Lend me your precious toys, But for one day and night; I'll take them under my orchard boughs, And nurse them out of sight; Till my two hands, all warm with love, Fill them with breath, and make them move! And when Night comes, a grey-haired child Shall hobble off to bed; With rabbits, mice and little birds Around his face and head; Where in your toys his secret lies — To keep his childhood till he dies. |