scilla,The merry crocus too—O Jane! if we were flowers,What should we children do?
We'd have to sleep all nakedBeneath the windy trees;Yet we should die, I know it,With even a chemise....
Red cheeks, red cheeks,Will you play with me?No boy, pale boy,I want to climb that tree.Red cheeks, red cheeks,You will tumble down—No boy, pale boy,I'll eat the apples brown.Red cheeks, red cheeks,Barns are best for rain—No boy, pale boy,I'll soon be down again.
Red cheeks, red cheeks,Will you play with me?No boy, pale boy,I want to climb that tree.
Red cheeks, red cheeks,You will tumble down—No boy, pale boy,I'll eat the apples brown.
Red cheeks, red cheeks,Barns are best for rain—No boy, pale boy,I'll soon be down again.
The trees are dusty in the Park,The grass is hard and brown;I'm glad I've got a Noah's ark,But I'm sorry I'm in town.A lot of little girls and boysAre not so rich as me;But O! I'd give them all my toysFor shells beside the sea....
The trees are dusty in the Park,The grass is hard and brown;I'm glad I've got a Noah's ark,But I'm sorry I'm in town.
A lot of little girls and boysAre not so rich as me;But O! I'd give them all my toysFor shells beside the sea....
The flowers are happy in the garden,For the bees are always there;The clouds are happy up in HeavenWith the angels in the air;But little boy and little mouseAre rather lonely in the house.
The flowers are happy in the garden,For the bees are always there;The clouds are happy up in HeavenWith the angels in the air;But little boy and little mouseAre rather lonely in the house.
In summer I am very gladWe children are so small,For we can see a thousand thingsThat men can't see at all.They don't know much about the mossAnd all the stones they pass:They never lie and play amongThe forests in the grass:They walk about a long way off;And, when we're at the sea,Let father stoop as best he canHe can't find things like me.But, when the snow is on the ground[37]And all the puddles freeze,I wish that I were very tall,High up above the trees....
In summer I am very gladWe children are so small,For we can see a thousand thingsThat men can't see at all.
They don't know much about the mossAnd all the stones they pass:They never lie and play amongThe forests in the grass:
They walk about a long way off;And, when we're at the sea,Let father stoop as best he canHe can't find things like me.
But, when the snow is on the ground[37]And all the puddles freeze,I wish that I were very tall,High up above the trees....
O, Father has donned his suit of brownAnd saddled the gelding gray,And he's ridden off to London townWhere the streets are fine and gay.And Mother has asked for a yard of lace,And Kate for a kerchief new,And Moll for a mirror to look at her face,And Bessie for beads, all blue;And Dick has been promised a kite so tall,And Jamie a leathern whip,And Baby shall play with a painted ball,And O! I have asked for a ship!—But our eldest sister stood apart,[39]And I think I heard her say:'O bring me back a little white heartLike the one I lost in May....'
O, Father has donned his suit of brownAnd saddled the gelding gray,And he's ridden off to London townWhere the streets are fine and gay.
And Mother has asked for a yard of lace,And Kate for a kerchief new,And Moll for a mirror to look at her face,And Bessie for beads, all blue;
And Dick has been promised a kite so tall,And Jamie a leathern whip,And Baby shall play with a painted ball,And O! I have asked for a ship!—
But our eldest sister stood apart,[39]And I think I heard her say:'O bring me back a little white heartLike the one I lost in May....'
Tiny heart beneath my hand,Say, what treasures will you hold?O, what blossom will unfold,Late to bloom, or soon to fade,From this bud, my baby-maid?Through what shallows will you wade,To what heights will you aspireIn your spirit's white desire?Will you mar or will you make?Will you give or will you take?Will you glow or will you breakWith the running of the sand—Tiny heart beneath my hand?...
Tiny heart beneath my hand,Say, what treasures will you hold?O, what blossom will unfold,Late to bloom, or soon to fade,From this bud, my baby-maid?Through what shallows will you wade,To what heights will you aspireIn your spirit's white desire?Will you mar or will you make?Will you give or will you take?Will you glow or will you breakWith the running of the sand—Tiny heart beneath my hand?...
