Child of the pure unclouded brow 
And dreaming eyes of wonder! 
Though time be fleet, and I and thou 
Are half a life asunder, 

Thy loving smile will surely hail 
The love-gift of a fairy-tale.

I have not seen thy sunny face, 
Nor heard thy silver laughter: 
No thought of me shall find a place 
In thy young life's hereafter

Enough that now thou wilt not fail 
To listen to my fairy-tale.

A tale begun in other days, 
When summer suns were glowing-
A simple chime, that served to time 
The rhythm of our rowing- 

Whose echoes live in memory yet, 
Though envious years would say 'forget.' 

Come, hearken then, ere voice of dread, 
With bitter tidings laden, 
Shall summon to unwelcome bed 
A melancholy maiden! 

We are but order children, dear, 
Who fret to find our bedtime near. - 

Without, the frost, the blinding snow, 
The storm-wind's moody madness- 
Within, the firelight's ruddy glow, 
And childhood's nest of gladness. 

The magic words shall hold thee fast: 
Thou shalt not heed the raving blast. - 

And, though the shadow of a sigh 
May tremble through the story, 
For 'happy summer days' gone by, 
And vanish'd summer glory- 

It shall not touch, with breath of bale, 
The pleasance, of our fairy-tale.

Though time be fleet, and I and thou 
Are half a life asunder, 
Thy loving smile will surely hail 
The love-gift of a fairy-tale