What pretty pictures! Angels at their play, And brown and lilac butterflies, and spray Of stars, and animals from far away, Grey elephants, a bright pink water bird; Things lovely and absurd. [Illustration] As the wheels turn, they wake to lovely sound, Musical boxes—as the wheels go round They play a little silver spray of notes: “Swift Runs the River”—“Bluebells in the Wood”—— “The Waterfall”—“The Child Who Has Been Good”—— Like splash of foam at keel of little boats. [Illustration] Under a sky of duck-egg green Have you not seen The hundred misty horses that delight To draw the coach all night, And the queer little Driver sitting high, And singing to the sky? [Illustration] His hat is as tall as a cypress tree, His hair is as white as snow; His cheeks and his nose are as red as can be; He sings: “Come along! Come along with me!” Let us go! Let us go! His coat is speckledy red and black, His boots are as green as a beetle’s back, His beard has a fringe of silver bells And scarlet berries and small white shells, And as through the night the Dream Coach gleams, The song he sings like a banner streams: “Nothing is real in all the world, Nothing is real but dreams.” Through sound of rain the Dream Coach gallops fast. All those that we have loved are riding there: I hear their laughter on the misty air. I wait for you—I have been waiting long: Far off I hear the Driver’s tiny song—— Oh, Dream Coach! Come at last! (From _Knee-High to a Grasshopper_.) [Illustration] The Seven White Dreams of the King’s Little Daughter When the Driver of the Dream Coach reached the last small star in the sky, he unharnessed his hundred misty horses and put them out to pasture in the great blue meadow of Heaven. It was well he reached the end of his journey when he did, for in another moment a mounting wave of sunlight and wind, rushing up from the world far below, blew out the silver-white flame of the star so that no one could follow the strange Driver and his strange Coach to their resting place.