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.
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