80 BEYOND THE PASTURE BARS 



boy. But I was more than a school-boy too. No 

 boy is only a school-boy. Every boy is part poet. 

 And any boy, creeping like a shadow over the si- 

 lent carpet of those dark winter woods, could have 

 heard 



The wild winds softly close the door; 

 A shadow steals across the floor ; 

 And sweetly o'er the cradles pour 

 The balm of sleep. 



And all is dark the room and hall, 

 Except the sifted moonbeams fall 

 Between the rifted rafters tall 

 Into the gloom. 



The house is hushed ; the lamps burn low ; 

 And moving figures come and go, 

 And touch the cradles to ana fro 

 Within the room. 



They sleep. They dream and dreaming sigh, 

 "Sleep on," a murmur makes reply, 

 "The mother to her child is nigh 

 The night is long." 



With head beneath a raven wing 

 They sleep nor hear the wild gales sing; 

 They sleep nor feel the tossed tree fling 

 Their cradle far. 



So I shall nestle 'neath a wing 

 Where storms and Stars together sing, 

 Where woods and worlds together swing 

 When I shall sleep. 



