A Wish.
Margaret Veley.
If I could find the Little Year,
The Happy Year, the glad New Year—
If I could find him setting forth
To seek the ancient track—
I’d bring him here, the Little Year,
Like a peddler with his pack.
And all of golden brightness,
And nothing dull or black,
And all that heart could fancy,
And all that life could lack,
Should be your share of the peddlers ware,
When he undid his pack.
The best from out his treasure
A smile of yours would coax,
And then we’d speed him on his way,
At midnight’s failing strokes;
And bid him hurry round the world,
And serve the other folks!