THE NIGHT WIND

To the darkness brooding far and wide
Over the land and the deep:

"Whom do you want, O lonely night,

That you wail the long hours through?" And the night would say in its ghostly way: "Yoooooooo!

Yoooooooo!

Yoooooooo!"

My mother told me long ago

(When I was a little tad)

That when the night went wailing so,

Somebody had been bad;

And then, when I was snug in bed,

Whither I had been sent,

With the blankets pulled up round my head,
I'd think of what my mother'd said,
And wonder what boy she meant!
And "Who's been bad to-day?" I'd ask
Of the wind that hoarsely blew,

And the voice would say in its meaningful way:
"Yoooooooo!

Yoooooooo!

Yoooooooo!"

That this was true I must allow-
You'll not believe it, though!
Yes, though I'm quite a model now,
I was not always so.

And if you doubt what things I say,
Suppose you make the test;

Suppose, when you've been bad some day
And up to bed are sent away

From mother and the rest

Suppose you ask, "Who has been bad?"
And then you'll hear what's true;

For the wind will moan in its ruefullest tone:

"Yoooooooo!

Yoooooooo!

Yoooooooo!"

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KISSING TIME

"TIs when the lark goes soaring
And the bee is at the bud,
When lightly dancing zephyrs
Sing over field and flood;
When all sweet things in nature
Seem joyfully achime-
"T is then I wake my darling,
For it is kissing time!

Go, pretty lark, a-soaring,
And suck your sweets, O bee;
Sing, O ye winds of summer,
Your songs to mine and me;
For with your song and rapture
Cometh the moment when
It's half-past kissing time.
And time to kiss again!

So-so the days go fleeting
Like golden fancies free,
And every day that cometh
Is full of sweets for me;
And sweetest are those moments
My darling comes to climb
Into my lap to mind me
That it is kissing time.

Sometimes, maybe, he wanders A heedless, aimless way— Sometimes, maybe, he loiters

In pretty, prattling play; But presently bethinks him And hastens to me then, For it's half-past kissing time And time to kiss again!

JEST 'FORE CHRISTMAS

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JEST 'FORE CHRISTMAS

FATHER calls me William, sister calls me Will,

Mother calls me Willie, but the fellers call me Bill!

Mighty glad I ain't a girl-ruther be a boy,

Without them sashes, curls, an' things that 's worn by Fauntleroy! Love to chawnk green apples an' go swimmin' in the lake

Hate to take the castor-ile they give for bellyache!

'Most all the time, the whole year round, there ain't no flies on me, But jest 'fore Christmas I'm as good as I kin be!

Got a yeller dog named Sport, sick him on the cat;
First thing she knows she does n't know where she is at!
Got a clipper sled, an' when us kids goes out to slide,
'Long comes the grocery cart, an' we all hook a ride!
But sometimes when the grocery man is worrited an' cross,
He reaches at us with his whip, an' larrups up his hoss,
An' then I laff an' holler, "Oh, ye never teched me!”
But jest 'fore Christmas I'm as good as I kin be!

Gran'ma says she hopes that when I git to be a man,
I'll be a missionarer like her oldest brother, Dan,

As was et up by the cannibuls that lives in Ceylon's Isle,
Where every prospeck pleases, an' only man is vile!
But gran'ma she has never been to see a Wild West show,
Nor read the Life of Daniel Boone, or else I guess she 'd know
That Buff'lo Bill an' cowboys is good enough for me!
Excep' jest 'fore Christmas, when I'm good as I kin be!

And then old Sport he hangs around, so solemnlike an' still,
His eyes they seem a-sayin': "What's the matter, little Bill?"
The old cat sneaks down off her perch an' wonders what's become
Of them two enemies of hern that used to make things hum!
But I am so perlite an' tend so earnestly to biz,

That mother says to father: "How improved our Willie is!"
But father, havin' been a boy hisself, suspicions me

When, jest 'fore Christmas, I'm as good as I kin be!

For Christmas, with its lots an' lots of candies, cakes, an' toys, Was made, they say, for proper kids an' not for naughty boys; So wash yer face an' bresh yer hair, an' mind yer p's and q's, An' don't bust out yer pantaloons, and don't wear out yer shoes; Say "Yessum" to the ladies, and "Yessur" to the men,

An' when they's company, don't pass yer plate for pie again; But, thinkin' of the things yer 'd like to see upon that tree, Jest 'fore Christmas be as good as yer kin be!

BEARD AND BABY

I SAY, as one who never feared
The wrath of a subscriber's bullet,

I pity him who has a beard

But has no little girl to pull it!

When wife and I have finished tea,

Our baby woos me with her prattle,
And, perching proudly on my knee,
She gives my petted whiskers battle.

With both her hands she tugs away,
While scolding at me kind o' spiteful;
You'll not believe me when I say
I find the torture quite delightful!

No other would presume, I ween,

To trifle with this hirsute wonder,
Else would I rise in vengeful mien
And rend his vandal frame asunder!

But when her baby fingers pull

This glossy, sleek, and silky treasure,

My cup of happiness is full

I fairly glow with pride and pleasure!

THE DINKEY-BIRD

And, sweeter still, through all the day
I seem to hear her winsome prattle-
I seem to feel her hands at play,

As though they gave me sportive battle.

Yes, heavenly music seems to steal
Where thought of her forever lingers,
And round my heart I always feel
The twining of her dimpled fingers!

THE DINKEY-BIRD

IN an ocean, 'way out yonder
(As all sapient people know),
Is the land of Wonder-Wander,
Whither children love to go;
It's their playing, romping, swinging,
That give great joy to me

While the Dinkey-Bird goes singing
In the amfalula tree!

There the gum-drops grow like cherries,

And taffy's thick as peas

Caramels you pick like berries

When, and where, and how you please;

Big red sugar-plums are clinging

To the cliffs beside that sea
Where the Dinkey-Bird is singing
In the amfalula tree.

So when children shout and scamper
And make merry all the day,
When there's naught to put a damper
To the ardor of their play;
When I hear their laughter ringing,

Then I'm sure as sure can be
That the Dinkey-Bird is singing
In the amfalula tree.

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