Left Out
If shoemakers' children are left with feet bare
I've wondered and wondered (I don't think it's fair)
If maybe at Christmas there aren't any toys
Left over for Santa Claus' own girls and boys!
The White Birch
A white birch grows
In the deepest wood.
If you are good
And the stars are right
—Who knows?—
You may see, some night,
The nymphs stand under
The sea-green heave
Of its boughs, in a row.
—But if you wonder,
They will fade and go.
—You must just believe!
The Playmate
Last year I played with the country,
This year, with the sea,
Now the queer old city
Stops and plays with me.—
Stops in its counting of pennies
(It never, never fails
To know the time I'm going to bed)—
And tells me fairy tales.