I have a puppet-jointed child, <br />She's but three half-years old; <br />Through lawless hair her eyes gleam wild <br />With looks both shy and bold. <br /> <br />Like little imps, her tiny hands <br />Dart out and push and take; <br />Chide her-a trembling thing she stands, <br />And like two leaves they shake. <br /> <br />But to her mind a minute gone <br />Is like a year ago; <br />And when you lift your eyes anon, <br />Anon you must say <br />No <br />! <br /> <br />Sometimes, though not oppressed with care, <br />She has her sleepless fits; <br />Then, blanket-swathed, in that round chair <br />The elfish mortal sits;- <br /> <br />Where, if by chance in mood more grave, <br />A hermit she appears <br />Propped in the opening of his cave, <br />Mummied almost with years; <br /> <br />Or like an idol set upright <br />With folded legs for stem, <br />Ready to hear prayers all the night <br />And never answer them. <br /> <br />But where's the idol-hermit thrust? <br />Her knees like flail-joints go! <br />Alternate kiss, her mother must, <br />Now that, now this big toe! <br /> <br />I turn away from her, and write <br />For minutes three or four: <br />A tiny spectre, tall and white, <br />She's standing by the door! <br /> <br />Then something comes into my head <br />That makes me stop and think: <br />She's on the table, the quadruped, <br />And dabbling in my ink! <br /> <br />O Elfie, make no haste to lose <br />Thy ignorance of offence! <br />Thou hast the best gift I could choose, <br />A heavenly confidence. <br /> <br />'Tis time, long-white-gowned Mrs. Ham, <br />To put you in the ark! <br />Sleep, Elfie, God-infolded lamb, <br />Sleep shining through the dark.<br /><br />George MacDonald<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/little-elfie/
