THE CHILDREN OF THE WIND

My little dresses are alive— See, out upon the line, How full and free they’re blowing there, Those crumpled gowns of mine! I never thought ’twould happen, when Nurse put them out to air them; The little children of the wind Have crept inside, to wear them! And now they’re swaying to and fro— With lifted arms they’re clinging Fast holding to the friendly rope And swinging, swinging, swinging! The pink gown and the blue gown, too, The white one trimmed with laces, O, little children of the wind, Why can’t I see your faces?