Poems By a Little Girl by Hilda Conkling
page 75 of 79 (94%)
page 75 of 79 (94%)
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Where are your children?
Where are the magic stones, your children?" The brook answered me sweetly, "I left them on the Alp, In steep fields. They were trying to hold me back, To keep me from this shady path of happiness; But I went onward day by day Until they got used to seeing me pass. Now, they stand there in an enchantment On the mountain-side, While I travel fields of elm and poplar." BIRD OF PARADISE I was walking in a meadow of Paradise When I heard a singing Far away and sweet Like a Roman harp, Sweet and murmurous Like the wind, Far and soft Like the fir trees. It will not change a song If the bird has a golden crest; No feathers of blue and rose-red Could make a song. I have known in my dreaming |
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