Part 9 (1/2)

MORNING

There is a brook I must hear Before I go to sleep.

There is a birch tree I must visit Every night of clearness.

I have to do some dreaming, I have to listen a great deal, Before light comes back By a silver arrow of cloud, And I rub my eyes and say It must be morning on this hill!

SONG

A scarlet bird went sailing away through the wood . . .

It was only a mist of dream That floated by.

Bare boughs of my apple-tree, Beautiful gray arms stretched out to me, Swaying to and fro like angels' wings . . .

It was only a mist of dream That floated by.

SNOWFLAKE SONG

Snowflakes come in fleets Like s.h.i.+ps over the sea.

The moon s.h.i.+nes down on the crusty snow: The stars make the sky sparkle like gold-fish In a gla.s.sy bowl.

Bluebirds are gone now, But they left their song behind them.

The moon seems to say: It is time for summer when the birds come back To pick up their lonesome songs.

SNOWSTORM

Snowflakes are dancing.

They run down out of heaven.

Coming home from somewhere down the long tired road They flake us sometimes The way they do the gra.s.s, And the stretch of the world.

The gra.s.s-blades are crowned with snowflakes.

They make me think of daisies With white frills around their necks With golden faces and green gowns; Poor little daisies, Tip-toe and s.h.i.+vering In the cold!

POPPY

Oh big red poppy, You look stern and st.u.r.dy, Yet you bow to the wind And sing a lullaby . . .

”Sleep, little ones under my breast In the moons.h.i.+ne . . .”

You make this lullaby, Sweet, short, Slow, beautiful, And you thank the dew for giving you a drink.

b.u.t.tERFLY