The poetical works of George MacDonald Volume I Part 20

_Lily_.

Oh, but I shall though! and he looks so sad When you're not here!

_Lilia_ (_aside_).

He cannot look much sadder Than when I am. I am sure 'tis a relief To find his child alone when he returns.

_Lily_.

Will you go, mother? Then I'll go and cry Till father comes. He'll take me on his knee, And tell such lovely tales: you never do-- Nor sing me songs made all for my own self.

He does not kiss me half so many times As you do, mother; but he loves me more.

Do you love father, too? I love him _so_!

_Lilia_ (_ready_).

There's such a pretty book! Sit on the stool, And look at the pictures till your father comes.

[_Goes_.]

_Lily_ (_putting the book down, and going to the window_).

I wish he would come home. I wish he would.

_Enter_ JULIAN.

Oh, there he is!

[_Running up to him_.]

Oh, now I am so happy!

[_Laughing_.]

I had not time to watch before you came.

_Julian_ (_taking her in his arms_).

I am very glad to have my little girl; I walked quite fast to come to her again.

_Lily_.

I do, _do_ love you. Shall I tell you something?

Think I should like to tell you. Tis a dream That I went into, somewhere in last night.

I was alone--quite;--you were not with me, So I must tell you. 'Twas a garden, like That one you took me to, long, long ago, When the sun was so hot. It was not winter, But some of the poor leaves were growing tired With hanging there so long. And some of them Gave it up quite, and so dropped down and lay Quiet on the ground. And I was watching them.

I saw one falling--down, down--tumbling down-- Just at the earth--when suddenly it spread Great wings and flew.--It was a b.u.t.terfly, So beautiful with wings, black, red, and white--

[_Laughing heartily_.]

I thought it was a crackly, withered leaf.

Away it flew! I don't know where it went.

And so I thought, I have a story now To tell dear father when he comes to Lily.

_Julian_.

Thank you, my child; a very pretty dream.

But I am tired--will you go find another-- Another dream somewhere in sleep for me?

_Lily_.

O yes, I will.--Perhaps I cannot find one.

[_He lays her down to sleep; then sits musing_.]

_Julian_.

What shall I do to give it life again?

To make it spread its wings before it fall, And lie among the dead things of the earth?

_Lily_.

I cannot go to sleep. Please, father, sing The song about the little thirsty lily.

[JULIAN _sings_.]

SONG.

Little white Lily Sat by a stone, Drooping and waiting Till the sun shone.

Little white Lily Suns.h.i.+ne has fed; Little white Lily Is lifting her head.

Little white Lily Said, "It is good: Little white Lily's Clothing and food!

Little white Lily Drest like a bride!

s.h.i.+ning with whiteness, And crowned beside!"

Little white Lily Droopeth in pain, Waiting and waiting For the wet rain.

Little white Lily Holdeth her cup; Rain is fast falling, And filling it up.

Little white Lily Said, "Good again, When I am thirsty To have nice rain!

Now I am stronger, Now I am cool; Heat cannot burn me, My veins are so full!"

Little white Lily Smells very sweet: On her head suns.h.i.+ne, Rain at her feet.

"Thanks to the suns.h.i.+ne!

Thanks to the rain!

Little white Lily Is happy again!"

[_He is silent for a moment; then goes and looks at her_.]

_Julian_.

She is asleep, the darling! Easily Is Sleep enticed to brood on childhood's heart.

Gone home unto thy Father for the night!

[_He returns to his seat_.]

I have grown common to her. It is strange-- This commonness--that, as a blight, eats up All the heart's springing corn and promised fruit.

[_Looking round_.]

This room is very common: everything Has such a well-known look of nothing in it; And yet when first I called it hers and mine, There was a mystery inexhaustible About each trifle on the chimney-shelf: The gilding now is nearly all worn off.

Even she, the G.o.ddess of the wonder-world, Seems less mysterious and wors.h.i.+pful: No wonder I am common in her eyes.

Alas! what must I think? Is this the true?