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| <p class="poem"> |
| Child of the pure unclouded brow |
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| And dreaming eyes of wonder! |
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| Though time be fleet, and I and thou |
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| Are half a life asunder, |
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| Thy loving smile will surely hail |
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| The love-gift of a fairy-tale. |
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| I have not seen thy sunny face, |
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| Nor heard thy silver laughter; |
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| No thought of me shall find a place |
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| In thy young life’s hereafter— |
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| Enough that now thou wilt not fail |
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| To listen to my fairy-tale. |
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| A tale begun in other days, |
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| When summer suns were glowing— |
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| A simple chime, that served to time |
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| The rhythm of oar rowing— |
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| Whose echoes live in memory yet, |
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| Though envious years would say ‘forget.’ |
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| Come, hearken then, ere voice of dread. |
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| With bitter tidings laden, |
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| Shall summon to unwelcome bed |
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| A melancholy maiden! |
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| We are but older children, dear, |
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| Who fret to find our bedtime near. |
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| Without, the frost, the blinding snow. |
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| The storm-wind’s moody madness— |
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| Within, the firelight’s ruddy glow, |
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| And childhood’s nest of gladness. |
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| The magic words shall hold thee fast: |
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| Thou shalt not heed the raving blast. |
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| And though the shadow of a sigh |
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| May tremble through the story, |
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| For ‘happy summer days’ gone by, |
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| And vanish’d summer glory— |
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| It shall not touch with breath of bale |
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| The pleasance of our fairy-tale. |
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