AT six-long ere the wintry dawn- <br />There sounded through the silent hall <br />To where I lay, with blankets drawn <br />Above my ears, a plaintive call. <br /> <br />The Urchin, in the eagerness <br />Of three years old, could not refrain; <br />Awake, he straightway yearned to dress <br />And frolic with his clockwork train. <br /> <br />I heard him with a sullen shock. <br />His sister, by her usual plan, <br />Had piped us aft at 3 o'clock- <br />I vowed to quench the little man. <br /> <br />I leaned above him, somewhat stern, <br />And spoke, I fear, with emphasis- <br />Ah, how much better, parents learn, <br />To seal one's sensure with a kiss! <br /> <br />Again the house was dark and still, <br />Again I lay in slumber's snare, <br />When down the hall I heard a trill, <br />A tiny, tinkling, tuneful air- <br /> <br />His music-box! His best-loved toy, <br />His crib companion every night; <br />And now he turned to it for joy <br />While waiting for the lagging light. <br /> <br />How clear, and how absurdly sad <br />Those tingling pricks of sound unrolled; <br />They chirped and quavered, as the lad <br />His lonely little heart consoled. <br /> <br />Columbia, the Ocean's Gem- <br />(Its only tune) shrilled sweet and faint. <br />He cranked the chimes, admiring them, <br />In vigil gay, without complaint. <br /> <br /> <br />The treble music piped and stirred, <br />The leaping air that was his bliss; <br />And, as I most contritely heard, <br />I thanked the all-unconscious Swiss! <br /> <br />The needled jets of melody <br />Rang slowlier and died away- <br />The Urchin slept; and it was I <br />Who lay and waited for the day.<br /><br />Christopher Morley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-music-box/
