At evening when the lamp is lit, Around the fire my parents sit; They sit at home and talk and sing, And do not play at anything. Now, with my little gun, I crawl All in the dark along the wall, And follow round the forest track Away behind the sofa back. There, in the night, where none can spy, All in my hunter’s camp I lie, And play at books that I have read Till it is time to go to bed. These are the hills, these are the woods, These are my starry solitudes; And there the river by whose brink The roaring lions come to drink. I see the others far away As if in firelit camp they lay, And I, like to an Indian scout, Around their party prowled about. So, when my nurse comes in for me, Home I return across the sea, And go to bed with backward looks At my dear land of Story-books.
The Land of Story-books
More from Poet
-
From the bonny bells of heather They brewed a drink long-syne, Was sweeter far than honey, Was stronger far than wine. They brewed it and they drank it, And lay in a blessèd swound For days and days together In the dwellings underground. There rose a king in Scotland, A fell man to his...
-
Yet, O stricken heart, remember, O remember How of human days he lived the better part. April came to bloom and never dim December Breathed its killing chills upon the head or heart. Doomed to know not winter, only spring, a being Trod the flowery April blithely for a while, Took his fill...
-
A Naked house, a naked moor, A shivering pool before the door, A garden bare of flowers and fruit, And poplars at the garden foot; Such is the place that I live in, Bleak without and bare within. Yet shall your ragged moors receive The incomparable pomp of eve, And the cold glories of the dawn...
-
It is the season now to go About the country high and low, Among the lilacs hand in hand, And two by two in fairy land. The brooding boy, the sighing maid, Wholly fain and half afraid, Now meet along the hazelled brook To pass and linger, pause and look. A year ago, and blithely paired, Their...
-
I Saw you toss the kites on high And blow the birds about the sky; And all around I heard you pass, Like ladies’ skirts across the grass— O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song! I saw the different things you did, But always you yourself you hid. I felt you push, I...