When Little One was seven years
She lent me most attentive ears
The while I read from fairy lore,
And, never sated, asked for " More! "
She courted my society,
And nightly perched upon my knee;
Then we two footed, hand in hand,
The storied roads of Fairyland.

When seven more years had flitted by
We grew less chummy, she and I.
Her interest in fairies waned,
Though mine, and my belief, remained.
School friends pressed forward for my place,
Leaving me distanced in the race.
A nod, a smile, was all I drew —
Meekly accepted as my due.

That phase is past, I joy to say,
And we are chums again to-day.
We read, as once, but now 'tis she
Who holds the book and reads to me;
Or, head to head, again we pore
On volumes of remembered lore,
And foot together, hand in hand,
The dappled dells of Fairyland.

The storied roads come soon or late
To where the Prince and chariot wait.
Remembering this, in Fairyland,
I hold her tightly by the hand.
But presently she'll slip away,
All on a silver summer day;
A nod, a smile — and she'll be gone
With Charming in his phaeton!