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Child of the pure unclouded brow
And dreaming eyes of wonder! Though time be fleet, and I and thou Are half a life asunder, 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 hearafter -- 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 out 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: Thou shalt not heed the raving blast. And though the shadow of a sigh May tremble through the story, For 'happy summer days' gone by, And vanish'd summer glory -- It shall not touch with breath of bale The pleasance of our fairy-tale. |
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Chapter I |