T

EFORE the dustman comes to me
As in my bed I lie,
All sorts of curious things I see
Up in my nursery high.
I see the little curly flames
Jump upwards from the fire;
I think they must be playing games,
They never seem to tire.
And now and then one leaps so high
That all the ceiling glows:
Quite suddenly it seems to die—
I wonder where it goes.
Sometimes out in the street I hear
The tinkle of a bell,
It's first far off, and then quite near;
It's passing, I can tell;
And then I see a narrow line
Of light quite slowly crawl
Across the ceiling, till its shine
Stops as it meets the wall.
I wonder how it comes, and why,
And where it was before,
And where it's gone to now, when I
Can't see it any more.
Perhaps I'll meet them in my dream,
Those curly flames so odd,
And see the little narrow gleam
Light up the Land of Nod.