TO THE MOON. . Pale and cold are your beams, fair moon, As they are falling on my bed, I can look you in the face, sweet moon, Without even raising my head. Your form is a lovely crescent now, As among I do not delight in your full, round face, I wonder, as on the city you shine, If I love to watch your way in the sky, WHAT IS IT MAKES ME HAPPIEST? What is it makes me happiest? Is it my last new play? Is it my puzzles or my blocks? My dolls, my kitten, or my books, What is it makes me happiest? Yet they are treasures dear to me, O, it is looks and tones of love, NURSERY SONG. I shall be glad when evening comes, And he will take me in his arms, The sunset sky he'll show me, He'll tell me pretty stories, If I am good, he'll kiss me, And hear me say my prayers, And bid me then a kind good night, Before he goes down stairs. THE STORM. See the white clouds, Of the clear blue sky. They pass the sun, And now they are bright, Shining like gold, In his burning light. O there are more clouds ! With the bursting rain. And now the white clouds, With its golden hue, |