He seemed asleep; his wings were wetWith dew; he lay among the flowers,Sweeter than Spring; his radiant curlsWith primrose and with violetWere crowned; and in a silent ring the girlsWatched, all an April morning's misty hours....Not one dared wake him—yet each breastYearned to be pillow to a thingSo fair. 'How will he smile?' thought they,'In waking?...' But between them pressedOne who with laughter bore the rogue away,Ere they had touched a feather of his wing.
He seemed asleep; his wings were wetWith dew; he lay among the flowers,Sweeter than Spring; his radiant curlsWith primrose and with violetWere crowned; and in a silent ring the girlsWatched, all an April morning's misty hours....
Not one dared wake him—yet each breastYearned to be pillow to a thingSo fair. 'How will he smile?' thought they,'In waking?...' But between them pressedOne who with laughter bore the rogue away,Ere they had touched a feather of his wing.
The first time she awoke,Her room was filled with light;Thought she: They've made a little fireTo warm me through the night....The next time she awoke,Sweet music stirred the air;Thought she: They've brought a magic lyreTo make my dreams more fair....The third time she awoke,The dawn-swept sky was gray;Thought she: I know my heart's desireWill come to me to-day....But empty was the street,[45]And ashen was the hearth;And the music-maker's nimble feetWere speeding o'er the earth.
The first time she awoke,Her room was filled with light;Thought she: They've made a little fireTo warm me through the night....
The next time she awoke,Sweet music stirred the air;Thought she: They've brought a magic lyreTo make my dreams more fair....
The third time she awoke,The dawn-swept sky was gray;Thought she: I know my heart's desireWill come to me to-day....
But empty was the street,[45]And ashen was the hearth;And the music-maker's nimble feetWere speeding o'er the earth.
O what have you done with your heart, daughter,And what have you done to your soul, my dear?Your heart was like a lily in June,And your soul as a crystal clear....O, I've thrown my heart in a well, mother,For the lily was sick, and needed rain:O, I've wept a cloud round my soul, mother,And we never shall see it again....
O what have you done with your heart, daughter,And what have you done to your soul, my dear?Your heart was like a lily in June,And your soul as a crystal clear....
O, I've thrown my heart in a well, mother,For the lily was sick, and needed rain:O, I've wept a cloud round my soul, mother,And we never shall see it again....
O will you have my heart, sweet maid,My heart so true, my heart so red?O will you have my heart, dear maid,And give me yours instead?O keep your heart, my good young man,For mine is wounded, deep and sore;O keep your heart, my kind young man,For mine shall love no more....
O will you have my heart, sweet maid,My heart so true, my heart so red?O will you have my heart, dear maid,And give me yours instead?
O keep your heart, my good young man,For mine is wounded, deep and sore;O keep your heart, my kind young man,For mine shall love no more....
Why have you locked the door, my maid,Why have you locked the door?O! I have let Grief out, she said,Never to enter more.Open and set it wide, my maid,Open and set it wide!Lest Joy should come one day, he said,And have to stand outside.
Why have you locked the door, my maid,Why have you locked the door?O! I have let Grief out, she said,Never to enter more.
Open and set it wide, my maid,Open and set it wide!Lest Joy should come one day, he said,And have to stand outside.
When she returned to the clouded land,She held sweet flowers in her hand;Her eyes were brightWith a beaming lightThat none could understand.Said they: Where, sister, hast thou been?What hidden glory hast thou seen?What magic sodHas thy white foot trod;What song-filled groves of green?Said she: I followed across the plainTo the gates of Love, to the gates of Pain:By one, by two,All the rest went through:But I came back again....
When she returned to the clouded land,She held sweet flowers in her hand;Her eyes were brightWith a beaming lightThat none could understand.
Said they: Where, sister, hast thou been?What hidden glory hast thou seen?What magic sodHas thy white foot trod;What song-filled groves of green?
