Love-Songs of Childhood | Page 4

and then In shrill,
despotic treble bids me "do it all aden!"
And I - of course I do it; for,
as his progenitor,
It is such pretty, pleasant play as this that I am for!

And it is, oh, such fun I and sure that we shall rue
The time when
we are both too old to play the game "Booh!"
GARDEN AND CRADLE
When our babe he goeth walking in his garden,
Around his tinkling
feet the sunbeams play;
The posies they are good to him,
And bow
them as they should to him,
As fareth he upon his kingly way;
And
birdlings of the wood to him
Make music, gentle music, all the day,

When our babe he goeth walking in his garden.
When our babe he goeth swinging in his cradle,
Then the night it
looketh ever sweetly down;
The little stars are kind to him,
The
moon she hath a mind to him
And layeth on his head a golden crown;

And singeth then the wind to him
A song, the gentle song of
Bethlem-town,
When our babe he goeth swinging in his cradle.
THE NIGHT WIND
Have you ever heard the wind go "Yooooo"?
'T is a pitiful sound to
hear!
It seems to chill you through and through
With a strange and
speechless fear.
'T is the voice of the night that broods outside

When folk should be asleep,
And many and many's the time I've cried


To the darkness brooding far and wide
Over the land and the deep:

Whom do you want, O lonely night,
That you wail the long hours
through?"
And the night would say in its ghostly way:
"Yoooooooo!
Yoooooooo!
Yoooooooo!"
My mother told me long ago
(When I was a little tad)
That when
the night went wailing so,
Somebody had been bad;
And then,
when I was snug in bed,
Whither I had been sent,
With the blankets
pulled up round my head,
I'd think of what my mother'd said,
And
wonder what boy she meant!
And "Who's been bad to-day?" I'd ask

Of the wind that hoarsely blew,
And the voice would say in its
meaningful way:
"Yoooooooo!
Yoooooooo!
Yoooooooo!"
That this was true I must allow -
You'll not believe it, though!
Yes,
though I'm quite a model now,
I was not always so.
And if you
doubt what things I say,
Suppose you make the test;
Suppose, when
you've been bad some day
And up to bed are sent away
From
mother and the rest -
Suppose you ask, "Who has been bad?"
And
then you'll hear what's true;
For the wind will moan in its ruefulest
tone:
"Yoooooooo!
Yoooooooo!
Yoooooooo!"
KISSING TIME
'T is when the lark goes soaring
And the bee is at the bud,
When
lightly dancing zephyrs
Sing over field and flood;
When all sweet
things in nature
Seem joyfully achime -
'T is then I wake my
darling,

For it is kissing time!
Go, pretty lark, a-soaring,
And suck your sweets, 0 bee;
Sing, 0 ye
winds of summer,
Your songs to mine and me;
For with your song

and rapture
Cometh the moment when
It's half-past kissing time

And time to kiss again!
So - so the days go fleeting
Like golden fancies free,
And every day
that cometh
Is full of sweets for me;
And sweetest are those
moments
My darling comes to climb
Into my lap to mind me
That
it is kissing time.
Sometimes, maybe, he wanders
A heedless, aimless way -

Sometimes, maybe, he loiters
In pretty, prattling play;
But presently
bethinks him
And hastens to me then,
For it's half-past kissing time

And time to kiss again!
JEST 'FORE CHRISTMAS
Father calls me William, sister calls me Will,
Mother calls me Willie,
but the fellers call me Bill!
Mighty glad I ain't a girl - ruther be a boy,

Without them sashes, curls, an' things that's worn by Fauntleroy!
Love to chawnk green apples an' go swimmin' in the lake -
Hate to
take the castor-ile they give for bellyache!
'Most all the time, the
whole year round, there ain't no flies on me, But jest 'fore Christmas
I'm as good as I kin be!
Got a yeller dog named Sport, sick him on the cat;
First thing she
knows she doesn't know where she is at!
Got a clipper sled, an' when
us kids goes out to slide,
'Long comes the grocery cart, an' we all
hook a ride!
But sometimes when the grocery man is worrited an'
cross,
He reaches at us with his whip, an' larrups up his hoss,
An'
then I laff an' holler, "Oh, ye never teched me!"
But jest 'fore
Christmas I'm as good as I kin be!
Gran'ma says she hopes that when I git to be a man,
I'll be a
missionarer like her oldest brother, Dan,
As was et up by the
cannibuls that lives in Ceylon's Isle,
Where every prospeck pleases,
an' only man is vile!
But gran'ma she has never been to see a Wild

West show,
Nor read the Life of Daniel Boone, or else I guess she'd
know That Buff'lo Bill an' cow-boys is good enough for me!
Excep'
jest 'fore Christmas, when I'm good as I kin be!
And then old Sport he hangs around, so solemn-like an' still, His eyes
they seem a-sayin': "What's the matter, little Bill?" The old cat sneaks