THE LAND OF STORY-BOOKS T evening when the lamp is lit, Around the fire my parents sit; They sit at home and talk and sing, And do not play at anything. Now, with my little gun, I crawl There, in the night, where none can spy, All in my hunter's camp I lie, And play at books that I have read Till it is time to go to bed. These are the hills, these are the woods, These are my starry solitudes; And there the river by whose brink The roaring lions come to drink. I see the others far away So, when my nurse comes in for me, Home I return across the sea, And go to bed with backward looks At my dear land of Story-books. ARMIES IN THE FIRE HE lamps now glitter down the street; TH Faintly sound the falling feet; And the blue even slowly falls Now in the falling of the gloom Armies march by tower and spire Then once again the glow returns; Blinking embers, tell me true IX THE LITTLE LAND 'HEN at home alone I sit WH And am very tired of it, I have just to shut my eyes To the pleasant Land of Play; Where the Little People are; Through the grasses, In that forest to and fro THE LITTLE LAND I can in the sorrel sit I can climb the jointed grass; See the greater swallows pass And the round sun rolling by Through that forest I can pass Little thoughtful creatures sit |