The summer sweets are ripening now;
In the flickering light I reach my hand[1187]
From the window, and pluck them from the bough.
When I was a child (oh! well for me
And them if I had never been older!),
When he told me stories on his knee,
And tossed me, and carried me on his shoulder;
When she knelt down and heard my prayer,
And gave me in my bed my good-night kiss—
Did they ever think that all their care