We wandered
shyly hand in hand,
Or rollicked
in the fairy sand
And gathered
pearls and shells in pails,
White all
about the nightingales
Were
singing in the trees.
We dug for
silver with our spades
By little
inland sparkling seas,
Then ran ashore
through sleepy glades
And down a
warm and winding lane
We never never
found again
Between
high whispering trees.
The air was
neither night or day,
But faintly
dark with softest light,
When first
there glimmered into sight
The Cottage
of Lost Play.
'Twas builded
very very old
White, and
thatched with straws of gold,
And
pierced with peeping lattices
That
looked toward the sea;
And our own
children's garden-plots
Were there
- our own forgetmenots,
Red daisies,
cress and mustard,
And
blue nemophile.
O! all the
borders trimmed with box
Were full
of favorite flowers - of phlox,
Of larkspur,
pinks, and hollyhocks
Beneath a red may-tree:
And all the
paths were full of shapes,
Of tumbling
happy white-clad shapes,
And with them You and Me.
And some had
silver watering-cans
And watered
all their gowns,
Or sprayed
each other; some laid plans
To build them
houses, fairy towns,
Or
dwellings in the trees;
And some were
clambering on the roof;
Some crooning
lonely and aloof;
And some were
dancing fairy-rings
And weaving
pearly daisy-strings,
Or chasing
golden bees;
But here and
there a little pair
With rosy
cheeks and tangled hair
Debated quaint
old childish things -
And we were
one of these.
And why it
was Tomorrow came
And with his
grey hand led us back;
And why we
never found the same
Old cottage,
or the magic track
That leads
between a silver sea
And those
old shores and gardens fair
Where all
things are, that ever were -
We know not,
You and Me.
The Little House of Lost Play
Mar Vanwa Tyalieva
the final version:
We knew that
land once, You and I,
and once we
wandered there
in the long
days now long gone by,
a dark child
and a fair.
Was it on
the paths of firelight thought
in winter
cold and white,
or in the
blue-spun twilit hours
or little
early tucked-up beds
in drowsy
summer night,
that you and
I in Sleep went down
to meet each
other there,
your dark
hair on your white nightgown
and mine was
tangled fair?
We wandered
shyly hand in hand,
small footprints
in the golden sand,
and gathered
pearls and shells in pails,
while all
about the nightingales
were singing
in the trees.
We dug for
silver with our spades,
and caught
the sparkle of the seas,
then ran ashore
to greenlit glades,
and found
the warm and winding lane
that now we
cannot find again,
between tall
whispering trees.
The air was
neither night nor day,
an ever-eve
of gloaming light,
when first
there glimmered into sight
the Little
House of Play.
New-built
it was, yet very old,
white, and
thatched with straws of gold,
and pierced
with peeping lattices
that
looked toward the sea;
and our own
children's garden-plots
were there:
our own forgetmenots,
red daisies,
cress and mustard,
and radishes
for tea.
There all
the borders, trimmed with box,
were filled
with favourite flowers, with phlox,
with lupins,
pinks, and hollyhocks,
beneath a
red may-tree;
and all the
gardens full of folk
that their
own little language spoke,
but not to
You and Me.
For some had
silver watering-cans
and watered
all their gowns,
or sprayed
each other; some laid plans
to build their
houses, little towns
and dwellings
in the trees.
And some were
clambering on the roof;
some crooning
lonely and aloof;
some dancing
round the fairy-rings
all garlanded
in daisy-strings,
while some
upon their knees
before a little
white-robed king
crowned with
marigold would sing
their rhymes
of long ago.
But side by
side a little pair
with heads
together, mingled hair,
went walking
to and fro
still hand
to hand; and what they said,
ere Walking
far apart them led,
that only
we now know.