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