The Child's Wishes

Oh, if I were a robin,With breast of crimson red,And black and shiny feathersOn my bonny, roguish head,So high above the tree-tops,Dear mother, I could fly,You'd almost think me sailing upTo visit yonder sky.

Oh, if I were the south-wind,That sings so soft and deep,And scampers down the hillsideAmong the flocks of sheep,I'd fan the little lambkinsThrough every sultry day,And make the sweet white cloverBloom for them all the way.

Oh, if I were the streamletDown in the mossy dell,I'd sing the whole time gentlyTo the listening lily-bell,—I'd water thirsty meadows,And verdant make the grass,And all the little sleepy flowersWould laugh to see me pass.

Oh, if I were a daisyIn some shady wayside nook,Where the pretty village maidensWould pause on me to look,I'd charm them with my fragranceOf half their gentle love,With my eyes so bright and starryLifted unto heaven above.

But if I were a robin,Or the south-wind, soft and low,Or the little gliding streamlet,Or a modest daisy blow,Mother, I could not slumberUpon your snowy breast;Your kisses would not soothe meIn the night-time into rest.

So I'd rather be your darlingThan anything on earth,—I'm happy as the happiest thingThat ever had a birth!I'd not be bird or streamlet,South-wind or daisy pearl;But let me stay here, mother dear,And be your little girl.