With his fancy alone, and not with his ears.
Such a wonderful plaything never was known!
Like a real live dolly, and all for their own!
Two happier children could nowhere be found,
No, not if you travelled the whole world around.
They had drawn her this morning where daisies
White daisies, all shining and dripping with dew;
Long wreaths of the daisies, and chains, they had
In the baby's lap these wreaths they had laid,
The children were drawing, with caution and care,
Their sweet baby-sister, to give her the air,
In a dainty straw wagon with wheels of bright red,
And a top of white muslin which shaded her head.
She was only one year and a few months old;
Her eyes were bright blue and her hair was like
She laughed all the time from morning till night,
Till Eddie and Jane were quite wild with delight .
And were laughing to watch her fat little hands
Untwisting and twisting the stems and the strands.
And sang at the top of his voice in the sky;
"Ho! ho! Mr. Lark," shouted Jane,"come down here!
We're not cruel children. You may come without fear.
We've something to show you. In all your life
You'll never see anything sweet as our baby!"
'Twas an odd thing, now, for a lark to do--
I hope you won't think my story's untrue--
But this is the thing that I saw and I heard:
That lark flew right down, like a sociable bird,
As soon as they called him, and perched on a tree,
And winked with his eye at the children and me,
And laughed out, as much as a bird ever can,
As he cried, "Ha! ha! Little woman and man!
"You'll be quite surprised and astonished, maybe,
To hear that I do not think much of your baby.
Why, out in the field here I've got in my nest,
All cuddled up snug 'neath my wife's warm breast,
Four little babies--two sisters, two brothers--
And all with bright eyes, as bright as their moth-
Your baby's at least ten times older than they,
"They'll take care of themselves in another week,
Before your poor baby can walk or can speak.
It has often surprised me to see what poor things
All babies are that are born without wings;
Would be quite ashamed of so idle a life!"
And the lark looked as scornful as a lark knows
As he swung up and down on a slender bough.
A cat had been eying him there for a while,
And sprang at him now from top of a stile.