The Children's Country
She is sitting very silent in her little crimson chair,
With the flicker of the firelight on her shining golden hair,
And all pleasant things surround her, but her thoughts are otherwhere.
For the little lads and lasses have a country of their own,
Where, without the older people, they can wander off alone,
Into dim and distant regions, that were never named or known.
They are wearied with the questions and the running to and fro,
For some one is always saying “You must come” or “You must go,”
“You must read and write correctly, walking, talking, thus and so.”
They can turn at any moment from the figures on their slates,
And the names of all the islands and the oceans and the states
Disappear and are forgotten, when they see the shining gates
Of their own delightful country, where they wander as they please,
On the great enchanted mountains, and among the fadeless trees,
With a thousand other children, all entirely at their ease.
O the happy, happy children! do they wish for anything?
Book or boat or bird or picture, silken dress or golden ring?
Lo! a little page will hasten and the treasure straight will bring.
Is it strange the other people can not find this land at all.
If they ever knew its language, it is lost beyond recall,
And they only, in their dreamings, hear its music rise and fall.
O the riches of the children, with this country for their own,
All the splendor of its castles, every flower and shining stone,
Until time itself is ended, and the worlds are overthrown!
She is sitting very silent in her little crimson chair,
With the flicker of the firelight on her shining golden hair,
And all pleasant things surround her, but her thoughts are otherwhere.
For the little lads and lasses have a country of their own,
Where, without the older people, they can wander off alone,
Into dim and distant regions, that were never named or known.
They are wearied with the questions and the running to and fro,
For some one is always saying “You must come” or “You must go,”
“You must read and write correctly, walking, talking, thus and so.”
They can turn at any moment from the figures on their slates,
And the names of all the islands and the oceans and the states
Disappear and are forgotten, when they see the shining gates
Of their own delightful country, where they wander as they please,
On the great enchanted mountains, and among the fadeless trees,
With a thousand other children, all entirely at their ease.
O the happy, happy children! do they wish for anything?
Book or boat or bird or picture, silken dress or golden ring?
Lo! a little page will hasten and the treasure straight will bring.
Is it strange the other people can not find this land at all.
If they ever knew its language, it is lost beyond recall,
And they only, in their dreamings, hear its music rise and fall.
O the riches of the children, with this country for their own,
All the splendor of its castles, every flower and shining stone,
Until time itself is ended, and the worlds are overthrown!
With the flicker of the firelight on her shining golden hair,
And all pleasant things surround her, but her thoughts are otherwhere.
For the little lads and lasses have a country of their own,
Where, without the older people, they can wander off alone,
Into dim and distant regions, that were never named or known.
They are wearied with the questions and the running to and fro,
For some one is always saying “You must come” or “You must go,”
“You must read and write correctly, walking, talking, thus and so.”
They can turn at any moment from the figures on their slates,
And the names of all the islands and the oceans and the states
Disappear and are forgotten, when they see the shining gates
Of their own delightful country, where they wander as they please,
On the great enchanted mountains, and among the fadeless trees,
With a thousand other children, all entirely at their ease.
O the happy, happy children! do they wish for anything?
Book or boat or bird or picture, silken dress or golden ring?
Lo! a little page will hasten and the treasure straight will bring.
Is it strange the other people can not find this land at all.
If they ever knew its language, it is lost beyond recall,
And they only, in their dreamings, hear its music rise and fall.
O the riches of the children, with this country for their own,
All the splendor of its castles, every flower and shining stone,
Until time itself is ended, and the worlds are overthrown!
She is sitting very silent in her little crimson chair,
With the flicker of the firelight on her shining golden hair,
And all pleasant things surround her, but her thoughts are otherwhere.
For the little lads and lasses have a country of their own,
Where, without the older people, they can wander off alone,
Into dim and distant regions, that were never named or known.
They are wearied with the questions and the running to and fro,
For some one is always saying “You must come” or “You must go,”
“You must read and write correctly, walking, talking, thus and so.”
They can turn at any moment from the figures on their slates,
And the names of all the islands and the oceans and the states
Disappear and are forgotten, when they see the shining gates
Of their own delightful country, where they wander as they please,
On the great enchanted mountains, and among the fadeless trees,
With a thousand other children, all entirely at their ease.
O the happy, happy children! do they wish for anything?
Book or boat or bird or picture, silken dress or golden ring?
Lo! a little page will hasten and the treasure straight will bring.
Is it strange the other people can not find this land at all.
If they ever knew its language, it is lost beyond recall,
And they only, in their dreamings, hear its music rise and fall.
O the riches of the children, with this country for their own,
All the splendor of its castles, every flower and shining stone,
Until time itself is ended, and the worlds are overthrown!
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