Peacock Pie, A Book of Rhymes | Page 6

silent skies.
It was lovely moon's, for when
He raised his dreamy head,
Her surge of silver filled the pane
And streamed across his bed.
So, for a while, each gazed at each -
Dick and the solemn moon -
Till, climbing slowly on her way,
She vanished, and was gone.
THE BOOKWORM
'I'm tired - Oh, tired of books,' said Jack,
'I long for meadows green,
And woods, where shadowy violets
Nod their cool leaves between;
I long to see the ploughman stride
His darkening acres o'er,
To hear the hoarse sea-waters drive
Their billows 'gainst the shore;
I long to watch the sea-mew wheel
Back to her rock-perched mate;
Or, where the breathing cows are
housed,
Lean dreaming o'er the gate.
Something has gone, and ink and print
Will never bring it back;
I long for the green fields again,
I'm tired of books,' said Jack.
THE QUARTETTE
Tom sang for joy and Ned sang for joy and old Sam sang for joy; All
we four boys piped up loud, just like one boy;
And the ladies that sate
with the Squire - their cheeks were all wet, For the noise of the voice of

us boys, when we sang our Quartette.
Tom he piped low and Ned he piped low and old Sam he piped low;
Into a sorrowful fall did our music flow;
And the ladies that sate with
the Squire vowed they'd never forget How the eyes of them cried for
delight, when we sang our Quartette.
MISTLETOE
Sitting under the mistletoe
(Pale-green, fairy mistletoe),
One last
candle burning low,
All the sleepy dancers gone,
Just one candle
burning on,
Shadows lurking everywhere:
Some one came, and
kissed me there.
Tired I was; my head would go
Nodding under the mistletoe

(Pale-green, fairy mistletoe),
No footsteps came, no voice, but only,

Just as I sat there, sleepy, lonely,
Stooped in the still and shadowy
air
Lips unseen - and kissed me there.
THE LOST SHOE
Poor little Lucy
By some mischance,
Lost her shoe
As she did dance -
'Twas not on the stairs,
Not in the hall;
Not where they sat
At supper at all.
She looked in the garden,
But there it was not;
Henhouse, or kennel,
Or high dovecote.
Dairy and meadow,
And wild woods through
Showed not a trace

Of Lucy's shoe.
Bird nor bunny
Nor glimmering moon
Breathed a whisper
Of where 'twas gone.
It was cried and cried,
Oyez and Oyez!
In French, Dutch, Latin,
And Portuguese.
Ships the dark seas
Went plunging through,
But none brought news
Of Lucy's shoe;
And still she patters
In silk and leather,
O'er snow, sand, shingle,
In every weather;
Spain, and Africa,
Hindustan,
Java, China,
And lamped Japan;
Plain and desert,
She hops-hops through,
Pernambuco
To gold Peru;
Mountain and forest,
And river too,
All the world over
For her lost shoe.
THE TRUANTS
Ere my heart beats too coldly and faintly
To remember sad things, yet be gay,
I would sing a brief song of the
world's little children

Magic hath stolen away.
The primroses scattered by April,
The stars of the wide Milky Way,
Cannot outnumber the hosts of the
children
Magic hath stolen away.
The buttercup green of the meadows,
The snow of the blossoming may,
Lovelier are not than the legions of
children
Magic hath stolen away.
The waves tossing surf in the moonbeam,
The albatross lone on the spray,
Alone know the tears wept in vain
for the children
Magic hath stolen away.
In vain: for at hush of the evening,
When the stars twinkle into the grey,
Seems to echo the far-away
calling of children
Magic hath stolen away.
THREE QUEER TALES
BERRIES
There was an old woman
Went blackberry picking
Along the hedges
From Weep to Wicking. -
Half a pottleNo

more she had got,
When out steps a Fairy
From her green grot;
And says, 'Well, Jill,
Would 'ee pick ee mo?'
And Jill, she curtseys,
And looks just so.
Be off,' says the Fairy,
'As quick as you can,
Over the meadows
To the little green lane
That dips to the hayfields
Of Farmer Grimes:
I've berried those hedges
A score of times;
Bushel on bushel
I'll promise'ee, Jill,
This side of supper
If'ee pick with a will.'
She glints very bright,
And speaks her fair;
Then lo, and behold!
She had faded in air.
Be sure Old Goodie
She trots betimes
Over the meadows
To Farmer Grimes.
And never was queen
With jewelry rich
As those same hedges
From twig to ditch;
Like Dutchmen's coffers,
Fruit, thorn, and flower -
They shone like William
And Mary's bower.
And be sure Old Goodie

Went back to Weep,
So tired with her basket
She scarce could creep.
When she comes in the dusk
To her cottage door,
There's Towser wagging
As never before,
To see his Missus
So glad to be
Come from her fruit-picking
Back to he.
As soon as next morning
Dawn was grey,
The pot on the hob
Was simmering away;
And all in a stew
And a hugger-mugger
Towser and Jill
A-boiling of sugar,
And the dark clear fruit
That from Faerie came,
For syrup and jelly
And blackberry jam.
Twelve jolly gallipots
Jill put by;
And one little teeny one,
One inch high;
And that she's