CHILDREN OF WINTER
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLORS
AND MONOTINT BY
VERSES BY
NEW YORK
Copyright, 1888, by
The Mistletoe.
Sly elf, with rosy finger tips
Pressed tightly on your rosy lips,
I pray you, tell us what you know
About this branch of mistletoe.
December speaks.
The mistletoe is old and wise,
And always watched by cunning spies;
I do not dare to tell you how
And where I found this curious bough,
Oh, if I should forget, and speak,
They'd pull my ear, and pinch my cheek!
And this is why my finger tips
I press so tightly on my lips.
A good-night kiss to you I blow,
As I trip under the mistletoe!
The Snow-ball Chieftain.
All in the tingling frosty weather
I met a chieftain brave and bright;
He'd scarlet bat with snow-white feather,
His step was brisk and light.
His twinkling eyes were soft and starlike,
His lips and cheeks were rosy red;
"He doesn't look so very warlike!"
Beneath my breath I said.
So I'll a kind good-morning bid him,
With snow-balls three he pelted me;
Then laughed, and ran, and quickly hid him,
Behind a hemlock tree!
The Little Prophet.
(February speaks.)
Though the clouds are hanging low,
And the streams can hardly go
(All their babbling voices dumb),
Trust me, better days will come!
Don't despair.
I'm a prophet, I'm a seer;
I can see, and I can hear,
Singing travellers on their way
To this Northland bleak and gray;
Don't despair.
I have seen the field-mice run
All abroad, to take the sun;
I have heard the peepers plaint,
From the marshes, far and faint;
Don't despair.
I'm a prophet; I can spy
In this branch so brown and dry
Leaves and flowers that soon will wake,
And their prison-fetters break;
Don't despair.