"Happy ever after" there, the lights of home a welcome fling Softly thro' the darkness as the star that shone of old, Softly over Bethlehem and o'er the little cradled King Whom the sages worshipped with their frankincense and gold. VII _Once upon a time_--perhaps a hundred thousand years ago-- Whisper to me, Peterkin, I have forgotten when! Once upon a time there was a way, a way we used to know For stealing off at twilight from the weary ways of men. VIII Whisper it, O whisper it--the way, the way is all I need! All the heart and will are here and all the deep desire! _Once upon a time_--ah, now the light is drawing near indeed, I see the fairy faces flush to roses round the fire. IX _Once upon a time_--the little lips are on my cheek again, Little fairy fingers clasped and clinging draw me nigh, Dreams, no more than dreams, but they unloose the weary prisoner's chain And lead him from his dungeon! "What's a thousand years?" they cry. X A thousand years, a thousand years, a little drifting dream ago, All of us were hunting with a band of merry men, The skies were blue, the boughs were green, the clouds were crisping isles of snow ... ... So Robin blew his bugle, and the Now became the Then. THE TRAMP TRANSFIGURED (AN EPISODE IN THE LIFE OF A CORN-FLOWER MILLIONAIRE) I All the way to Fairyland across the thyme and heather, Round a little bank of fern that rustled on the sky, Me and stick and bundle, sir, we jogged along together,-- (Changeable the weather? Well--it ain't all pie!) Just about the sunset--Won't you listen to my story?-- Look at me! I'm only rags and tatters to your eye! Sir, that blooming sunset crowned this battered hat with glory! Me that was a crawling worm became a butterfly-- (Ain't it hot and dry? Thank you, sir, thank you, sir!) a blooming butterfly. II Well, it happened this way! I was lying loose and lazy, Just as, of a Sunday, you yourself might think no shame, Puffing little clouds of smoke, and picking at a daisy, Dreaming of your dinner, p'raps, or wishful for the same: Suddenly, around that ferny bank there slowly waddled-- Slowly as the finger of a clock her shadow came-- Slowly as a tortoise down that winding path she toddled, Leaning on a crooked staff, a poor old crooked dame, Limping, but not lame, _Tick, tack, tick, tack_, a poor old crooked dame. III