The rain is raining all around, It falls on field and tree, It rains on the umbrellas here, And on the ships at sea.
VII

PIRATE STORY

Three of us afloat in the meadow by the swing, Three of us aboard in the basket on the lea. Winds are in the air, they are blowing in the spring, And waves are on the meadow like the waves there are at sea. Where shall we adventure, to-day that we’re afloat, Wary of the weather, and steering by a star? Shall it be to Africa, a-steering of the boat, To Providence, or Babylon, or off to Malabar? Hi! but here’s a squadron a-rowing on the sea— Cattle on the meadow a-charging with a roar! Quick, and we’ll escape them, they’re as mad as they can be, The wicket is the harbour and the garden is the shore.
VIII

FOREIGN LANDS

Up into the cherry-tree Who should climb but little me? I held the trunk with both my hands And looked abroad on foreign lands. I saw the next-door garden lie, Adorned with flowers, before my eye, And many pleasant places more That I had never seen before. I saw the dimpling river pass And be the sky’s blue looking-glass; The dusty roads go up and down With people tramping in to town. If I could find a higher tree, Farther and farther I should see To where the grown-up river slips Into the sea among the ships, To where the roads on either hand Lead onward into fairy-land, Where all the children dine at five, And all the playthings come alive.

IX

WINDY NIGHTS