There was a problem when proofreading this page.
Swedish Child.
I met a little Swedish child,
And deep and thoughtful were her eyes;
My willing fancy she beguiled
With many a legend strange and wild.
She told of witching water-sprites,
Of nimble dwarfs and giants grim,
Of dancers 'mid the Northern Lights
That wave their banners o'er the heights.
She sang me may a cunning rhyme,
Then up she rose in haste, and cried,
"I must be gone the church-bells chime,
I'll tell the rest another time!"
—EDITH M. THOMAS.
