My Grandpapa lives in a wonderful house <br />With a great many windows and doors, <br />There are stairs that go up, and stairs that go down, <br />And such beautiful, slippery floors. <br /> <br />But of all of the rooms, even mother's and mine, <br />And the bookroom, and parlour and all, <br />I like the green dining-room so much the best <br />Because of its ceiling and wall. <br /> <br />Right over your head is a funny round hole <br />With apples and pears falling through; <br />There's a big bunch of grapes all purply and sweet, <br />And melons and pineapples too. <br /> <br />They tumble and tumble, but never come down <br />Though I've stood underneath a long while <br />With my mouth open wide, for I always have hoped <br />Just a cherry would drop from the pile. <br /> <br />No matter how early I run there to look <br />It has always begun to fall through; <br />And one night when at bedtime I crept in to see, <br />It was falling by candle-light too. <br /> <br />I am sure they are magical fruits, and each one <br />Makes you hear things, or see things, or go <br />Forever invisible; but it's no use, <br />And of course I shall just never know. <br /> <br />For the ladder's too heavy to lift, and the chairs <br />Are not nearly so tall as I need. <br />I've given up hope, and I feel I shall die <br />Without having accomplished the deed. <br /> <br />It's a little bit sad, when you seem very near <br />To adventures and things of that sort, <br />Which nearly begin, and then don't; and you know <br />It is only because you are short.<br /><br />Amy Lowell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-painted-ceiling/
