They dressed us up in black, Susan and Tom and me-- And, walking through the fields All beautiful to see, With branches high in the air And daisy and buttercup, We heard the lark in the clouds-- In black dressed up. They took us to the graves, Susan and Tom and me, Where the long grasses grow And the funeral tree: We stood and watched; and the wind Came softly out of the sky And blew in Susan's hair, As I stood close by. Back through the fields we came, Tom and Susan and me, And we sat in the nursery together, And had our tea. And, looking out of the window, I heard the thrushes sing; But Tom fell asleep in his chair, He was so tired, poor thing. THE MOTHER BIRD Through the green twilight of a hedge I peered, with cheek on the cool leaves pressed, And spied a bird upon a nest: Two eyes she had beseeching me Meekly and brave, and her brown breast Throbbed hot and quick above her heart; And then she opened her dagger bill,-- 'Twas not a chirp, as sparrows pipe At break of day; 'twas not a trill, As falters through the quiet even; But one sharp solitary note, One desperate, fierce, and vivid cry Of valiant tears, and hopeless joy, One passionate note of victory; Off, like a fool afraid, I sneaked, Smiling the smile the fool smiles best, At the mother bird in the secret hedge Patient upon her lonely nest. THE CHILD IN THE STORY GOES TO BED I prythee, Nurse, come smooth my hair, And prythee, Nurse, unloose my shoe, And trimly turn my silken sheet Upon my quilt of gentle blue. My pillow sweet of lavender Smooth with an amiable hand, And may the dark pass peacefully by As in the hour-glass droops the sand. Prepare my cornered manchet sweet, And in my little crystal cup Pour out the blithe and flowering mead That forthwith I may sup. Withdraw my curtains from the night, And let the crispèd crescent shine Upon my eyelids while I sleep, And soothe me with her beams benign. Dark looks the forest far-away; O, listen! through its empty dales Rings from the solemn echoing boughs The music of its nightingales. Now quench my silver lamp, prythee, And bid the harpers harp that tune Fairies which haunt the meadowlands Sing clearly to the stars of June. And bid them play, though I in dreams No longer heed their pining strains, For I would not to silence wake When slumber o'er my senses wanes. You Angels bright who me defend, Enshadow me with curvèd wing, And keep me in the darksome night. Till dawn another day do bring. THE LAMPLIGHTER When the light of day declines, And a swift angel through the sky Kindles God's tapers clear, With ashen staff the lamplighter Passes along the darkling streets To light our earthly lamps; Lest, prowling in the darkness, The thief should haunt with quiet tread, Or men on evil errands set; Or wayfarers be benighted; Or neighbors, bent from house to house, Should need a guiding torch.