Poems By a Little Girl Part 5

It is a thing that may be, But I should not be sure of it, my dear, If I were you!

RED ROOSTER

Red rooster in your gray coop, O stately creature with tail-feathers red and blue, Yellow and black, You have a comb gay as a parade On your head: You have pearl trinkets On your feet: The short feathers smooth along your back Are the dark color of wet rocks, Or the rippled green of s.h.i.+ps When I look at their sides through water.

I don't know how you happened to be made So proud, so foolish, Wearing your coat of many colors, Shouting all day long your crooked words, Loud . . . sharp . . . not beautiful!

TREE-TOAD

Tree-toad is a small gray person With a silver voice.

Tree-toad is a leaf-gray shadow That sings.

Tree-toad is never seen Unless a star squeezes through the leaves, Or a moth looks sharply at a gray branch.

How would it be, I wonder, To sing patiently all night, Never thinking that people are asleep?

Raindrops and mist, starriness over the trees, The moon, the dew, the other little singers, Cricket . . . toad . . . leaf rustling . . .

They would listen: It would be music like weather That gets into all the corners Of out-of-doors.

Every night I see little shadows I never saw before.

Every night I hear little voices I never heard before.

When night comes trailing her starry cloak, I start out for slumberland, With tree-toads calling along the roadside.

Good-night, I say to one, Good-by, I say to another: I hope to find you on the way We have traveled before!

I hope to hear you singing on the Road of Dreams!

SEVEN TO NINE YEARS OLD

THE LONESOME WAVE

There is an island In the middle of my heart, And all day comes lapping on the sh.o.r.e A long silver wave.

It is the lonesome wave; I cannot see the other side of it.

It will never go away Until it meets the glad gold wave Of happiness!

Wandering over the monstrous rocks, Looking into the caves, I see my island dark, all cold, Until the gold wave sweeps in From a sea deep blue, And flings itself on the beach.

Oh, it is joy, then!

No more whispers like sorrow, No more silvery lonesome lapping of the long wave . . .

RED-CAP MOSS

Have you seen red-cap moss In the woods?

Have you looked under the trembling caps For faces?

Have you seen wonder on those faces Because you are so big?

RAMBLER ROSE

Rambler Rose in great cl.u.s.ters, Looking at me, at my mother with me Under this apple-tree, Your faces watch us from outside the shade.

The wind blows on you, The rain drops on you, The sun s.h.i.+nes on you, You are brighter than before.

You turn your faces to the wind And watch my mother and me, Thinking of things I cannot mention Outside of my mind.

Rambler Rose in the s.h.i.+ning wind, You smile at me, Smile at my mother!

GIFT

This is mint and here are three pinks I have brought you, Mother.

They are wet with rain And s.h.i.+ning with it.

The pinks smell like more of them In a blue vase: The mint smells like summer In many gardens.

THE WHITE CLOUD

There are many clouds But not like the one I see, For mine floats like a swan in featheriness Over the River of the Broken Pine.

There are many clouds But not like the one that goes sailing Like a s.h.i.+p full of gold that s.h.i.+nes, Like a s.h.i.+p leaning above blue water.

There are many clouds But not like the one I wait for, For mine will have a strangeness Whiter than anything your eyes remember.

MOON THOUGHT

The moon is thinking of the river Winding through the mountains far away, Because she has a river in her heart Full of the same silver.

THE OLD BRIDGE

The old bridge has a wrinkled face.

He bends his back For us to go over.