REAT is the sun, and wide he goes 

 Through empty heaven without repose* 

 And in the blue and glowing days 

 More thick than rain he showers his rays. 



Though closer still the blinds we pull 

 To keep the shady parlour cool, 

 Yet he will find a chink or two 

 To slip his golden fingers through. 



The dusty attic spider-clad 

 He, through the keyhole, maketh giad; 

 And through the golden edge of tiles, 

 Into the laddered hayloft smiles. 



Meantime his golden face around 

 He bares to all the garden ground, 

 And sheds a warm and glittering look 

 Among the ivy's inmost nook. 



Above the hills, along the blue. 

 Round the bright air with footing true, 

 To please the child, to paint the rose, 

 The. gardener of the World, he goes, 



aOBEaT LOUIS STEVENSON 



PRINTED BT BEQUEST. FROM "a CHILD's GARDEN OF VERSES," BT ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON, PUBLISHED BT TBOS. B. UOSHER. 



