270
CHILDHOOD.
For all that it may bring to me
Full patiently can wait.
My Evening and my Morning then
Made up one perfect Day
Of joy, and round the parlour fire
My winter garden lay;
I played beside it till I saw
The deepening shadows fall,
And through the twilight come and go
The pictures on the wall,
This was the hour for stories
And wondrous tales, that drew
My spirit after them to lands
Where all was strange and new;
And I listened, and I wondered,
Then hastened to resume
My journey (broken oft by falls
That harmed not) round the room;
I have now of longer journeys
O'er rougher roads, to tell,
And sorer hurts, without the kiss
That used to make them well!
This was the Home of childhood;
As in a Fairy Ring
Within the circle of its hearth
Was drawn each cherished thing;
I sent no restless thought beyond,
I looked not to the door,
If the whole world had entered there
It could not give me more
Full patiently can wait.
My Evening and my Morning then
Made up one perfect Day
Of joy, and round the parlour fire
My winter garden lay;
I played beside it till I saw
The deepening shadows fall,
And through the twilight come and go
The pictures on the wall,
This was the hour for stories
And wondrous tales, that drew
My spirit after them to lands
Where all was strange and new;
And I listened, and I wondered,
Then hastened to resume
My journey (broken oft by falls
That harmed not) round the room;
I have now of longer journeys
O'er rougher roads, to tell,
And sorer hurts, without the kiss
That used to make them well!
This was the Home of childhood;
As in a Fairy Ring
Within the circle of its hearth
Was drawn each cherished thing;
I sent no restless thought beyond,
I looked not to the door,
If the whole world had entered there
It could not give me more
