  EVERY evening, after tea, Teeny-Weeny comes to me. Plies his lash and rides away; Though that palfrey, all too spare, Finds his burden hard to bear, Teeny-Weeny doesn’t care; He commands, and I obey! First it’s trot, and gallop then; Now it’s back to trot again; Teeny-Weeny likes it when He is riding fierce and fast. Then his dark eyes brighter grow And his cheeks are all aglow: “More!” he cries, and never “Whoa!” Till the horse breaks down at last. Oh, the strange and lovely sights Teeny-Weeny sees of nights, As he makes those famous flights On that wondrous horse of his! Oftentimes before he knows, Wearylike his eyelids close, Where the land of By-low is. There he sees the folk of fay Hard at ring-a-rosie play, And he hears those fairies say: “Come, let’s chase him to and fro!” But, with a defiant shout, Teeny puts that host to rout; Of this tale I make no doubt, Every night he tells it so. So I feel a tender pride In my boy who dares to ride Off into those misty lands; And as on my breast he lies, Dreaming in that wondrous wise, I caress his folded eyes, Pat his little dimpled hands. On a time he went away, Just a little while to stay, And I’m not ashamed to say I was very lonely then; Life without him was so sad, You can fancy I was glad Teeny-Weeny back again! So of evenings, after tea, When he toddles up to me And goes tugging at my knee, You should hear his palfrey neigh! You should see him prance and shy, When, with an exulting cry, Teeny-Weeny, vaulting high, Plies his lash and rides away! |
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