Rain upon the roof in the garret; little fingers knocking on the pane;
A fairy voice is calling in the splashing and the falling,
“I am the rain—the rain!”
Shadows, shadows, shadows, in the corner by the eaves;
Wet against the windows lie the little faded leaves.
Rain upon the roof in the garret; play we are a pirate crew at sea;
Play the old oak chest, in the veil of cobwebs dressed,
Is a leaking, creaking ship, the “Stinging Bee”;
Play the broken cradle, where our pile of play-things lie,
Is an island full of treasure, where we’ll anchor by and by.
Rain upon the roof in the garret; shadows, dust, and cobwebs all around;
We know the game to play, on a dark and blowy day,
And we launch the “Stinging Bee” without a sound;
With a pilot at the spinning wheel, we’ll land, at the break of day,
On lonely Cradle Island, and steal all the things away.