| Alberto F. Taure 2004-12-03, 8:51 pm |
| cannot see
Within the corners of the nursery;
Across the ceiling dim they dance and leap,
And stealthily along the floor they creep,
Only the teacups standing on the table
Bear each a shining fleck, a red fire label.
THE LITTLE BROWN DWARF
IT WAS the mother Margaret,
To her daughter fair she said:
"Come now, my child, and listen to me,
Come stand beside my bed.
"No father thou, nor brother hast,
Thine uncle is hard and cruel,
Though he have wealth and we be poor,
Nor bread he gives nor fuel.
"But go thou now and say to him
That I am nigh to death;
Make haste, my child, and soon return,
For short am I of breath."
And it was Lisa, her little daughter,
Out in the snow she went,
The cold stung like a living thing,
Hungry was she and spent.
And it was Lisa, her little daughter,
That sought the mountain-path;
She found her uncle, the wicked man,
Beside his blazing hearth.
Then did she weep and pray to him
That to her mother now,
Who lay so cold and near to death,
Some kindness he would show.
And it was her uncle, the cruel man,
In wrath he rose and cried:
"Sooner than give thee aught, my girl,
I'd blast my own hill-side--
"Now get thee gone and come no more";
Then Lisa fled in tears,
She took the downward path towards home,
His hard words in her ears.
And it was Kastler, the little brown dwarf,
Who stood in Lisa's way,
And fast she would have fled from him,
But "Soft," he bade her, "Stay;--
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