THE OGRE
Into the garden sweet with peas
He put his wooden shoe,
And bending back the apple trees
Crept covetously through;
Then, stooping, with a gloating eye
Stared through the lattice small,
And spied two children which did lie
Asleep, against the wall.
Into their dreams no shadow fell
Of his disastrous thumb
Groping discreet, and gradual,
Across the quiet room.
But scarce his nail had scraped the cot
Wherein these children lay,
As if his malice were forgot,
It suddenly did stay.
For faintly in the ingle-nook
He heard a cradle-song,
That rose into his thoughts and woke
Terror them among.
For she who in the kitchen sat
Darning by the fire,
Guileless of what he would be at,
Sang sweet as wind or wire: —
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