A CUP OF TEA 



From St. Nicholas, December, 1899. 



Now Grietje from her window sees the leafless 



poplars lean 

 Against a windy sunset sky with streaks of 



golden green ; 

 The still canal is touched with light from that 



wild, wintry sky, 

 And, dark and gaunt, the windmill flings its 



bony arms on high. 

 " It 's growing late ; it 's growing cold ; I 'm 



all alone," says she ; 



" I '11 put the little kettle on, to make a cup 

 of tea ! 



Mild radiance from the porcelain stove reflects 



on shining tiles ; 

 The kettle beams, so red and bright that Grietje 



thinks it smiles ; 

 The kettle sings so soft and low it seems as in 



a dream 

 The song that 's like a lullaby, the pleasant 



song of steam : 

 '* The summer 's gone ; the storks are flown ; 



I 'm always here, you see, 

 To sing and sing, and shine, and shine, and 

 make a cup of tea ! " 



