WE I THE UNSEEN PLAYMATE HEN children are playing alone on the green In comes the playmate that never was seen. When children are happy and lonely and good, The Friend of the Children comes out of the wood. Nobody heard him and nobody saw, His is a picture you never could draw, But he's sure to be present, abroad or at home, He lies in the laurels, he runs on the grass, He loves to be little, he hates to be big, 'Tis he that inhabits the caves that you dig; 'Tis he when you play with your soldiers of tin That sides with the Frenchmen and never can win. 'T is he, when at night you go off to your bed, Bids you go to your sleep and not trouble your head; For wherever they 're lying, in cupboard or shelf, 'T is he will take care of your playthings himself! II MY SHIP AND I IT'S I that am the captain of a tidy little ship, And my ship it keeps a-turning all around and all about; But when I'm a little older, I shall find the secret out How to send my vessel sailing on beyond. For I mean to grow as little as the dolly at the helm, And the dolly I intend to come alive; And with him beside to help me, it's a-sailing I shall go, It's a-sailing on the water, when the jolly breezes blow And the vessel goes a divie-divie-dive. O it's then you'll see me sailing through the rushes and the reeds, And you'll hear the water singing at the prow; For beside the dolly sailor, I'm to voyage and explore, To land upon the island where no dolly was before, And to fire the penny cannon in the bow. III MY KINGDOM DOWN by a shining water well I found a very little dell, No higher than my head. The heather and the gorse about In summer bloom were coming out, Some yellow and some red. I called the little pool a sea; I made a boat, I made a town, And all about was mine, I said, This was the world and I was king; I played there were no deeper seas, At last I heard my mother call To call me home to tea. And I must rise and leave my dell, And leave my heather blooms. IV PICTURE-BOOKS IN WINTER UMMER fading, winter comes SUM Frosty mornings, tingling thumbs, Window robins, winter rooks, Water now is turned to stone All the pretty things put by, We may see how all things are, How am I to sing your praise, |