The Dusty Miller.
Told to a Pet Lamb.
“ Up, up the long stair to the nursery
flat,1
The little grey miller flits, light as a Bat,2
Drowsy poppies nid-nod round his dusty white hat.3
“ A sackful of sweet sleepy dust he brings ;4
Just one pinch—no more—at each child he flings ;5
Hey presto ! eyes shut as with magic springs.6
“ He makes no distinction ’twixt lambs black or white.7
‘ Pink dreams to you all !’ cries the good little sprite—8
Then he hies on his rounds through the big black night.”9
······
“ Does the miller not come to the old ones too ?”10
“ Well, sometimes he doesn’t the whole night through,11
When he’s spent all his dust on pet lambs like you ?”12
“ Then where is his mill ?” “ Ah ! that nobody knows ;13
But sure as dawn breaks, when the red cock crows,14
There, to grind his sack full the good grey miller goes.”15