Dream Blocks

The Big Clock

OUR Big Clock goes so slow, When I am waiting on the stairs, With nice, clean clothes on, dressed to go Out with Aunt Beth to see the bears And funny possums at the Zoo! But oh, at night how fast Our Big Clock goes! It's very rude To company, and when time's past When I must always go to bed, The hands just fly in wicked glee. It strikes out long ahead And makes them all look round at me.

How can I get to know it well, When it's so _Sunday_-clean? Perhaps when it is old and stained With dust and grass, it will not seem So strange and dignified as now. But then I think I never could make mud pies right If I had on my pink.

A Questioning

I WONDER, when I die, If some one there will see, And hold me close, And take good care of me, As when I came on earth to be A little child?

A Test

SOME day when I've had lots to eat, Then I should like to be A ragged beggar child, A little while, to see If you--and _you_--are kind.

A Quandary

WHEN they are tall and all grown up, I wonder where the children go? I wonder how one finds the place-- My mother says she doesn't know.

The little boy that's I, must go To this strange meeting-place some day, When I outgrow my starchy kilts, And nursery things are put away.

Must I go there quite by myself? How shall I find the proper door, That hides so close and shuts away The little children gone before?

Spring Music

I HEARD a violin one day-- It sounded like the Spring; Like woolly lambs at play, Like baby birds that sing In snatches, when they're learning how. I know the one who played Could see pink blossoms on a bough, Where children came beneath its shade To make white clover in a crown. Then while they laughed there in the grass, Soft petals fluttered down; They hushed and saw some angels pass, With friendly eyes that smile-- The kind that I have often seen When mother sings awhile, Just as I go to sleep and dream.

I held my breath and then there rose The last sweet note so high. I felt as when the sunshine goes-- I could not help but cry.

A Compromise

WHEN I have done a Something Wrong, I feel ashamed to kneel and pray. But then the dark-time lasts so long, And God seems--oh, so far away!-- That when the lights are out awhile, I clamber out of bed once more And pour my pennies in a pile. ... I listen at the door, And then I get upon my knees, And whisper just for God to hear, To ask him, oh, just once more, please, Will he forgive and come back near, If I will make a promise quick To give my pennies to the sick?

A Rainy Day

WHEN I woke up and saw the rain In blurs upon the window-pane, I said I hated such a day, Because I couldn't run and play, Out in the sunshine and the grass. It's queer how such a day can pass So soon, before you know it 'most, And while I eat my milk and toast, Before I go to bed, I think I've never had a day so pink. Without the sun to make the shine, This whole day long has been just mine And Mother's, in the fireplace glow.-- Because it rained, it made it so.

An Appeal to Science

I WISH the clever men who made The whirly things with patents on, The telephone and phonograph, The watch that tells how far you've gone, Would just invent some bottled sleep That we could take at night, And then again when it grows light. It might keep little boys awake When there is company. All I should have to do, would be To pour a glass of sleep to take.

The things I leave undone, Because I haven't time enough, The things I've only half begun-- My castle-house, my doll-queen's ruff-- I'd get quite finished in a day. I'd have some time left over, too. I'd have the chance to do new things. And first of all, I'd learn to play The games the flowers frolic through, Each afternoon, and I'd find who Has charge of yesterday.

I think that made-to-order dreams Of rainbow-folk and orange-creams Would be much nicer than the kind Which on dark nights I always find.

Sometimes it tinkles like a bell. Then echo songs above the blue, And sometimes silver whistles tell About a shining dream come true. This call sings low of wonder-worlds. It tells in runs and soft-blown trills Of hidden places near that line Where distance smooths the little hills.

The call is begging me to come. It makes me dance and sing Along the meadow road, Far past the street's dust-ring.

There's something waiting just for me, And I must go--_must go_, Away from houses here, to see, Where lights begin to glow.

The little rabbit's eyes laughed too. He would have like to stay; And if my clothes had been like his, He might have come to play.

I wish I had a rabbit dress, A furry one, from head to toe, Then I could go away with him From streets in line, all set just so.

I think my clothes are stupid things To rob me of my friends, But then, the kind of playmate clothes I want, nobody lends!

The Echo

I LAUGHED in woods down where a brook Ran off with little leaps, An answer came from some fern-nook, And then another made me look Off in the dark tree-deeps.

I ran to all the nooks to see If I could find the one Who heard me first, and answered me-- Each place was still as it could be, As far as I could run.

Nurse said, "There's no one to be caught. It's just the echo's glee." But then I know that it was not! The little wood-elves all forgot, And laughed out loud with me.

The Sick Rose

THIS rose I picked, began to die, And so, I've brought it back again To where it used to live. I'll try To make it as it was--and then, I'll whisper to it how I care. Why can't it grow now any more, A rose with other roses there, Upon the rosebush by the door?

Afternoon

JUST since the night, the wind has won The last pink bud to open bloom. The long path whitens in the sun; All grown folks hunt a darkened room. Cool sweet of morning time is gone From all the leaves and grass. Here in this place the shade falls on, I wait for butterflies to pass.

And when I bring the lace-ferns home I can not bring The wood-charm too--the spell of that wee gnome Which makes birds sing.

The trees you painted with your brush Are like the real, But that still harking of the soft leaf-hush You could not steal.

It is the spirit of the wold--the same That's part of me,-- The gipsy wild of me without a name, Unhoused and free.

Bud Music

I KNOW when little buds come out, And spread their colors all about, They make soft music--Yet it's true Most people never hear. Do you?

There is the faintest, tinkly sound. Birds fly to listen all around, Then all the leaves stand just as still, And sunshine dances on the hill.

Frills

THE dainty frills upon my frocks Make me all twinkly smiles inside. I want to take my sweets around,-- A something in me says "Divide."

I run to give my mother dear My nicest, clean-face kiss. I feed the sparrows on the steps, And think what others miss.

I put some water on my fern; To every one I want to say Nice velvet things. It is so queer That we can dress our moods away!

Gone Somewhere

ONE day a little boy, With a poor broken toy, And ragged clothes, went by. He looked as if he'd like to cry, To see my soldiers fine, In scarlet coats, so straight in line.

Would he have liked to play with me, Here beneath my shady tree? I wonder, but I did not call him back again. I thought he'd come next day the same, And I would ask him in to play, And when he had to go away Give him my nicest toys-- The drum that makes the loudest noise, My whistle, and perhaps my sword, Or even my soldier hat with braids and cord.