SEVEN CHILD SONGS
I. DO YOU KNOW?
Behind the currant bushes, when the night was coming on,
There was such a funny whisper—do you know?
It made us shiver-shiver, and it made our hearts beat quick,
And we knew it wasn’t any good to carry out a stick,
But we did it just the same, or else you never would have gone—
Do you know?
Beyond the old syringa, when the stars were peeping out,
There was such a funny shadow—do you know?
And over in the flower-bed you had left your father’s spade,
And you had to go and get it, and you said you weren’t afraid,
But you told me afterward about the creeping Indian scout—
Do you know?
Beneath the kitchen window, when the moon was climbing high,
There was such a funny coldness—do you know?
No matter if ’twas summer, it was cool just like a well,
And the reason was because a ghost—but when you tried to tell,
I put my fingers in my ears, and how I used to cry!
Do you know?
II. THE SECRET PLAYMATE
When I am playing underneath the tree,
I look around—and there he is with me!
Among the shadows of the boughs he stands,
And shakes the leaves at me with both his hands.
And then upon the mossy roots we lie,
And watch the leaves make pictures on the sky.
And then we swing and float from bough to bough—
And never fall? I can’t remember now.
The games I play with him are always best,
And yet we cannot teach them to the rest.
For when the others come to join our play,
I look around—and he has slipped away!
They ask me if he speaks—I cannot tell;
But no one else can play with me so well.
III. LONELINESS
How can I play any longer with my doll?
You know she has lost her head.
And Mary’s the one that used to mend her for me—
And Mary, you say, is dead.
Why do I leave the sand-heap all alone?
Because it has dried and spread.
And Mary’s the one that always brought the water—
And Mary, you say, is dead.
More on the beach? Well, I think I know that, too!
And you are the one that said
That Mary and I should sleep in a room together—
And now you say Mary’s dead.
No, I don’t like the hotel—I’d be alone;
I’d cry in that great big bed:
And Mary and I played tent in the morning early—
And now Mary can’t—she’s dead.
Happier? no, not a bit! not a single bit!
Then why are your eyes so red?
And Mary’s the one that never liked angel-stories—
And Mary’s the one that’s dead.
IV. DREAMS
One night I climbed a mountain all of snow,
A great black creature showed me where to go:
We went into a church with no one there,
And cried because the wind began to blow.
And then a King that wore a golden crown
Climbed up the spire and tried to help me down,
But I spread out my arms, and flew and flew,
And all the people watched us from the town.
They chased me through the streets, but I ran fast,
And got into a secret place at last.
I’d float down stairways, touching just my toes,
And laugh and mock at them as I went past.
And then we went to Cinderella’s ball,
I had no shoes nor stockings on at all:
They smiled and pointed at me till I cried,
And woke up just as when you slip and fall.
V. THE SHADOW
If you and I should join our hands
And go at night soft through the hall,
I wonder could we hope to catch
That shadow sliding from the wall?
He slips and slips and slips away,
I touched his arm—and he was gone!
I cannot see his face, can you?
What wall can that be painted on?
Because they say he isn’t real,
They say he’s just a flattened form;
But me, I don’t believe it’s true,
I touched his arm, and it was warm!
Right through the wall he slips and sinks:
The room behind, you know, is mine.
What can he want there in the dark?
He never makes a sound nor sign.
He never goes there in the day,
Only at night, right after tea,
And then I go to bed, you know,
And then he runs ahead of me.
If you will hold my hand quite close,
And creep along with me quite still,
We’ll make a sudden jump—but no!
We’ll touch him then—I know we will!
VI. HEAVEN
She says that when we all have died
We’ll walk in white there (then she cried)
All free from sorrow, sin, and care—
But I’m not sure I’d like it there.
She cannot tell me what we’ll do,
I couldn’t sing the whole day through:
The angels might not care to play,
Or else I mightn’t like their way.
I never loved my Uncle Ned,
So I can’t love him now he’s dead.
He’d be the only one I know—
She says it’s wicked to talk so.
I’d like to see how God would look,
I’d like to see that Judgment Book:
But pretty soon I’d want to be
Where the real people were, you see.
When people turn dead in a dream,
I wake up, and I scream and scream:
And since they’re all dead there, you know,
I’m sure that I should feel just so!
VII. THE PEAR TREE
We lived out under the pear tree,
We dined upon tarts and cream,
I married you there for ever,
But, dear, ’twas only a dream!
We sailed away in the branches
To countries strange and new,
For we owned estates in Dreamland,
But, sweetheart, it isn’t true!
We made a church in the pear tree,
Where the angels came to sing,
We stroked their wings—but, dearest,
You mustn’t believe a thing!
We cut our names in the tree trunk,
So the bark could never grow,
And the Dryad cried! But, my darling,
’Twas none of it really so!