Poem of the Month #1

      As from the house your mother sees 

          You playing round the garden trees, 

      So you may see, if you will look 

          Through the windows of this book, 

      Another child, far, far away, 

          And in another garden, play. 

      But do not think you can at all, 

          By knocking on the window, call 

      That child to hear you. He intent 

          Is all on his play-business bent. 

      He does not hear; he will not look, 

          Nor yet be lured out of this book. 

      For, long ago, the truth to say, 

          He has grown up and gone away, 

      And it is but a child of air 

          That lingers in the garden there.

                                        To Any Reader (1885)

                                   - Robert Louis Stevenson 

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