WHILE KATE PICKS BY, YET LOOKS NOT THERE
LEND ME THE BREATH OF A FRESHENING GALE
BOW TO ME IN THE WINDER THERE
OUR "OLD-KRISS"-MILKMAN
THE CHILDISH DREAMS IN HIS WISE OLD HEAD

* * * * *




THE BOOK OF JOYOUS CHILDREN


Bound and bordered in leaf-green,
Edged with trellised buds and flowers
And glad Summer-gold, with clean
White and purple morning-glories
Such as suit the songs and stories
Of this book of ours,
Unrevised in text or scene,--
The Book of Joyous Children.

Wild and breathless in their glee--
Lawless rangers of all ways
Winding through lush greenery
Of Elysian vales--the viny,
Bowery groves of shady, shiny
Haunts of childish days.
Spread and read again with me