 | Collected poems |  |
586
A SONG OF THE GREENAWAY CHILD
In an article by the writer on Kate Greenaway (Art Journal, April, 1902) the following lines were included:—
“K. G.” (November 6, 1901.)
Farewell, kind heart! And if there be
In that unshored immensity
Child-Angels, they will welcome thee.
Clean-souled, clear-eyed, unspoiled, discreet,
Thou gav'st thy gifts to make Life sweet,—
These shall be flowers about thy feet!
In an article by the writer on Kate Greenaway (Art Journal, April, 1902) the following lines were included:— “K. G.” (November 6, 1901.)
Farewell, kind heart! And if there be
In that unshored immensity
Child-Angels, they will welcome thee.
In that unshored immensity
Child-Angels, they will welcome thee.
Clean-souled, clear-eyed, unspoiled, discreet,
Thou gav'st thy gifts to make Life sweet,—
These shall be flowers about thy feet!
Thou gav'st thy gifts to make Life sweet,—
These shall be flowers about thy feet!
As I went a-walking on Lavender Hill,
O, I met a Darling in frock and frill;
And she looked at me shyly, with eyes of blue,
“Are you going a-walking? Then take me too!”
O, I met a Darling in frock and frill;
And she looked at me shyly, with eyes of blue,
“Are you going a-walking? Then take me too!”
So we strolled to the field where the cowslips grow,
And we played—and we played for an hour or so;
Then we climbed to the top of the old park wall,
And the Darling she threaded a cowslip ball.
And we played—and we played for an hour or so;
Then we climbed to the top of the old park wall,
And the Darling she threaded a cowslip ball.
Then we played again, till I said—“My Dear,
This pain in my side, it has grown severe;
I ought to have told you I'm past three-score,
And I fear that I scarcely can play any more!”
This pain in my side, it has grown severe;
I ought to have told you I'm past three-score,
And I fear that I scarcely can play any more!”
But the Darling she answered,—“O no! O no!
You must play—you must play.—I shan't let you go!”
—And I woke with a start and a sigh of despair
And I found myself safe in my Grandfather's-chair!
You must play—you must play.—I shan't let you go!”
—And I woke with a start and a sigh of despair
And I found myself safe in my Grandfather's-chair!
1908.
| Collected poems | |