THE KING'S SURVEYOR.
COME, little one, this is "our time," you know;
Too late to read and too late to sew,
Yet too early the evening lamp to light,—
It is not day and it is not night.
Too late to read and too late to sew,
Yet too early the evening lamp to light,—
It is not day and it is not night.
The fresh stick crackles and blazes and sings,
And the shadows wave round us like dusky wings
On the ivory key-board flame-fingers play,—
It is not night and it is not day.
And the shadows wave round us like dusky wings
On the ivory key-board flame-fingers play,—
It is not night and it is not day.
While you perch on my knee in the twilight time,
I tell you the tale—I chant you the rhyme:
Now here is a story you have not heard,—
It is true; I give it you word for word.
I tell you the tale—I chant you the rhyme:
Now here is a story you have not heard,—
It is true; I give it you word for word.
Once on a time in this quaint old town
Whose brown roofs are slow to tumble down,
While turrets and spires are slower yet
To fill their places and banish regrets—
Whose brown roofs are slow to tumble down,
While turrets and spires are slower yet
To fill their places and banish regrets—
Once on a time in the neighborhood fair
Of the stateliest mansion in Haymarket Square,
On the recks where a church has since been reared,
The shanty of Shepherd Ham appeared.
Of the stateliest mansion in Haymarket Square,
On the recks where a church has since been reared,
The shanty of Shepherd Ham appeared.
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