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55
A CHILD'S DAY.
When I was a little child
It was always golden weather.
My days stretched out so long
From rise to set of sun;
I sang and danced and smiled—
My light heart like a feather—
From morn to even-song;
But the child's days are done.
It was always golden weather.
My days stretched out so long
From rise to set of sun;
I sang and danced and smiled—
My light heart like a feather—
From morn to even-song;
But the child's days are done.
I used to wake with the birds—
The little birds wake early,
For the sunshine leaps and plays
On the mother's head and wing—
And the clouds were white as curds;
The apple-trees stood pearly:
I always think of the child's days
As one unending Spring.
The little birds wake early,
For the sunshine leaps and plays
On the mother's head and wing—
And the clouds were white as curds;
The apple-trees stood pearly:
I always think of the child's days
As one unending Spring.
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I knew where all flowers grew.
I used to lie in the meadow
Ere reaping-time and mowing-time
And carting home the hay.
And oh, the skies were blue!
Oh, drifting light and shadow!
It was another time and clime—
The little child's sweet day.
I used to lie in the meadow
Ere reaping-time and mowing-time
And carting home the hay.
And oh, the skies were blue!
Oh, drifting light and shadow!
It was another time and clime—
The little child's sweet day.
And in the long day's waning
The skies grew rose and amber
And palest green and gold,
With a moon's white flame:
And if came wind and raining,
Grey hours I don't remember;
Nor how the warm year waxèd cold,
And deathly Autumn came.
The skies grew rose and amber
And palest green and gold,
With a moon's white flame:
And if came wind and raining,
Grey hours I don't remember;
Nor how the warm year waxèd cold,
And deathly Autumn came.
Only of that young time
The bright things I remember;
How orchard boughs were laden red,
And blackberries so brave
Came ere the frost and rime—
Ere the dreary dark November,
With dripping black boughs overhead,
And dead leaves on a grave.
The bright things I remember;
How orchard boughs were laden red,
And blackberries so brave
Came ere the frost and rime—
Ere the dreary dark November,
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And dead leaves on a grave.
The years have come and gone,
And brought me many a pleasure,
And many a gift and gain
From near and from afar;
And dear work gladly done,
And dear love without measure,
And sunshine after rain,
And in the night a star.
And brought me many a pleasure,
And many a gift and gain
From near and from afar;
And dear work gladly done,
And dear love without measure,
And sunshine after rain,
And in the night a star.
The years have come and gone,
And brought me share of sorrow;
Yet I shall sing to ease my pain
For the hours I must stay:
They are passing one by one,
And I wait with hope the morrow;
But indeed I am not fain
Of a long, long day.
And brought me share of sorrow;
Yet I shall sing to ease my pain
For the hours I must stay:
They are passing one by one,
And I wait with hope the morrow;
But indeed I am not fain
Of a long, long day.
It is well for a little child
Whose heart is blithe and merry
To find too short its golden day—
Long morn and afternoon:
So many flowers grow wild,
And many a fruit and berry:
Long day, too short for work and play,—
The night comes too soon.
Whose heart is blithe and merry
To find too short its golden day—
Long morn and afternoon:
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And many a fruit and berry:
Long day, too short for work and play,—
The night comes too soon.
It was well for that little child.
But its day is gone for ever,
And a wounded heart will ache
In the sunlight gold and gay.
And the night is cool and mild
To all things that smart with fever!
The older heart had time to break
In the little child's long day.
But its day is gone for ever,
And a wounded heart will ache
In the sunlight gold and gay.
And the night is cool and mild
To all things that smart with fever!
The older heart had time to break
In the little child's long day.
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