CHILD of the pure unclouded brow And dreaming eyes of wonder! Though time be fleet, and I and thou Are half a life asunder, Thy loving smile will surely hail The love-gift of a fairy-tale. I have not seen thy sunny face, Nor heard thy silver laughter, No thought of me shall find a place In thy young life's hereafter --- Enough that now thou wilt not fail To listen to my fairy-tale. A tale begun in other days, When summer suns were glowing --- A simple chime, that served to time The rythm of out rowing --- Whose echoes live in memory yet, Though envious years would say `forget'. Come, hearken then, ere voice of dread, With bitter tidings laden, Shall summon to unwelcome bed A melancholy maiden! We are but older children, dear, Who fret to find our bedtime near. Without, the frost, the blinding snow, The strom-wind's moody madness --- Within, the firelight's ruddy glow And childhood's nest of gladness. The magic words shall hold thee fast: Thou shalt not heed the raving blast. And though the shadow of a sigh May tremble through the story, For `happy summer days' gone by, And vanish'd summer glory --- It shall not touch with breath of bale The pleasance of our fairy-tale.