The Witch in the Glass 157 THE BLIND BOY O SAY what is that thing called Light, You talk of wondrous things you see, My day or night myself I make And could I ever keep awake With heavy sighs I often hear Then let not what I cannot have Colley Cibber [1671-1757] THE WITCH IN THE GLASS "My mother says I must not pass Too near that glass; She is afraid that I will see A little witch that looks like me, Alack for all your mother's care! A bird of the air, A wistful wind, or (I suppose Sent by some hapless boy) a rose, With breath too sweet, will whisper low Sarah M. B. Piatt [1836 MY SHADOW I HAVE a little shadow that goes in and out with me, The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to growNot at all like proper children, which is always very slow; For he sometimes shoots up taller like an India-rubber ball, And he sometimes gets so little that there's none of him at all. He hasn't got a notion of how children ought to play, One morning, very early, before the sun was up, I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup; THE LAND OF COUNTERPANE WHEN I was sick and lay a-bed, The Land of Story-books 159 And sometimes for an hour or so And sometimes sent my ships in fleets I was the giant great and still Robert Louis Stevenson [1850-1894] THE LAND OF STORY-BOOKS Ar evening when the lamp is lit, They sit at home and talk and sing, Now, with my little gun, I crawl And follow round the forest track Away behind the sofa back. There, in the night, where none can spy, All in my hunter's camp I lie, And play at books that I have read Till it is time to go to bed. These are the hills, these are the woods, These are my starry solitudes; And there the river by whose brink The roaring lions come to drink. I see the others far away So, when my nurse comes in for me, Robert Louis Stevenson [1850-1894] THE GARDENER THE gardener does not love to talk, Old and serious, brown and big. He digs the flowers, green, red, and blue, He digs the flowers and cuts the hay, Silly gardener! summer goes, And winter comes with pinching toes, Well now, and while the summer stays, To profit by these garden days O how much wiser you would be To play at Indian wars with me! Robert Louis Stevenson [1850-1894] FOREIGN LANDS Up into the cherry tree Who should climb but little me? I held the trunk with both my hands I saw the next door garden lie, The Peddler's Caravan 161 I saw the dimpling river pass To where the roads on either hand Robert Louis Stevenson [1850-1894] MY BED IS A BOAT My bed is like a little boat; Nurse helps me in when I embark; At night, I go on board and say Good night to all my friends on shore; I shut my eyes and sail away And sometimes things to bed I take, All night across the dark we steer; I find my vessel fast. Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894] THE PEDDLER'S CARAVAN I WISH I lived in a caravan, With a horse to drive, like a peddler-man! Or where he goes to, but on he goes! |