Poems (Piatt)/Volume 2/The Master of the House

by Sarah Piatt

THE MASTER OF THE HOUSE.

This is the Master, who but he—
 (Where did you think to find him?)—
Here in the cradle. Come and see.
 ———Why, surely we have to mind him!

Wait; you must be as still as death:
 He is sleeping now so sweetly.
One hasn't the right to draw one's breath
 Till he is awake completely.

Should he want the wedding-ring from her hand,
 (No matter if he would lose it)
There is not a lady in all the land
 Could have the heart to refuse it.

Should he choose to reach for a crown, I say,
 (It is gold, and he could not break it,)
Why, is there a king in the world to-day
 Who would not let him take it?

What cardinal would not lend him his hat,
 To give him a minute's pleasure?
And where is the good, grey beard, as to that,
 Which he could not pull at leisure?

But, here he is!—do you see his eyes?
 Now what do you want? It may be
He will hear you, after his first surprise,
 ———There 's nothing you want of the baby!

But everything is his, you know,
 (And no matter whose the rest is!)
From the blue little bird that chirps so low
 To the oak-tree where its nest is!

———It is only work that you want, indeed?
 Could you do the work of twenty,
The baby will give you all you need;
 Ask him: he has work in plenty!