Chapter XVIII

You cannot count the bluebells
That are upon the heath,--
The ferns stand tall and stately,
The bells hang underneath;
But I can count the tassels
As big as flowers of clover
That hang on baby’s curtain,
The curtain that hangs over;
And when I rock the cradle
The tassels swing and swing,
And they make fairy music,
And baby hears them ring;
Ding-dong in the morning,
And in the evening too,
Rhime, chime, in fairy time,
Baby, dear, for you!