The Little Land

  When at home alone I sit   And am very tired of it,   I have just to shut my eyes   To go sailing through the skies    To go sailing far away   To the pleasant Land of Play;   To the fairy land afar   Where the Little People are;   Where the clover-tops are trees,   And the rain-pools are the seas,   And the leaves like little ships   Sail about on tiny trips;   And above the daisy tree       Through the grasses,   High o'erhead the Bumble Bee       Hums and passes.   In that forest to and fro   I can wander, I can go;   See the spider and the fly,   And the ants go marching by   Carrying parcels with their feet   Down the green and grassy street   I can in the sorrel sit   Where the ladybird alit.   I can climb the jointed grass;       And on high   See the greater swallows pass       In the sky,   And the round sun rolling by   Heeding no such thing as I.   Through the forest I can pass   Till, as in a looking-glass,   Humming fly and daisy tree   And my tiny self I see,   Painted very clear and neat   On the rain-pool at my feet.   Should a leaflet come to land   Drifting near to where I stand,   Straight I'll board that tiny boat   Round the rain-pool sea to float.   Little thoughtful creatures sit   On the grassy coasts of it;   Little things with lovely eyes   See me sailing with surprise.   Some are clad in armor green    (These have sure to battle been!)   Some are pied with ev'ry hue,   Black and crimson, gold and blue;   Some have wings and swift are gone;    But they all look kindly on.   When my eyes I once again   Open and see all things plain;   High bare walls, great bare floor;   Great big knobs on drawer and door;   Great big people perched on chairs,   Stitching tucks and mending tears,   Each a hill that I could climb,   And talking nonsense all the time        O dear me,       That I could be   A sailor on the rain-pool sea,   A climber in the clover-tree,   And just come back, a sleepy-head,   Late at night to go to bed. ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON