Summer fading, winter comes— Frosty mornings, tingling thumbs Window robins, winter rooks, And the picture story-books. Water now is turned to stone Nurse and I can walk upon; Still we find the flowing brooks In the picture story-books. All the pretty things put by, Wait upon the children's eye, Sheep and shepherds, trees and crooks, In the picture story-books. We may see how all things are, Seas and cities, near and far, And the flying fairies' looks, In the pictyure story-books. How am I to sing your praise, Happy chimney-corner days, Sitting safe in nursery nooks, Reading picture story-books?
This poem is in the public domain.