An Old Delight

O tiny hands, and tiny little feet Scampering like leaves everywhere I hear you laugh, and O so sweet It tickles still mist and morning air. I beg you beware, the aflame alight That brims your eyes, we are moths When stars shall twinkle in the night The fire frames love's tragic spots. Do not flit here your vapourlike wings Do not be tempted by the fluid gold O little hearts what pain the fire brings Go build your snowmen in the snowy cold.