 | Poems and verses by Mary Mapes Dodge |  |
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SNOW-BOUND.
How did it happen? Well, you see,
Charley called for Mary or me;
Sleighing good, and neither loth—
Only wished he could take us both,
So he said. And grandmother smiled,
Nodding at me: “Dress warmly, child.”
He looked at Moll
As if to say,
“Too bad, but we
Shall ride some day,”
While I, half prompted not to go,
Yet feeling, somehow, forced, you know,
Ran to get ready, blithely humming,
Never dreaming of what was coming.
Charley called for Mary or me;
Sleighing good, and neither loth—
Only wished he could take us both,
So he said. And grandmother smiled,
Nodding at me: “Dress warmly, child.”
He looked at Moll
As if to say,
“Too bad, but we
Shall ride some day,”
While I, half prompted not to go,
Yet feeling, somehow, forced, you know,
Ran to get ready, blithely humming,
Never dreaming of what was coming.
A dear little sleigh and robes—so nice!
And though the air was cold as ice,
I did n't care one bit—not I.
And that horse of Charley's seemed to fly;
While the sleigh-bells' ching-a-ling, clear and sweet,
Kept tune to my heart's bewildered beat,
With their ching-a-ling-ing,
And Charley singing
“What would you do, love?”
Through their ringing.
Everything was so perfect and bright
And sweet and warm—for a winter night—
That—that—in fact, though only sleighing,
I hardly knew what Charley was saying.
And though the air was cold as ice,
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And that horse of Charley's seemed to fly;
While the sleigh-bells' ching-a-ling, clear and sweet,
Kept tune to my heart's bewildered beat,
With their ching-a-ling-ing,
And Charley singing
“What would you do, love?”
Through their ringing.
Everything was so perfect and bright
And sweet and warm—for a winter night—
That—that—in fact, though only sleighing,
I hardly knew what Charley was saying.
Snow-bound? Ah, that is only his joke;
There was n't a storm, and nothing broke,
And we were n't half dead with cold and fear,
Nor buried in drift, as he 'd have it appear.
There was n't a storm, and nothing broke,
And we were n't half dead with cold and fear,
Nor buried in drift, as he 'd have it appear.
It 's only his way of letting you know
Of what befell o'er the crispy snow,
While ching-a-ling-ching
We slid along,
And Charley forgot
To end his song,
And I—well, I was quiet, too,
For where was the use, when Charley knew?
All in a breath the past grew clear,
And life shone forth so dear, so dear!
Of what befell o'er the crispy snow,
While ching-a-ling-ching
We slid along,
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To end his song,
And I—well, I was quiet, too,
For where was the use, when Charley knew?
All in a breath the past grew clear,
And life shone forth so dear, so dear!
“Drifts,” indeed! and “Pity we went!”
You might have guessed what his “snow-bound” meant.
You might have guessed what his “snow-bound” meant.
| Poems and verses by Mary Mapes Dodge | |