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 sprite8
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