A Ballade of the Nurserie.
(After Mr. Swinburne’s “Dreamland.”)
She hid herself in the soirée kettle
Out of her Ma’s way, wise wee maid!
Wan was her lip as the lily’s petal,
Sad was the smile that over it played.
Why doth she warble not? Is she afraid
Of the hound that howls, or the moaning mole?
Can it be on an errand she hath delayed?
Hush thee, hush thee, dear little soul!