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