Shall we refashion our castles in Spain,
Or sail to the Indies with Sinbad again,
Or noiselessly drift to where tired stars wane—
Shall it be Africa, Sinbad or Spain?
Speak, little child, and together we'll go
Back to the musical dreamlands we know.
Dear little child, you have wandered to rest.
While you are sleeping I wonder and think
Where you will go, and what land will be best
Treading for such baby feet, and I shrink.