Poems By a Little Girl | Page 9

branch.

How would it be, I wonder,
To sing patiently all night,
Never
thinking that people are asleep?
Raindrops and mist, starriness over
the trees,
The moon, the dew, the other little singers,
Cricket . . .
toad . . . leaf rustling . . .
They would listen:
It would be music like
weather
That gets into all the corners
Of out-of-doors.
Every night I see little shadows
I never saw before.
Every night I
hear little voices
I never heard before.
When night comes trailing
her starry cloak,
I start out for slumberland,
With tree-toads calling
along the roadside.
Good-night, I say to one, Good-by, I say to
another:
I hope to find you on the way
We have traveled before!
I
hope to hear you singing on the Road of Dreams!
SEVEN TO NINE YEARS OLD
THE LONESOME WAVE
There is an island
In the middle of my heart,
And all day comes
lapping on the shore
A long silver wave.
It is the lonesome wave;

I cannot see the other side of it.
It will never go away
Until it meets
the glad gold wave
Of happiness!
Wandering over the monstrous rocks,
Looking into the caves,
I see
my island dark, all cold,
Until the gold wave sweeps in
From a sea
deep blue,
And flings itself on the beach.
Oh, it is joy, then!
No
more whispers like sorrow,
No more silvery lonesome lapping of the
long wave . . .
RED-CAP MOSS
Have you seen red-cap moss

In the woods?
Have you looked under
the trembling caps
For faces?
Have you seen wonder on those faces

Because you are so big?

RAMBLER ROSE
Rambler Rose in great clusters,
Looking at me, at my mother with me

Under this apple-tree,
Your faces watch us from outside the shade.
The wind blows on you,
The rain drops on you,
The sun shines on
you,
You are brighter than before.
You turn your faces to the wind

And watch my mother and me,
Thinking of things I cannot
mention
Outside of my mind.
Rambler Rose in the shining wind,

You smile at me,
Smile at my mother!
GIFT
This is mint and here are three pinks
I have brought you, Mother.

They are wet with rain
And shining with it.
The pinks smell like
more of them
In a blue vase:
The mint smells like summer
In
many gardens.
THE WHITE CLOUD
There are many clouds
But not like the one I see,
For mine floats
like a swan in featheriness
Over the River of the Broken Pine.
There are many clouds
But not like the one that goes sailing
Like a
ship full of gold that shines,
Like a ship leaning above blue water.
There are many clouds
But not like the one I wait for,
For mine will
have a strangeness
Whiter than anything your eyes remember.
MOON THOUGHT
The moon is thinking of the river
Winding through the mountains far
away,
Because she has a river in her heart
Full of the same silver.
THE OLD BRIDGE

The old bridge has a wrinkled face.
He bends his back
For us to go
over.
He moans and weeps
But we do not hear.
Sorrow stands in
his face
For the heavy weight and worry
Of people passing.
The
trees drop their leaves into the water;
The sky nods to him.
The
leaves float down like small ships
On the blue surface
Which is the
sky.
He is not always sad:
He smiles to see the ships go down

And the little children
Playing on the river banks.
FERNS
Small ferns up-coming through the mossy green,
Up-curling and
springing,
See trees circling round them,
And the straight brook like
a lily-stem:
Hear the water laughing
At the stern old pine-tree

Who keeps sighing to himself all day long
What's the use! What's the
use!
LAND OF NOD
I wander mountain to mountain,
From sea to sea,
I wander into a
country
Where everyone is asleep.
There in the Land of Nod
I
never think of home,
For home is there,
With sleeping doves and
silvery girls,
Sleeping boys and drowsy roses.
There I find people
whose eyes are heavy,
And trees with folded wings.
SUN FLOWERS
Sun-flowers, stop growing!
If you touch the sky where those clouds
are passing
Like tufts of dandelion gone to seed,
The sky will put
you out!
You know it is blue like the sea . . .
Maybe it is wet, too!


Your gold faces will be gone forever
If you brush against that blue

Ever so softly!
HOLLAND SONG
For a Dutch picture

When light comes creeping through the
That shine with mist,
When
winds blow soft,
Windmills wake and whirl.
In Holland, in Holland,

Everything is cheerful
Across the sea:
White nets are beside the
water
Where ships sail by.
The mountains begin to get blue,
The
Dutch girls begin to sing,
The windmills begin to whirl.
Then night
comes
The mountains turn dark gray
And faint away into night.

Not a bird chirps his song.
All is drowsy,
All is strange,
With the
moon and stars shining round the world:
The wind stops,
The
windmills stop
In Holland . . .
FOUNTAIN-TALK
Said the fountain to its clear bed,
"You might flow faster!
I am
sprinkling my best, every day,
But ice is holding you fast.
Can't you
get out?
Can't you lift yourself with sun?
I am tired waiting for slow
cold water
To fling about the air:
Can't you wake yourself up?"

But the fountain-basin murmured softly
"Sleep . . . sleep . . .

Sleep . . . sleep . . .
You with