Chapter 5

A little golden head close to my knee,Sweet eyes of tender, gentianella blueFixed upon mine, a little coaxing voice,—Only we two.“Tell it again!” Insatiate demand!And like a toiling spider where I sat,I wove and spun the many-colored websOf this and that.Of Dotty Pringle sweeping out her hall;Of Greedy Bear; of Santa Claus the good;And how the little children met the MonthsWithin the wood.“Tell it again!” and though the sand-man came,Dropping his drowsy grains in each blue eye,“Tell it again! oh, just once more!” was stillThe sleepy cry.My spring-time violet! early snatched awayTo fairer gardens all unknown to me,—Gardens of whose invisible, guarded gatesI have no key,—I weave my fancies now for other ears,—Thy sister-blossom’s, who beside me sits,Rosy, imperative, and quick to markMy lagging wits.But still the stories bear thy name, are thine,Part of the sunshine of thy brief, sweet day,Though inherlittle warm and living handsThis book I lay.

A little golden head close to my knee,Sweet eyes of tender, gentianella blueFixed upon mine, a little coaxing voice,—Only we two.“Tell it again!” Insatiate demand!And like a toiling spider where I sat,I wove and spun the many-colored websOf this and that.Of Dotty Pringle sweeping out her hall;Of Greedy Bear; of Santa Claus the good;And how the little children met the MonthsWithin the wood.“Tell it again!” and though the sand-man came,Dropping his drowsy grains in each blue eye,“Tell it again! oh, just once more!” was stillThe sleepy cry.My spring-time violet! early snatched awayTo fairer gardens all unknown to me,—Gardens of whose invisible, guarded gatesI have no key,—I weave my fancies now for other ears,—Thy sister-blossom’s, who beside me sits,Rosy, imperative, and quick to markMy lagging wits.But still the stories bear thy name, are thine,Part of the sunshine of thy brief, sweet day,Though inherlittle warm and living handsThis book I lay.

A little golden head close to my knee,Sweet eyes of tender, gentianella blueFixed upon mine, a little coaxing voice,—Only we two.

A little golden head close to my knee,

Sweet eyes of tender, gentianella blue

Fixed upon mine, a little coaxing voice,—

Only we two.

“Tell it again!” Insatiate demand!And like a toiling spider where I sat,I wove and spun the many-colored websOf this and that.

“Tell it again!” Insatiate demand!

And like a toiling spider where I sat,

I wove and spun the many-colored webs

Of this and that.

Of Dotty Pringle sweeping out her hall;Of Greedy Bear; of Santa Claus the good;And how the little children met the MonthsWithin the wood.

Of Dotty Pringle sweeping out her hall;

Of Greedy Bear; of Santa Claus the good;

And how the little children met the Months

Within the wood.

“Tell it again!” and though the sand-man came,Dropping his drowsy grains in each blue eye,“Tell it again! oh, just once more!” was stillThe sleepy cry.

“Tell it again!” and though the sand-man came,

Dropping his drowsy grains in each blue eye,

“Tell it again! oh, just once more!” was still

The sleepy cry.

My spring-time violet! early snatched awayTo fairer gardens all unknown to me,—Gardens of whose invisible, guarded gatesI have no key,—

My spring-time violet! early snatched away

To fairer gardens all unknown to me,—

Gardens of whose invisible, guarded gates

I have no key,—

I weave my fancies now for other ears,—Thy sister-blossom’s, who beside me sits,Rosy, imperative, and quick to markMy lagging wits.

I weave my fancies now for other ears,—

Thy sister-blossom’s, who beside me sits,

Rosy, imperative, and quick to mark

My lagging wits.

But still the stories bear thy name, are thine,Part of the sunshine of thy brief, sweet day,Though inherlittle warm and living handsThis book I lay.

But still the stories bear thy name, are thine,

Part of the sunshine of thy brief, sweet day,

Though inherlittle warm and living hands

This book I lay.

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