THE DREAM BARGE
17
And, at the school across the way,
Geography's the task to-day.
Our dream barge takes no heed of that—
Where would its claim to magic be
If it were tied to time and tide,
The chattel of geography!
Dream barges always guess their route . . .
The dawn star fades, as down we shoot.
Geography's the task to-day.
Our dream barge takes no heed of that—
Where would its claim to magic be
If it were tied to time and tide,
The chattel of geography!
Dream barges always guess their route . . .
The dawn star fades, as down we shoot.
How short the night! How long the day!
The key is turned; the nursery door
Jerks open, and a mat of string
Sinks worn and ugly to the floor . . .
As in cold beds we snuggle down,
A cock crows somewhere in the town.
The key is turned; the nursery door
Jerks open, and a mat of string
Sinks worn and ugly to the floor . . .
As in cold beds we snuggle down,
A cock crows somewhere in the town.
