 | The Invisible Playmate |  |
BY THE FIRESIDE
I
Red-bosomed Robin, in the hard white weatherShe marks thee light upon the ice to rest;
She sees the wintry glass glow with thy breast
And let thee warm thy feet at thine own feather.
II
In the April sun at baby-house she plays.Her rooms are traced with stones and bits of bricks;
For warmth she lays a hearth with little sticks,
And one bright crocus makes a merry blaze!
| The Invisible Playmate | |