PICTURE-BOOKS IN WINTER UMMER fading, winter comes Frosty mornings, tingling thumbs, Window robins, winter rooks, And the picture story-books. Water now is turned to stone All the pretty things put by, In the picture story-books. We may see how all things are How am I to sing your praise, V MY TREASURES HESE nuts, that I keep in the back of the nest ΤΗ Where all my lead soldiers are lying at rest, This whistle we made (and how clearly it sounds!) The stone, with the white and the yellow and grey, But of all my treasures the last is the king, WHA BLOCK CITY WHAT are you able to build with your blocks? Rain may keep raining, and others go roam, Let the sofa be mountains, the carpet be sea, A kirk and a mill and a palace beside, And a harbour as well where my vessels may ride. Great is the palace with pillar and wall, This one is sailing and that one is moored: Now I have done with it, down let it go! Yet as I saw it, I see it again, The kirk and the palace, the ships and the men, And as long as I live and where'er I may be, I'll always remember my town by the sea. THE LAND OF STORY-BOOKS T evening when the lamp is lit, Around the fire my parents sit; They sit at home and talk and sing, Now, with my little gun, I crawl And follow round the forest track 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 |