But you and I, some summer day, Providing we're allowed, Will go up in an aeroplane And sail right through a cloud.

But, if they say we may not go, We'll stay upon the ground With other things that have no wings, And watch them walk around.

They say the bottom of the sea Is beautiful to view; They say the fish, whene'er they wish, Can sail and see it, too; The shining pearls, the coral curls, The sharks, the squids, the schnappers, And fish with fins (though not in tins) And fish with funny flappers.

But you and I, some sunny day, When weather's in condition, Will go there in a submarine, Providing we've permission.

But if they say we may not go We must respect their wishes; And you and I will just keep dry Because we are not fishes.

The earth is quite a jolly place, And we don't care for flying; And things that creep down in the deep Are sometimes rather trying.

So, if they'll grant a holiday Or even only half, We'll lie upon some gra.s.sy place, And think of things, and laugh.

GOING TO SCHOOL

Did you see them pa.s.s to-day, Billy, Kate and Robin, All astride upon the back of old grey Dobbin?

Jigging, jogging off to school, down the dusty track-- What must Dobbin think of it--three upon his back?

Robin at the bridle-rein, in the middle Kate, Billy holding on behind, his legs out straight.

Now they're coming back from school, jig, jog, jig.

See them at the corner where the gums grow big; Dobbin flicking off the flies and blinking at the sun-- Having three upon his back he thinks is splendid fun: Robin at the bridle-rein, in the middle Kate, Little Billy up behind, his legs out straight.

HIST!

Hist! . . . . . . Hark!

The night is very dark, And we've to go a mile or so Across the Possum Park.

Step . . . . . . light, Keeping to the right; If we delay, and lose our way, We'll be out half the night.

The clouds are low and gloomy. Oh!

It's just begun to mist!

We haven't any overcoats And--Hist! . . . . . . Hist!

(Mo . . . . . . poke!) Who was that that spoke?

This is not a fitting spot To make a silly joke.

Dear . . . . . . me!

A mopoke in a tree!

It jarred me so, I didn't know Whatever it could be.

But come along; creep along; Soon we shall be missed.

They'll get a scare and wonder where We--Hush! . . . . . . Hist!

Ssh! . . . . . . Soft!

I've told you oft and oft We should not stray so far away Without a moon aloft.

Oo! . . . . . . Scat!

Goodness! What was that?

Upon my word, it's quite absurd, It's only just a cat.

But come along; haste along; Soon we'll have to rush, Or we'll be late and find the gate Is--Hist! . . . . . . Hush!

(Kok!. . . . . . Korrock!) Oh! I've had a shock!

I hope and trust it's only just A frog behind a rock.

Shoo! . . . . . . Shoo!

We've had enough of you; Scaring folk just for a joke Is not the thing to do.

But come along, slip along-- Isn't it a lark Just to roam so far from home On--Hist! . . . . . . Hark!

Look! . . . . . . See!

Shining through the tree, The window-light is glowing bright To welcome you and me.

Shout! . . . . . . Shout!

There's someone round about, And through the door I see some more And supper all laid out.

Now, run! Run! Run!

Oh, we've had such splendid fun-- Through the park in the dark, As brave as anyone.

Laughed, we did, and chaffed, we did, And whistled all the way, And we're home again! Home again!

Hip . . . . . . Hooray!

BIRD SONG

I am friendly with the sparrow Though his mind is rather narrow And his manners--well, the less we say the better.

But as day begins to peep, When I hear his cheery "Cheep"

I am ready to admit I am his debtor

I delight in red-browed finches And all birds of scanty inches.

Willie wagtail is a pleasant bird, and coy.

All the babblers, chats and wrens, t.i.ts and robins, and their hens, Are my very special friends, and bring me joy.

THE MUSIC OF YOUR VOICE

A vase upon the mantelpiece, A ship upon the sea, A goat upon a mountain-top Are much the same to me; But when you mention melon jam, Or picnics by the creek, Or apple pies, or pantomimes, I love to hear you speak.

The date of Magna Charta or The doings of the Dutch, Or capes, or towns, or verbs, or nouns Do not excite me much; But when you mention motor rides-- Down by the sea for choice Or chasing games, or chocolates, I love to hear your voice.

THE BOY WHO RODE INTO THE SUNSET

Once upon a time--it was not so very long ago, either--a little boy, named Neville, lived with his people in a house which was almost in the country. That is to say, it was just at the edge of the city; and at the back of the house was a rather large hill, which was quite bald.

Neville, who was fond of playing by himself, would often wander to the top of the bald hill; and if he stood right on top of it and looked one way, toward the East, he could see right over the city, with all its tall buildings and domes and spires and smoking chimneys. But looking the other way, to the West, he could see for miles over the beautiful country, with its green fields and orchards and white roads and little farm houses.

One evening Neville was playing alone on the top of the hill when he noticed that one of the very finest sunsets he had ever seen was just coming on. The sky in the West, away over the broad country lands, was filled with little clouds of all sorts and shapes, and they were just beginning to take on the most wonderful colours.