Ww. V.

They glide, they dart, they soar, they break.
Oh, joyous little daughter,

What lovely coloured worlds we make,
What crystal flowers of water !

One, green and rosy, slowly drops ;
One soars and shines a minute,

And carries to the lime-tree tops
Our home, reflected in it.

The gable, with cream rose in bloom,
She sees from roof to basement ;

“ Oh, father, there ’s your little room!”
She cries in glad amazement.

To her enchanted with the gleam,
The glamour and the glory,

The bubble home’s a home of dream,
And I must tell its story ;

Tell what we did, and how we played,
Withdrawn from care and trouble —
A father and his merry maid,
Whose house was in a bubble !
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