And, once again, from the heart of the City A murmur of tenderer laughter rose, A sound that was faint as the smile of Pity, And sweet as a swan-song’s golden close; And it seemed as if some wonderful Fair Were charming the night of the City of Dreams, For, over the mystical din out there, The clouds were litten with flickering gleams, And a roseate light like the day’s first flush Quivered and beat on the towers above, And we heard through the curious crooning hush An elfin song that we used to love. _Little Boy Blue, come blow up your horn ..._ And the soft wind blew it the other way; And all that we heard was--_Cow’s in the corn_; But we never heard anything half so gay! And ever we seemed to be drawing nearer That mystical roseate smoke-wreathed glare, And the curious music grew louder and clearer, Till _Mustard-Seed_ said, “We are lucky, you see, We’ve arrived at a time of festivity!” And so to the end of the street we came, And turned a corner, and--there we were, In a place that glowed like the dawn of day, A crowded clamouring City square Like the cloudy heart of an opal, aflame With the lights of a great Dream-Fair: Thousands of children were gathered there, Thousands of old men, weary and grey, And the shouts of the showmen filled the air-- This way! This way! This way! And _See-Saw_; _Margery Daw_; we heard a rollicking shout, As the swing-boats hurtled over our heads to the tune of the roundabout; And _Little Boy Blue, come blow up your horn_, we heard the showmen cry, And _Dickory Dock, I’m as good as a clock_, we heard the swings reply. This way, this way to your Heart’s Desire; Come, cast your burdens down; And the pauper shall mount his throne in the skies, And the king be rid of his crown: And souls that were dead shall be fed with fire From the fount of their ancient pain, And your lost love come with the light in her eyes Back to your heart again. Ah, here be sure she shall never prove Less kind than her eyes were bright; This way, this way to your old lost love, You shall kiss her lips to-night; This way for the smile of a dead man’s face And the grip of a brother’s hand, This way to your childhood’s heart of grace And your home in Fairy-land. _Dickory Dock, I’m as good as a clock_, d’you hear my swivels chime? To and fro as I come and go, I keep eternal time. O, little Bo-peep, if you’ve lost your sheep and don’t know where to find ’em, Leave ’em alone and they’ll come home, and carry their tails behind ’em.