Where Dreams Are Made

Dreams are made in the moon, my dear,

On her shining hillsides steep;

Pleasant and dreadful and gay and queer,
 
They're piled in a silver heap.

And many fairies with buzzing wings

Are busy with hammers and wheels and things,

Making the dreams that Night-time brings
   



To all little boys asleep.


And if a boy has been good till night,
     When snug in his bed he lies
The fairies come with a moonbeam bright
     And slide him up to the skies.
And there he sails as the Moon-king's guest,
And choses the dreams he likes best;
Then they slide him back to his nurs'ry nest
     And leave him rubbin his eyes.







by Burges Johnson (1877 - ??)
Youngsters:  Collected Poems of Childhood