Said she: I followed across the plainTo the gates of Love, to the gates of Pain:By one, by two,All the rest went through:But I came back again....
It was a banished chieftainReturned from oversea,And he saw his wife and childrenCome smiling o'er the lea.The moon had wrapped them in her beams,The wind was in their hair,Their feet that trod the wild bluebellWere light as wings on air.'O have you come to meet me, wife,As you once did swear to do?Full seven years have I been gone,And was your word so true?'He took her by the white cool hand[54]Where the golden rings shone gay;He took her youngest on his armAnd joyful led the way.'O fair are ye, my father's towers,And sweet my garden dear:God grant I never leave you moreTill Death o'ertake me here!'The lights were burning in the hall,As they sat them down to meat;The pipers piped a merry tuneThe while their lord did eat.He looked to right, he looked to left,And a happy man was he,As he stroked the head of the good gre-houndThat stood beside his knee.'O, I am weary, wife, my wife,[55]And the flames begin to pale;Lead on, for I would sleep awhileBefore I tell my tale.'She lifted the bright curtainThat led into her bower;There came the tramp of parting feetAnd silence held the tower.'O wife, how long have I been gone?The room smells of roses still—O wife, our babes are very young,Their limbs are cold and chill....'She folded up their raiment small,She smiled but said no word:She laid her children in one bed,Then came beside her lord.He could not sleep, he could not wake,[56]But lay in silence there;His dear wife held him by the hand,He felt her wind-blown hair—'O Mother! Mother!' whispered one,'Why must we sleep so soon?The sun is hidden down below,I still can see the moon.''Be quiet, be quiet, my little child,And watch the moonbeams creep;To-night you may not play about,For your father lies asleep.''O Mother! Mother!' whispered one,'It is not time for bed!Where have you put my little lid?I cannot hide my head.''Lie still, lie still, my tiny child,[57]Your father dear is found:We four shall never sleep againIn the dark and heavy mound.''O Mother! Mother!' whispered one,'How shall that ever be?We may not bide in the light of dayTo watch upon the lea.''No need, no need, my pretty child,For your father dear has come;We'll kiss him once, we'll kiss him twice,Then seek our own far home.'He heard them laugh with baby joy,He felt their kisses sweet,He heard the patter to the doorOf their unearthly feet....He could not stir when she bent low[58]To kiss him on the lips—He could not raise, to hold her fast,His anguished finger-tips;But his heart against her silent breastBeat loud in wild despair—He heard the swaying of her skirt,And his soul leapt forth in prayer.. . . . .A shepherd rose to call his sheepWhen the morning sky was gray;The owl flew back to the ruined tower—He led his flock that way.And lo! amid the scattered stonesThat the foe had strewn around,He saw his long-lost chieftain lieA corpse upon the ground.A smile was on his breathless lips,[59]And he lay on the flowered sward,Where his wife and babes had bled to deathBeneath a traitor's sword.
It was a banished chieftainReturned from oversea,And he saw his wife and childrenCome smiling o'er the lea.
The moon had wrapped them in her beams,The wind was in their hair,Their feet that trod the wild bluebellWere light as wings on air.
'O have you come to meet me, wife,As you once did swear to do?Full seven years have I been gone,And was your word so true?'
He took her by the white cool hand[54]Where the golden rings shone gay;He took her youngest on his armAnd joyful led the way.
'O fair are ye, my father's towers,And sweet my garden dear:God grant I never leave you moreTill Death o'ertake me here!'
The lights were burning in the hall,As they sat them down to meat;The pipers piped a merry tuneThe while their lord did eat.
He looked to right, he looked to left,And a happy man was he,As he stroked the head of the good gre-houndThat stood beside his knee.
'O, I am weary, wife, my wife,[55]And the flames begin to pale;Lead on, for I would sleep awhileBefore I tell my tale.'
She lifted the bright curtainThat led into her bower;There came the tramp of parting feetAnd silence held the tower.
'O wife, how long have I been gone?The room smells of roses still—O wife, our babes are very young,Their limbs are cold and chill....'
