W

HO'S that slamming the garden door?
I have heard it three times three!
And though to the window I run to look,
He's hiding away from me.
The tree-tops laugh in the windy sky,
And the maker-of-mischief, hovering nigh,
Is hiding away from me.
Who's that rattling the window-pane?
I have heard it three times three!
Yet every time I glance that way
There's nothing at all to see.
But the leaf of a rose bush blown about,
While the culprit true, with a noisy shout,
Is hiding away from me.
Who's that whistling and calling loud
Over my chimney high?
'Tis the maker-of-mischief I cannot see
Abroad in the blue, blue sky.
Hark! he is shaking the window-pane!
Now he is up in the clouds again,
Sweeping the blue, blue sky.
Oh, slam as you will my garden door,
And whistle your blithest lay;
I love your company, though unseen,
Dear maker-of-mischief gay.
I love to see your clouds go by,
And the tree-tops waving against the sky,
Oh, wind of the wild March day!