THE GOLDEN DAYS
I wonder where the Fairy-book can be,
The book from which she read to you and me,
While the warm sunlight shifted down the tree?
And the brown eyes turned downward to the leaf,
Tear-spotted by two tiny people’s grief,
When Death bound one more princess in his sheaf.
I wonder where the Rocking-horse has run
That carried us before the day was done,
To all the lands that lie beneath the sun?
And the dear lips of her we loved so well
Kissed us more sweetly than our tongue could tell,
When the too daring riders swayed and fell.
I wonder where the crimson peaches grow
We caught together when she threw them, so,
And ran with her to hide them, laughing low?
And her light feet were swifter yet than ours,
And her soft cheeks were like two rosy flowers—
Ah, Time and Death, ye two malignant powers!