The witch, the witch that lives in the wood Is not very pretty and not very good; Her face is brown and her eyes are black, A fierce old pussy-cat sits on her back With a sharp thin tail sticking up like a spire, While her mistress crouches over the fire, Be the day cold or be the day hot, Watching her strange little bubbling pot. The gobliny dwarf that lives on the hill He lies in the heather so still, so still. But on big dark nights when there isn’t a moon He puts on his cloak and his dancing shoon And runs along like a soft shy mouse Till he comes to the door of the witch’s house. “Ho!” he cries, “it is junketing weather”; And off they go on the spree together. Off they go on the tail of the wind: The great black pussy-cat sails behind. Haven’t you heard them banging about? Haven’t you heard them whistle and shout? Haven’t you seen them now and again Peering in at the window-pane? Oh, but I tell you it’s better to hide When the witch and the goblin are out for a ride. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ THE WILLOW PRINCESSES The tall princesses in the willow tree They move their lazy, lovely heads about, They wave their arms, their hair goes streaming out, Their rustling dresses shimmer like the sea. But presently they cease to sway and swing And stand quite still, and whisper gentle words, Quietly calling to the little birds To perch upon their pretty hands and sing. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ A VISITOR I heard a little tiny noise behind the cupboard door And something soft and small and quick flashed right across the floor. The day had very nearly gone and I could hardly see; I do so wish that it would come again to visit me; The whole day long I’ve looked and looked and looked about the house, _I_ think it was a fairy. _Nurse_ thinks it was a mouse. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ THE LITTLE PRINCE My mother is a queen and my father is a king And I have a garden with pretty birds that sing, Where pansies and marigolds and hollyhocks grow And four little apple-trees planted in a row. My father is a king and my mother is a queen And I have a little page dressed all in green, A treasure-mine in Barbary, an orange-grove in Spain, And a little brown monkey on a long gold chain.