The strangest things are there for me, Both things to eat and things to see, And many frightening sights abroad Till morning in the Land of Nod. Try as I like to find the way, I never can get back by day, Nor can remember plain and clear The curious music that I hear. [Illustration] FAIRY BREAD Come up here, O dusty feet! Here is fairy bread to eat Here in my retiring room, Children, you may dine On the golden smell of broom And the shade of pine; And when you have eaten well, Fairy stories hear and tell. [Illustration] KEEPSAKE MILL Over the borders, a sin without pardon, Breaking the branches and crawling below, Out through the breach in the wall of the garden, Down by the banks of the river, we go. Here is the mill with the humming of thunder, Here is the weir with the wonder of foam, Here is the sluice with the race running under-- Marvelous places, though handy to home! Sounds of the village grow stiller and stiller, Stiller the note of the birds on the hill; Dusty and dim are the eyes of the miller, Deaf are his ears with the moil of the mill. Years may go by, and the wheel in the river Wheel as it wheels for us, children, to-day, Wheel and keep roaring and foaming for ever-- Long after all the boys are away. Home from the Indies and home from the ocean, Heroes and soldiers we all shall come home; Still we shall find the old mill wheel in motion, Turning and churning that river to foam. You with the bean that I gave when we quarreled, I with your marble of Saturday last, Honored and old and all gaily appareled, Here we shall meet and remember the past. WINTER-TIME Late lies the wintry sun a-bed, A frosty, fiery sleepy-head; Blinks but an hour or two; and then, A blood-red orange, sets again. Before the stars have left the skies, At morning in the dark I rise; And shivering in my nakedness, By the cold candle, bathe and dress. Close by the jolly fire I sit To warm my frozen bones a bit; Or with a reindeer-sled, explore The colder countries round the door. When to go out, my nurse doth wrap Me in my comforter and cap; The cold wind burns my face, and blows Its frosty pepper up my nose. Black are my steps on silvery sod; Thick blows my frosty breath abroad; And tree and house, and hill and lake, Are frosted like a wedding-cake. [Illustration: _"The cold wind burns my face."_] LOOKING-GLASS RIVER Smooth it slides upon its travel, Here a wimple, there a gleam-- O the clean gravel! O the smooth stream! Sailing blossoms, silver fishes, Paven pools as clear as air-- How a child wishes To live down there!