PERHAPS.

EFORE the dustman comes to me As in my bed I lie, All sorts of curious things I see Up in my nursery high. I see the little curly flames Jump upwards from the fire; I think they must be playing games, They never seem to tire. And now and then one leaps so high That all the ceiling glows: Quite suddenly it seems to die— I wonder where it goes. Sometimes out in the street I hear The tinkle of a bell, It's first far off, and then quite near; It's passing, I can tell; And then I see a narrow line Of light quite slowly crawl Across the ceiling, till its shine Stops as it meets the wall. I wonder how it comes, and why, And where it was before, And where it's gone to now, when I Can't see it any more. Perhaps I'll meet them in my dream, Those curly flames so odd, And see the little narrow gleam Light up the Land of Nod.