[K] Like one in my Aunt's French picture-book
I saw his shadow dance about
Like a shadow on a sheet;
I saw his eyes, like currants black,
And his white velvet feet.
My aunt's house is a quiet house,
The servants never speak:
She goes to sleep each afternoon:
I stay there for a week.
The rooms have got a woolly smell,
They're full of little things—
Tall clocks and fat blue china bowls
And birds with coloured wings.
I tinkle all the candlesticks
Upon the mantelpiece:
They wave long after I have gone,
And never seem to cease.
The drawing-room is full of shawls,
With footstools everywhere,
And prickly cushions stuck upright
Upon each bristly chair.
I'm glad when I go home again
Into the shining lamps
And comfortable sound of streets,
And see my book of stamps.
