THE MUSIC BOX
At six—long ere the wintry dawn—
There sounded through the silent hall
Above my ears, a plaintive call.
Of three years old, could not refrain;
And frolic with his clockwork train.
His sister, by her usual plan,
I vowed to quench the little man.
And spoke, I fear, with emphasis—
To seal one's censure with a kiss!
Again I lay in slumber's snare,
A tiny, tinkling, tuneful air—
His crib companion every night;
While waiting for the lagging light.
Those tingling pricks of sound unrolled;
His lonely little heart consoled.
(Its only tune) shrilled sweet and faint.
In vigil gay, without complaint.
The leaping air that was his bliss;
I thanked the all-unconscious Swiss!
Rang slowlier and died away—
Who lay and waited for the day.
The Music Box