XXXVI

FAIRY BREAD

'OME up here, O dusty feet!

COM

Here is fairy bread to eat.

Here in my retiring room,

Children, you may dine
On the golden smell of broom

And the shade of pine;

And when you have eaten well, Fairy stories hear and tell.

XXXVII

FROM A RAILWAY CARRIAGE

`ASTER than fairies, faster than witches,

Bridges and houses, hedges and ditches; And charging along like troops in a battle, All through the meadows the horses and cattle: All of the sights of the hill and the plain

Fly as thick as driving rain;

And ever again, in the wink of an eye,

Painted stations whistle by.

Here is a child who clambers and scrambles,
All by himself and gathering brambles;

Here is a tramp who stands and gazes;

And there is the green for stringing the daisies!
Here is a cart run away in the road
Lumping along with man and load;
And here is a mill and there is a river:
Each a glimpse and gone for ever!

XXXVIII

WINTER-TIME

L

ATE lies the wintry sun a-bed,

A frosty, fiery sleepy-head;

Blinks but an hour or two; and then,
A blood-red orange, sets again.

Before the stars have left the skies,

At morning in the dark I rise;
And shivering in my nakedness,

By the cold candle, bathe and dress.

Close by the jolly fire I sit

To warm my frozen bones a bit;
Or with a reindeer-sled, explore

The colder countries round the door.

When to go out, my nurse doth wrap
Me in my comforter and cap:

The cold wind burns my face, and blows
Its frosty pepper up my nose.

WINTER-TIME

17

47

Black are my steps on silver sod;
Thick blows my frosty breath abroad;
And tree and house, and hill and lake,
Are frosted like a wedding-cake.

XXXIX

THE HAYLOFT

ΤΗ
THROU

"HROUGH all the pleasant meadow-side
The grass grew shoulder-high,

Till the shining scythes went far and wide
And cut it down to dry.

These green and sweetly smelling crops

They led in waggons home;

And they piled them here in mountain tops

For mountaineers to roam.

Here is Mount Clear, Mount Rusty-Nail,
Mount Eagle and Mount High ;—
The mice that in these mountains dwell,
No happier are than I !

O what a joy to clamber there,

O what a place for play,

With the sweet, the dim, the dusty air,

The happy hills of hay!