That were it cold as Christmas-time
It should not do her harm.

If she should come in the winter,
When the ground with snow is white,
And the rime lays thick upon the pane,
And the stars shine out at night,
Then I and brothers would be glad,

And she should be our star;
And we would search within the woods,
Where the shining berries are,
And bring them in, with many a bough,
To make the nursery gay,
And, oh! how happy we should be
To play with her all day!
And by the light of the fire, nurse,

You would tell us tales, you know,

Of dwarfs and giants fierce, that lived
With fairies, long ago;

And she would be our fairy, nurse,

So mirthful and so wise!

And we would talk to her, and she
Would answer with her eyes;

And she would stretch her soft round arms
Unto us, with delight,

And stroke our faces with her hands
So waxen pure and white!
We would lay her in the cradle then,
And rock her unto sleep,
And ere we went unto our beds,

To kiss her we would creep!

"But if she came in the spring, dear nurse,

But if she came in the spring,

When the winds blow mild from the soft warm

south,

And the bird is on the wing:

If the wind would blow her unto us,

How happy should we be, When the blossom hangs upon the flower, And the bud upon the tree; When the swallow comes across the sea, And the lark is springing high, As if he meant to sing his song

To angels in the sky!

And to each other the sweet birds

At early morning call;

But we should think her little voice
Was sweeter far than all!

"When the yellow palm is waving light,
And the larch is turning green,
And our orchard cherry shines in white
As if it were their queen;
When the blue violet in the grass
Hides deep, and does not know
How sweet she is, and as we pass

We find her hidden low;

And from the hedge the primrose looks
With pale and starry eye,

And in the fields and by the brooks
The golden kingcups lie;

Then as the days grew long, dear nurse,
Would we go forth every day,
The pleasant pasture-lands among
Where the merry lambkins play;

There we would search about for flowers,
Our little lamb to deck,

And weave upon her head a crown,

And chains around her neck,

The purple orchis, with the vetch
And wood anemone;

But not a flower among them all
Would be so fair as she!

"But if she came in the summer, nurse, But if she came to-day,

She is the only thing we want,

All looks so fresh and gay.

Now, when the summer sun rides high,
And all is beautiful,

It seems so strange that only I
Should feel alone and dull;
For brothers go across the hills,
And ramble far away,

And I that cannot follow them
Have no one left to play:
I sit upon the garden steps,
And dream of many things,

And watch the dragon-fly flit past
On gauze of silver wings;

The birds sing high above my head, But I know not what they say, And I wish your fairies had not gone, Dear nurse, so far away;

"But if our baby were but here

Beside us in the shade,

I would not wish a fairy here,
Or green dwarf of the glade;
For if they saw her angel face
There lying in your arms,

They would leave some changeling in her place,
All through their elfin charms;

Yes! they would take our baby dear
Through wicked spells away,

And we could not spare our little flower
To make their garden gay.

"I would show her where with cool green leaf The water-lilies float

With cup of pearl upon the stream,

A little magic boat.

I would take her where the foxgloves grow So tall within the dell,

And every finger soft and white

Should wear a purple bell.

Where in the woods the arum springs,
And honeysuckles weave,

And the blue harebell gently rings

Its faint low chime at eve.

I would take her where the fields smell sweet
With fresh hay laid to dry:

The grasshopper beneath our feet
Were not more light than I;
The butterfly that skims in air
Were not more glad, more gay-
Oh, now that summer is so fair
She should not stay away!

"And if she came in autumn, nurse,—
It will be coming soon,—

If we looked the first upon her face
By the shining harvest moon,
Oh! it would fall upon her bed

In silver streams of light,
And weave a crown around her head
In lines of dazzling white.
Then as she lay the stars would peep
Down from the quiet skies,

And seem to watch her in her sleep

With gentle angel eyes.

If she should come in the autumn, nurse,

It takes so much away,

That it should bring her unto us

To cheer the shortening day;

When ripening on the sunny walls

We see the velvet peach,
And from the stalk the apple falls
To lie within our reach;
And filberts cluster overhead,
And cones hang on the fir,
And on the bramble-berries red
And ripe, that wait for her.
Then as we walk within the woods
No little bird will sing,

But in the brake the pheasant brocds,
With rich and folded wing.
Within the broad and golden fields.
The reapers toil all day,
Till heavily the laden wains

Creak on their homeward way.

If she should come in autumn, nurse,
The reaper's merry song,

As he bears the last well-ripened sheaf
In harvest joy along,

Would not be half so glad as ours,
Would not be half so gay.

If autumn brought her unto us,

To cheer the shortening day,

We should not miss our birds and flowers,
Nor wish them back again.

And she should never know, dear nurse,
What it is to wish in vain,
Or feel what I have felt so long,
On this and many a day.

O little sister, you do wrong
To stay so long away!"

-DORA GREENWELL.