Child of the pure unclouded brow  And dreaming eyes of wonder!  Though time be fleet, and I and thou  Are half a life asunder,  Thy loving smile will surely hail  The lovegift of a fairy-tale.    I have not seen thy sunny face,  Nor heard thy silver laughter;  No thought of me shall find a place  In thy young life’s hereafter-  Enough that now thou wilt not fail  To listen to my fairy-tale.    A tale begun in other days,  When summer suns were glowing-  A simple chime, that served to time  The rhythm of our rowing-  Whose echoes live in memory yet,  Though envious years would say ‘forget’.    Come, hearken then, ere voice of dread,  With bitter tidings laden,  Shall summon to unwelcome bed  A melancholy maiden!    We are but older children, dear,  Who fret to find our bedtime near.    Without, the frost, the blinding snow,  The stormwind’s moody madness-  Within, the firelight’s ruddy glow  And childhoods nest of gladness.    The magic words shall hold thee fast:  Thou shalt not heed the raving blast.    And though the shadow of a sigh  May tremble through the story,  For `happy summer days´ gone by,  And vanish’d summer glory-  It shall not touch with breath of bale  The pleasance of our fairy-tale.