THE MOON IN THE POOL
The moon is drowned in the little brown pool
Where the water is ever so deep.
I must help her out of the shadowy cool
Before I can go to sleep;
I must help her out with my friendly hands,
(If I saw her, how could I pass?)
Where the drooping tree on the hillside stands
I will put her to rest on the grass.
The stars must be weeping, and hiding their eyes,
And wondering where she can be;
And sending the clouds to hunt over the skies,
I am glad that she fell to me!
For now I may help her, and smooth her hair;
On the grass she shall rest, and then
When the little night wind finds her sleeping there
He will carry her home again.
THE FLYING HOURS
Twelve little birds fly by in a row—
Bright little birds are they—
Shining and free, and as blue as can be,
And these are the hours of the day;
The sun shines warmly across their wings
As they hurry their way along;
And now and again, in their joy of things,
They carol a daytime song.
Twelve little owls fly by in a row,
Silent and dark their flight;
Gray little things, with shadowy wings,
And these are the hours of the night;
But the last of them all, as he hovers low,
Is flushed with a radiant pink;
This is the good little sunrise owl;
I like him the best, I think.