Dear Secret Sister, What a lovely surprise your
special pages for me are! I love them and all the
gifts each day, too.
I Wish You
Friend o' mine, in the year oncoming
I wish you a little time for play,
And an hour to dream in the eerie gloaming
After the clamorous day.
(And the moon like a pearl from an Indian shore
To hang for a lantern above your door.)
A little house with friendly rafters,
And some one in it to need you there,
Wine of romance and wholesome laughters
With a comrade or two to share.
(And some secret spot of your very own
Whenever you want to cry alone.)
I wish you a garden on fire with roses,
Columbines planted for your delight,
Scent of mint in its shadowy closes,
Clean, gay winds at night.
(Some nights for sleeping and some to ride
With the broomstick witches far and wide.)
A goodly crop of figs to gather,
With a thistle or two to prick and sting;
Since a harvesting too harmless is rather
An unadventurous thing.
(And now and then, spite of reason or rule,
The chance to be a bit of a fool.)
I wish you a thirst that can never be sated
For all the loveliness earth can yield,
Slim, cool birches whitely mated,
Dawn on an April field.
(And never too big a bill to pay
When the Fiddler finds out he must up and away.)
M. L. Cavendish
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