20
THE CHILD MOZART AND
With lambs, above the world of men,
There in the world of birds,
So looked the young Apollo, when
He—quite forgot the herds.
There in the world of birds,
So looked the young Apollo, when
He—quite forgot the herds.
Perhaps it was the winds and bees,
Perhaps his sweet ears rung
With snatches of the melodies
The morning stars had sung.
Perhaps his sweet ears rung
With snatches of the melodies
The morning stars had sung.
Yet this fair little foreign guest,
Born somewhere in the sky,
Knew—(if the truth must be confest)
The boy knew how to cry.
Born somewhere in the sky,
Knew—(if the truth must be confest)
The boy knew how to cry.
"Look, sister, look," he sadly said,
While great tears gathered slow,
"There is no butter on my bread."
She answered him: "I know.
While great tears gathered slow,
"There is no butter on my bread."
She answered him: "I know.
"We are so poor, and that is why."
"Well, what do people do
When they are poor?" "Sometimes they cry."
(Their mother did, she knew.)
"Well, what do people do
When they are poor?" "Sometimes they cry."
(Their mother did, she knew.)
