NIGHT
I DO not like to say good-night,—
I hate to shut my eyes,
When fringe-beams of the stars and moon
Make day-things play surprise.
The night is such a wonder-world,
I love it more than day.
The Dark comes close and calls. That's why
My prayers are hard to say.
HOVER-TIME
IT is the hover-time
That comes between the light and dark.
The little squirrels climb
Into their nests in trees and hark
To rustly leaves about.
Far off, I hear new insect cries—
From things which never dare call out
In daytime: they're afraid of Eyes.
Out from the purply wood
The first bat circles on the fly.
Far things draw on a hood
And shadows hide the place where sky
And earth make dim their line.
The trees change shape, and soon the gray
Blurs into black; and that's the hour
When dark comes down to stay.
TREASURE CRAFT
UPON the brook, for treasure-craft,
I sail some petals, red and white;
They always go away from me—
They float much faster in their flight,
Than I can run along the bank.
My precious wee bit things bear freight;
Which very soon falls overboard,
And sinks where miser-folk await
To snatch my sparkling treasure-store.
Perhaps the waters dash too high
For such a little fleet of ships,
And that may be the reason why
My crafts do not return again.
Still, I expect them any day.
I've lost some things I love the best,—
My flower-chains and ribbons gay—
But, though I miss these pretty things,
I love much more the sailing-fun,
And launch new ships when morning sings,
And rainbow mist floats in the sun.