There's a lovely land that is all your own, If your years but number ten, Where the cherryblossom's ever in flower, And found in "Past-ten-o'clock Glen." There's a river with musical water-falls, You paddle as long as you please, And the daisies don't die as you pick them, When found on "Past-ten-o'clock Leas." And the rivulet leads to a harbour, Full of the quaintest of ships, One wish will transport you to China, Or other "Past-ten-o'clock Trips." Away in dim mountains of amber, Which drop sheer down to the waves, Fierce brigands, be-weaponed and ear-ringed, Live in "Past-ten-o'clock Caves." O! the folk understand you and love you, You never can do any wrong-- You can shoot the cat with a catapult, Or shout the "Past-ten-o'clock Song." You can play you are really an otter, And get as wet as you like; You can lie in wait as a Redskin does, In a deep "Past-ten-o'clock Dyke." It's a lovely land that is all your own, If you're only ten years old, But when you are more, you are apt to forget "Past-Ten-o'clock-Dreams of Gold!" BARDEN FELL, WHARFEDALE. TO MEMORY Mem'ry, sweet witch! you brought him to my door. I heard you knock, and saw your fingers ope The rosy gateway of a lingering hope, And I beheld his dear face as of yore. You held him by the hand I oft caressed, And seemed so small a sprite by his tall side, As in his leathern coat you tried to hide, The same old coat my cheek so often pressed. Then searchingly his deep blue eyes found mine, As if to plead against forgetfulness, With all the old-time loving kindliness: And then you led him back without one sign. Sweet little Mem'ry, lead him back once more, And, knocking, bring him in, and close the door. A WAR PRAYER FOR A LITTLE BOY Morning The day is just beginning, But all the long night through, The sailor-men were watching Out in the dark night blue. Dear God! when my turn comes, May my watch be as true. Evening The long, still night is coming, But whilst I've been at play, The soldier-men were fighting Thro' all the live-long day. Dear God! when my turn comes, Please keep me brave as they. ROBIN HOOD'S BAY. STAR-SCANDAL One summer eve, my own dear love and I Sat arm-entwined beneath a rowan-tree. A little wind flew past us with a sigh, And all the velvet leaves waved merrily. Then, as mine eyes escaped his ardent glance, I saw a star peep o'er the purple hill And climb up to the topmost branch and dance, And wink at its reflection in the rill. "_Come, kiss me once, O timorous-hearted Love. Full many thousand kisses dost thou owe. Prithee but one, thy pretty love to prove; No one in all the world shall ever know._" No one? That spying star but told a poet, And in a song he let the whole world know it. THE FIRST OF JULY 1916