How tired I am! I sink down all alone
Here by the wayside of the Present. Lo,
Even as a child I hide my face and moan--
I had fed the fire and stirred it, till the sparkles in delight
Snapped their saucy little fingers at the chill December night;
There are many things that boys may know--
Why this and that are thus and so,--
Who made the world in the dark and lit
Hi and whoop-hooray, boys!
Sing a song of cheer!
Here's a holiday, boys,
Lasting half a year!
A song of Long Ago:
Sing it lightly--sing it low--
Sing it softly--like the lisping of the lips we used to know
When our baby-laughter spilled
It's the curiousest thing in creation,
Whenever I hear that old song,
'Do They Miss Me at Home?' I'm so bothered,
Low hidden in among the forest trees
An artist's tilted easel, ankle-deep
In tousled ferns and mosses, and in these
He faced his canvas (as a seer whose ken
Pierces the crust of this existence through)
And smiled beyond on that his genius knew
1 You better not fool with a Bumblebee! --
2 Ef you don't think they can sting -- you'll see!
3 They're lazy to look at, an' kind o' go
4 Buzzin' an' bummin' aroun' so slow,
Noon-time and June-time, down around the river!
Have to furse with 'Lizey Ann--but lawzy! I fergive her!