Child's Garden of Verses (version 2) — Fairy Bread, From a Railway Carriage, Winter-Time, The Hayloft, Farewell to the Farm

FAIRY BREAD

Come up here, O dusty feet!

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.

[Illustration] [Illustration] FROM A RAILWAY CARRIAGE

Faster 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!

WINTER-TIME

Late 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.

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.

[Illustration] [Illustration] THE HAYLOFT

Through all the pleasant meadow-side The grass grew shoulder-high, Till the shining scythes went far and wide And cut it down to dry.

Those 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!

Oh, what a joy to clamber there, Oh, what a place for play, With the sweet, the dim, the dusty air, The happy hills of hay!

[Illustration: THE HAYLOFT] [Illustration] FAREWELL TO THE FARM

The coach is at the door at last;

The eager children, mounting fast And kissing hands, in chorus sing: Good-bye, good-bye, to everything!

To house and garden, field and lawn, The meadow-gates we swang upon, To pump and stable, tree and swing, Good-bye, good-bye, to everything!

And fare you well for evermore, O ladder at the hayloft door, O hayloft where the cobwebs cling, Good-bye, good-bye, to everything!

Crack goes the whip, and off we go;

The trees and houses smaller grow;

Last, round the woody turn we swing: Good-bye, good-bye, to everything!

[Illustration] NORTH-WEST PASSAGE