In this closing poem to A Child’s Garden of Verses, Stevenson speaks directly to his young reader. He invites you to take the book and step into other worlds — an attic door becomes a stairway to kingdoms underground, where strange birds sing. The mood is playful and hushed, a secret adventure needing no grown-ups.
Then the tone shifts. Peering through the book’s window, you might spot another child playing in a distant garden. But you can’t call him out or join him: that child has grown up and gone away. Only a “child of air” lingers. There’s a gentle sadness here. The imagination can show you a bright, unreachable figure, but the real child behind it — perhaps Stevenson himself — is lost to time. The poem holds both the joy of make-believe and the quiet ache of knowing that such worlds are fragile, kept alive only by reading and remembering.