Little thoughtful creatures sit On the grassy coasts of it; Little things with lovely eyes See me sailing with surprise. Some are clad in armour green-- (These have sure to battle been!)-- Some are pied with ev'ry hue, Black and crimson, gold and blue; Some have wings and swift are gone;-- But they all look kindly on. [Illustration: THE LITTLE LAND] When my eyes I once again Open, and see all things plain: High bare walls, great bare floor; Great big knobs on drawer and door; Great big people perched on chairs, Stitching tucks and mending tears, Each a hill that I could climb, And talking nonsense all the time-- O dear me, That I could be A sailor on the rain-pool sea, A climber in the clover tree, And just come back, a sleepy-head, Late at night to go to bed. GARDEN DAYS [Illustration] [Illustration] NIGHT AND DAY When the golden day is done, Through the closing portal, Child and garden, flower and sun, Vanish all things mortal. As the blinding shadows fall As the rays diminish, Under evening's cloak, they all Roll away and vanish. Garden darkened, daisy shut, Child in bed, they slumber-- Glow-worm in the highway rut, Mice among the lumber. In the darkness houses shine, Parents move with candles; Till on all, the night divine Turns the bedroom handles. Till at last the day begins In the east a-breaking, In the hedges and the whins Sleeping birds a-waking. In the darkness shapes of things, Houses, trees and hedges, Clearer grow; and sparrow's wings Beat on window ledges. These shall wake the yawning maid; She the door shall open-- Finding dew on garden glade And the morning broken. There my garden grows again Green and rosy painted, As at eve behind the pane From my eyes it fainted. Just as it was shut away, Toy-like, in the even, Here I see it glow with day Under glowing heaven. Every path and every plot, Every bush of roses, Every blue forget-me-not Where the dew reposes. "Up!" they cry, "the day is come On the smiling valleys: We have beat the morning drum; Playmate, join your allies!" [Illustration] [Illustration] NEST EGGS Birds all the sunny day Flutter and quarrel Here in the arbour-like Tent of the laurel. Here in the fork The brown nest is seated; Four little blue eggs The mother keeps heated. While we stand watching her Staring like gabies, Safe in each egg are the Bird's little babies. Soon the frail eggs they shall Chip, and upspringing Make all the April woods Merry with singing. Younger than we are, O children, and frailer, Soon in blue air they'll be, Singer and sailor.