When the night comes, cold and slow,
And the sad moon walks the sky,
When the whispering wind says "Boh,
Little boy!" and makes me cry,
By my mother I am led
Home again and put to bed.
THE DEVIL'S BAG
I saw the Devil walking down the lane
Behind our house.—There was a heavy bag
Strapped tightly on his shoulders, and the rain
Sizzled when it hit him. He picked a rag
Up from the ground and put it in his sack,
And grinned and rubbed his hands.
There was a thing
Moving inside the bag upon his back—
It must have been a soul! I saw it fling
And twist about inside, and not a hole
Or cranny for escape! Oh, it was sad!
I cried, and shouted out, "Let out that soul!"
But he turned round, and, sure, his face went mad,
And twisted up and down, and he said "Hell!"
And ran away.... Oh, mammy! I'm not well.
A VISIT FROM ABROAD
A speck went blowing up against the sky
As little as a leaf: then it drew near
And broadened.—"It's a bird," said I,
And fetched my bow and arrows. It was queer!
It grew up from a speck into a blot,
And squattered past a cloud; then it flew down
All crumply, and waggled such a lot
I thought the thing would fall.—It was a brown
Old carpet where a man was sitting snug
Who, when he reached the ground, began to sew
A big hole in the middle of the rug,
And kept on peeping everywhere to know
Who might be coming—then he gave a twist
And flew away.... I fired at him but missed.
THE WOOD OF FLOWERS
I went to the Wood of Flowers
(No one was with me);
I was there alone for hours.
I was happy as could be
In the Wood of Flowers.