To W. S.-On his Wonderful Toys

Lend me your precious toys,

But for one day and night;

I'll take them under my orchard boroughs'

And nurse them out of sight;

Till my two warm 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 his toys his secret lies-

To keep this childhood till he dies.