Childhood Fancies
The twilight gray is falling,
Now list and you shall hear
The footsteps of the sylphid fays,--
This is their hour of cheer.
List to the gentle patter
On each wee blade of grass,
As it is bent, and back again,
Whene'er the fairies pass.
Upon the tips of grasses
They cross the meadows, lawn,
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And laugh and dance and play and sing,
From twilight hour till dawn.
They light their myriad lanterns,
And hang them in the arch
Of blue that canopies o'erhead,
And by their light they march.
They sometimes miss a fairy,
And take a lantern down
To search for her, and mortals say;
"A fire-fly flits around."
On leaves they hang their diamonds,
Their pearls in every flower;
Their gauzy veils upon the grass,
They spread for fairy bower.
Their slender wings are hanging
On every shrub, across;
Their seats are dainty cushion-beds
Of green and springy moss.
Their shrubbery of coral
Is gray and scarlet-tipped;
Their hair upon the maize is hung
Each Summer, when 'tis clipped.
The mushroom forms their table,
Their dishes, acorn cups;
The ant-hills are their barracks high;
Their cannon, "hemlock pops."
Their scarfs of plush are lying
On ripening grape and peach;
Their sea-shells 'neath the apple trees,
Each Spring bestrew their beach.
They paint the leaves in Autumn;
They make a tiny rink
Of every puddle, fen, and dike,
And skate from nave to brink.
They brown the nuts in forests,
The burrs they open wide;
They lure the feathers from the clouds.
And pile them up, to slide.
They build along the way-side
Their fairy palisades,--
The "hoar-frost" some have christened it,--
And hold West Point parades.
They sketch upon the windows
Such pictures as no power
Of man can ever execute,
And on them pearl-dust shower.
All these and myriad fancies
That never can be told,
My childhood days so new and sweet,
In memory infold.
But mother softly whispers,
"Tis not the Fays, my dears,
Tis old Dame Nature's song of songs,
The 'Music of the Spheres.'
"List ever for it, children,
Twill bring you close to God;
Each sound but echoes Him who made,
Each motion is His nod."
* * * * *
"Waste not, want not," be your motto,--
Little things bring weal or woe;
Save the odds and ends, my children,
Some one wants them, if not you.