Poems (Trask)/The Child's Wishes

by Clara Augusta Jones Trask

THE CHILD'S WISHES.

Oh, if I were a robin,
 With breast of crimson red,
And black and shiny feathers
 On my bonny, roguish head,
So high above the tree-tops,
 Dear mother, I could fly,
You'd almost think me sailing up
 To visit yonder sky.

Oh, if I were the south-wind,
 That sings so soft and deep,
And scampers down the hillside
 Among the flocks of sheep,
I'd fan the little lambkins
 Through every sultry day,
And make the sweet white clover
 Bloom for them all the way.

Oh, if I were the streamlet
 Down in the mossy dell,
I'd sing the whole time gently
 To the listening lily-bell,—
I'd water thirsty meadows,
 And verdant make the grass,
And all the little sleepy flowers
 Would laugh to see me pass.

Oh, if I were a daisy
 In some shady wayside nook,
Where the pretty village maidens
 Would pause on me to look,
I'd charm them with my fragrance
 Of half their gentle love,
With my eyes so bright and starry
 Lifted unto heaven above.

But if I were a robin,
 Or the south-wind, soft and low,
Or the little gliding streamlet,
 Or a modest daisy blow,
Mother, I could not slumber
 Upon your snowy breast;
Your kisses would not soothe me
 In the night-time into rest.

So I'd rather be your darling
 Than anything on earth,—
I'm happy as the happiest thing
 That ever had a birth!
I'd not be bird or streamlet,
 South-wind or daisy pearl;
But let me stay here, mother dear,
 And be your little girl.