She folded up their raiment small,She smiled but said no word:She laid her children in one bed,Then came beside her lord.
He could not sleep, he could not wake,[56]But lay in silence there;His dear wife held him by the hand,He felt her wind-blown hair—
'O Mother! Mother!' whispered one,'Why must we sleep so soon?The sun is hidden down below,I still can see the moon.'
'Be quiet, be quiet, my little child,And watch the moonbeams creep;To-night you may not play about,For your father lies asleep.'
'O Mother! Mother!' whispered one,'It is not time for bed!Where have you put my little lid?I cannot hide my head.'
'Lie still, lie still, my tiny child,[57]Your father dear is found:We four shall never sleep againIn the dark and heavy mound.'
'O Mother! Mother!' whispered one,'How shall that ever be?We may not bide in the light of dayTo watch upon the lea.'
'No need, no need, my pretty child,For your father dear has come;We'll kiss him once, we'll kiss him twice,Then seek our own far home.'
He heard them laugh with baby joy,He felt their kisses sweet,He heard the patter to the doorOf their unearthly feet....
He could not stir when she bent low[58]To kiss him on the lips—He could not raise, to hold her fast,His anguished finger-tips;
But his heart against her silent breastBeat loud in wild despair—He heard the swaying of her skirt,And his soul leapt forth in prayer.
. . . . .
A shepherd rose to call his sheepWhen the morning sky was gray;The owl flew back to the ruined tower—He led his flock that way.
And lo! amid the scattered stonesThat the foe had strewn around,He saw his long-lost chieftain lieA corpse upon the ground.
A smile was on his breathless lips,[59]And he lay on the flowered sward,Where his wife and babes had bled to deathBeneath a traitor's sword.
In three worlds King art thou of my desire,O thou of many crowns! whose brow, birth-boundWith light, wears wisdom's diadem. Thou lyreOf the speechless soul, in silence triple-crowned!My love's proud empire smiles to know thee King;And in the realms of Womanhood I windA coronet of Faith, a blood-rose ringWith azure chain of sapphire intertwined;And where the mind's pure kingdom is, I seekBright crystals, pearls of Truth divine and rareTo honour thee; but on the aërial peakThat marks the Soul's eternal region—thereThou thronest Monarch of a world serene,Crowned with the emerald's unfathomed green.
In three worlds King art thou of my desire,O thou of many crowns! whose brow, birth-boundWith light, wears wisdom's diadem. Thou lyreOf the speechless soul, in silence triple-crowned!My love's proud empire smiles to know thee King;And in the realms of Womanhood I windA coronet of Faith, a blood-rose ringWith azure chain of sapphire intertwined;And where the mind's pure kingdom is, I seekBright crystals, pearls of Truth divine and rareTo honour thee; but on the aërial peakThat marks the Soul's eternal region—thereThou thronest Monarch of a world serene,Crowned with the emerald's unfathomed green.
My soul at times, outworn by length of woe,A strange appeasement seeks in doubting thee,And cries: My sacred mount's a thing as lowAs any hillock; shallow rolls the seaThat should have quenched my deep unbounded thirst;My star's a lamp that flickers earthly light;Mere surf-worn glass my emerald; why burst,O heart! for love of these?—Then, fullest nightEnvirons me, thou banished; stretching wideMy arms, I grope for refuge; all my painCries babe-like for a breast whereon to hide,And on to thine I fling myself again....Thus fools, impatient of God's silence, cry:There is no God!—and seek what they deny.
My soul at times, outworn by length of woe,A strange appeasement seeks in doubting thee,And cries: My sacred mount's a thing as lowAs any hillock; shallow rolls the seaThat should have quenched my deep unbounded thirst;My star's a lamp that flickers earthly light;Mere surf-worn glass my emerald; why burst,O heart! for love of these?—Then, fullest nightEnvirons me, thou banished; stretching wideMy arms, I grope for refuge; all my painCries babe-like for a breast whereon to hide,And on to thine I fling myself again....Thus fools, impatient of God's silence, cry:There is no God!—and seek what they deny.