The Lamplight Camp

Whenever on the windowpane     I hear the fingers of the rain,     And in the old trees, near the door,     The wind that whispers more and more,     Bright in the light made by the lamp     I make myself a hunter's camp.     The shadows of the desk and chairs     Are trees and woods; the corners, lairs     Where wolves and wildcats lie in wait     For any one who walks too late;     Upon my knees with my toy-gun     I hunt and slaughter many a one.     And now I rescue Riding Hood     From the great Wolf within the wood;     Now little Silver Locks, who flies     From the Three Bears with angry eyes;     And many a little girl who dwells     In story books, as mother tells.     So up and down and all around     My wildwood camp I prowl or bound,     From corner unto corner till     I reach the door and windowsill,     Where Jack-o'-Lantern hides, I know,     Outside the lamplight's steady glow.     And he, the goblin-fiend, my nurse     Once scared me with, when I was worse     Than naughty; would not go to sleep,     But keep awake; and cry and creep     Out of my bed, the goblin black,     The foul fiend, Flibberty-Jibberty Jack.     And when I think perhaps that these     May catch me, on my father's knees     I climb and listen to the rain     And wind outside the windowpane,     And feel so safe with him that I     Go right to sleep, and never cry.