You & Me and the Cottage of Lost Play

You & Me
and the Cottage of Lost Play

You and me — we know that land
And often have been there
In the long old days, old nursery days,
A dark child and a fair.

Was it down the paths of firelight dreams
In winter cold and white,
Or in the blue-spun twilit hours
Of little early tucked-up beds
In drowsy summer night,

That You and I got lost in Sleep
And met each other there —
Your dark hair on your white nightgown,
And mine was tangled fair?

We wandered shyly hand in hand,
Or rollicked in the fairy sand
And gathered pearls and shells in pails,
While all about the nightingales
Were singing in the trees.
We dug for silver with our spades
By little inland sparkling seas,
Then ran ashore through sleepy glades
And down a warm and winding lane
We never never found again
Between high whispering trees.

The air was neither night or day,
But faintly dark with softest light,
When first there glimmered into sight
The Cottage of Lost play.

‘Twas builded very very old
White, and thatched with straws of gold,
And pierced with peeping lattices
That looked toward the sea;
And our own children’s garden-plots
Were there — our own forgetmenots,
Red daisies, cress and mustard,
And blue nemophilë.
O! all the borders trimmed with box
Were full of favourite flowers — of phlox,
Of larkspur, pinks, and hollyhocks
Beneath a red may-tree:
And all the paths were full of shapes,
Of tumbling happy white-clad shapes,
And with them You and Me.
And some had silver watering-cans
And watered all their gowns,
Or sprayed each other; some laid plans
To build them houses, fairy towns,
Or dwellings in the trees;
And some were clambering on the roof;
Some crooning lonely and aloof;
And some were dancing fairy-rings
And weaving pearly daisy-strings,
Or chasing golden bees;
But here and there a little pair
With rosy cheeks and tangled hair
Debated quaint old childish things —
And we were one of these.

But why it was there came a time
When we could take the road no more,
Though long we looked, and high would climb
Or gaze from many a seaward shore
To find the path between sea and sky
To those old gardens of delight;
And how it goes now in that land,
If there the house and gardens stand,
Still filled with children clad in white –
We know not, You and I.
And why it was Tomorrow came
And with his grey hand led us back;
And why we never found the same
Old cottage, or the magic track
That leads between a silver sea
And those old shores and gardens fair
Where all things are, that ever were —
We know not, You and Me.