Like every other thing,

And trembles, morning, noon and night,

Lest _I_ should spring, and sting.

IV. The Moon's the North Wind's Cooky

(What the Little Girl Said)

The Moon's the North Wind's cooky.

He bites it, day by day,

Until there's but a rim of scraps

That crumble all away.

The South Wind is a baker.

He kneads clouds in his den,

And bakes a crisp new moon _that... greedy

North... Wind... eats... again!_

V. Drying their Wings

(What the Carpenter Said)

The moon's a cottage with a door.

Some folks can see it plain.

Look, you may catch a glint of light,

A sparkle through the pane,

Showing the place is brighter still

Within, though bright without.

There, at a cosy open fire

Strange babes are grouped about.

The children of the wind and tide--

The urchins of the sky,

Drying their wings from storms and things

So they again can fly.

VI. What the Gray-winged Fairy Said

The moon's a gong, hung in the wild,

Whose song the fays hold dear.

Of course you do not hear it, child.

It takes a FAIRY ear.

The full moon is a splendid gong

That beats as night grows still.

It sounds above the evening song

Of dove or whippoorwill.

VII. Yet Gentle will the Griffin Be

(What Grandpa told the Children)

The moon? It is a griffin's egg,

Hatching to-morrow night.

And how the little boys will watch

With shouting and delight

To see him break the shell and stretch

And creep across the sky.

The boys will laugh. The little girls,

I fear, may hide and cry.

Yet gentle will the griffin be,

Most decorous and fat,

And walk up to the milky way

And lap it like a cat.

Second Section: The Moon is a Mirror

I. Prologue. A Sense of Humor

No man should stand before the moon

To make sweet song thereon,

With dandified importance,

His sense of humor gone.

Nay, let us don the motley cap,

The jester's chastened mien,

If we would woo that looking-glass

And see what should be seen.

O mirror on fair Heaven's wall,

We find there what we bring.

So, let us smile in honest part

And deck our souls and sing.

Yea, by the chastened jest alone

Will ghosts and terrors pass,

And fays, or suchlike friendly things,

Throw kisses through the glass.

II. On the Garden-wall

Oh, once I walked a garden

In dreams. 'Twas yellow grass.

And many orange-trees grew there

In sand as white as glass.

The curving, wide wall-border

Was marble, like the snow.

I walked that wall a fairy-prince

And, pacing quaint and slow,

Beside me were my pages,

Two giant, friendly birds.

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