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diff --git a/old/10131.txt b/old/10131.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a934d83 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10131.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6418 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Required Poems for Reading and Memorizing, by Anonymous + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Required Poems for Reading and Memorizing + Third and Fourth Grades, Prescribed by State Courses of Study + +Author: Anonymous + +Release Date: November 19, 2003 [EBook #10131] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK REQUIRED POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Cathy Golde and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + + + + +REQUIRED POEMS +FOR READING +AND MEMORIZING + + + +THIRD AND FOURTH GRADES +Prescribed by State Courses +of Study + + + + +FOREWORD + + +Practically every state course of study gives a list of poems from which +it is required that selection be made for reading or memorizing. These +lists and their grading vary in the different states, although the same +poems are used in many of them and there are some which are required +in every state. + +In the preparation of this book the lists of the third and fourth grade +poems prescribed by the syllabi of twelve states have been examined and +the contents have been made up from these. The breadth of this method of +selection insures the inclusion in this volume of a large proportion of +the required poems for every state. Since the grading in different states +varies so widely, teachers will find included, also, many poems which in +their own particular states are required in other grades. It is hoped +that this volume will be of real service to teachers in providing a +collection of "required poems" in a form convenient for school use. + +THE PUBLISHERS. + + + + +Required Poems for Third +and Fourth Grades + + + +POEMS BY +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON + + +AUTUMN FIRES + +In the other gardens + And all up the vale, +From the autumn bonfires + See the smoke trail! + +Pleasant summer over + And all the summer flowers; +The red fire blazes, + The grey smoke towers. + +Sing a song of seasons! + Something bright in all! +Flowers in the summer, + Fires in the fall! + + +THE UNSEEN PLAYMATE + +When children are playing alone on the green, +In comes the playmate that never was seen. +When children are happy and lonely and good, +The Friend of the Children comes out of the wood. + +Nobody heard him and nobody saw, +His is a picture you never could draw, +But he's sure to be present, abroad or at home, +When children are happy and playing alone. + +He lies in the laurels, he runs on the grass, +He sings when you tinkle the musical glass; +Whene'er you are happy and cannot tell why, +The Friend of the Children is sure to be by! + +He loves to be little, he hates to be big, +'Tis he that inhabits the caves that you dig; +'Tis he when you play with your soldiers of tin +That sides with the Frenchmen and never can win. + +'Tis he, when at night you go off to your bed, +Bids you go to your sleep and not trouble your head; +For wherever they're lying, in cupboard or shelf, +'Tis he will take care of your playthings himself! + + +THE LAND OF STORY-BOOKS + +At evening when the lamp is lit, +Around the fire my parents sit. +They sit at home, and talk and sing, +And do not play at anything. + +Now, with my little gun, I crawl +All in the dark along the wall, +And follow round the forest track +Away behind the sofa back. + +There in the night, where none can spy, +All in my hunter's camp I lie, +And play at books that I have read, +Till it is time to go to bed. + +These are the hills, these are the woods, +These are my starry solitudes, +And there the river by whose brink +The roaring lions come to drink. + +I see the others far away, +As if in firelit camp they lay, +And I, like to an Indian scout, +Around their party prowled about. + +So, when my nurse comes in for me, +Home I return across the sea, +And go to bed with backward looks +At my dear Land of Story-books. + + +THE WIND + +I saw you toss the kites on high +And blow the birds about the sky; +And all around I heard you pass, +Like ladies' skirts across the grass-- + O wind, a-blowing all day long, + O wind, that sings so loud a song! + +I saw the different things you did, +But always you yourself you hid. +I felt you push, I heard you call, +I could not see yourself at all-- + O wind, a-blowing all day long, + O wind, that sings so loud a song! + +O you that are so strong and cold, +O blower, are you young or old? +Are you a beast of field and tree, +Or just a stronger child than me? + O wind, a-blowing all day long, + O wind, that sings so loud a song! + + +WINTER-TIME + +Late lies the wintry sun a-bed, +A frosty, fiery sleepy-head; +Blinks but an hour or two; and then, +A blood-red orange, sets again. + +Before the stars have left the skies, +At morning in the dark I rise; +And shivering in my nakedness, +By the cold candle, bathe and dress. + +Close by the jolly fire I sit +To warm my frozen bones a bit; +Or, with a reindeer-sled, explore +The colder countries round the door. + +When to go out, my nurse doth wrap +Me in my comforter and cap; +The cold wind burns my face, and blows +Its frosty pepper up my nose. + +Black are my steps on silver sod; +Thick blows my frosty breath abroad; +And tree and house, and hill and lake, +Are frosted like a wedding-cake. + + +PIRATE STORY + +Three of us afloat in the meadow by the swing, + Three of us aboard in the basket on the lea. +Winds are in the air, they are blowing in the spring, + And waves are on the meadow like the waves there are at sea. + +Where shall we adventure, to-day that we're afloat, + Wary of the weather and steering by a star? +Shall it be to Africa, a-steering of the boat, + To Providence, or Babylon, or off to Malabar? + +Hi! but here's a squadron a-rowing on the sea-- + Cattle on the meadow a-charging with a roar! +Quick, and we'll escape them, they're as mad as they can be, + The wicket is the harbour and the garden is the shore. + + +* * * * * + +POEMS BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY + + +LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE + +Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay, +An' wash the cups an' saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away, +An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep, +An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board an' keep; +An' all us other childern, when the supper-things is done, +We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun +A-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about, +An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you + Ef you + Don't + Watch + Out! + +Wunst they wuz a little boy wouldn't say his prayers,-- +An' when he went to bed at night, away upstairs, +His Mammy heerd him holler, an' his Daddy heerd him bawl, +An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wuzn't there at all! +An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby-hole, an' press, +An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever' wheres, I guess; +But all they ever found wuz thist his pants an' roundabout:-- +An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you + Ef you + Don't + Watch + Out! + +An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh an' grin, +An' make fun of ever' one, an' all her blood-an'-kin; +An' wunst, when they was "company," an' ole folks wuz there, +She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care! +An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide, +They wuz two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side, +An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what she's about! +An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you + Ef you + Don't + Watch + Out! + +An' little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue, +An' the lamp-wick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo! +An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray, +An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away,-- +You better mind yer parunts, an' yer teachurs fond an' dear, +An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear, +An' help the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about, +Er the Gobble-uns'll git you + Ef you + Don't + Watch + Out! + + +THE BROOK-SONG + + Little brook! Little brook! + You have such a happy look-- +Such a very merry manner, as you swerve and + curve and crook-- + And your ripples, one and one, + Reach each other's hands and run +Like laughing little children in the sun! + + Little brook, sing to me: + Sing about a bumblebee +That tumbled from a lily-bell and grumbled + mumblingly, + Because he wet the film + Of his wings, and had to swim, +While the water-bugs raced round and laughed + at him! + + Little brook--sing a song + Of a leaf that sailed along +Down the golden-braided center of your current + swift and strong, + And a dragon-fly that lit + On the tilting rim of it, +And rode away and wasn't scared a bit. + + And sing--how oft in glee + Came a truant boy like me, +Who loved to lean and listen to your lilting + melody, + Till the gurgle and refrain + Of your music in his brain +Wrought a happiness as keen to him as pain. + + Little brook--laugh and leap! + Do not let the dreamer weep; +Sing him all the songs of summer till he sink in + softest sleep; + And then sing soft and low + Through his dreams of long ago-- +Sing back to him the rest he used to know! + + +A LIFE LESSON + +There! little girl! don't cry! + They have broken your doll, I know; + And your tea-set blue, + And your play-house, too, + Are things of long ago; +But childish troubles will soon pass by, + There! little girl! don't cry! + +There! little girl! don't cry! + They have broken your slate, I know; + And the glad wild ways + Of your school-girl days + Are things of the long ago; +But life and love will soon come by, + There! little girl! don't cry! + +There! little girl! don't cry! + They have broken your heart, I know; + And the rainbow gleams + Of your youthful dreams + Are things of the long ago; +But heaven holds all for which you sigh, + There! little girl! don't cry! + + +* * * * * + + +POEMS BY EDWARD LEAR + + +THE QUANGLE WANGLE'S HAT + +On the top of the Crumpetty Tree + The Quangle Wangle sat, +But his face you could not see, + On account of his Beaver Hat. +For his Hat was a hundred and two feet wide, +With ribbons and bibbons on every side, +And bells, and buttons, and loops, and lace, +So that nobody ever could see the face + Of the Quangle Wangle Quee. + +The Quangle Wangle said + To himself on the Crumpetty Tree, +"Jam, and jelly, and bread + Are the best of food for me! +But the longer I live on this Crumpetty Tree +The plainer than ever it seems to me +That very few people come this way +And that life on the whole is far from gay!" + Said the Quangle Wangle Quee. + +But there came to the Crumpetty Tree + Mr. and Mrs. Canary; +And they said, "Did ever you see + Any spot so charmingly airy? +May we build a nest on your lovely Hat? +Mr. Quangle Wangle, grant us that! +Oh, please let us come and build a nest +Of whatever material suits you best, + Mr. Quangle Wangle Quee!" + +And besides, to the Crumpetty Tree + Came the Stork, the Duck, and the Owl; +The Snail and the Bumblebee, + The Frog and the Fimble Fowl +(The Fimble Fowl, with a corkscrew leg); +And all of them said, "We humbly beg +We may build our homes on your lovely Hat,-- +Mr. Quangle Wangle, grant us that! + Mr. Quangle Wangle Quee!" + +And the Golden Grouse came there, + And the Pobble who has no toes, +And the small Olympian bear, + And the Dong with a luminous nose. +And the Blue Baboon who played the flute, +And the Orient Calf from the Land of Tute, +And the Attery Squash, and the Bisky Bat,-- +All came and built on the lovely Hat + Of the Quangle Wangle Quee. + +And the Quangle Wangle said + To himself on the Crumpetty Tree, +"When all these creatures move + What a wonderful noise there'll be!" +And at night by the light of the Mulberry moon +They danced to the Flute of the Blue Baboon, +On the broad green leaves of the Crumpetty Tree, +And all were as happy as happy could be, + With the Quangle Wangle Quee. + + +THE POBBLE WHO HAS NO TOES + +The Pobble who has no toes + Had once as many as we; +When they said, "Some day you may lose them all," + He replied, "Fish fiddle de-dee!" +And his Aunt Jobiska made him drink +Lavender water tinged with pink; +For she said, "The World in general knows +There's nothing so good for a Pobble's toes!" + +The Pobble who has no toes + Swam across the Bristol Channel; +But before he set out he wrapped his nose + In a piece of scarlet flannel. +For his Aunt Jobiska said, "No harm +Can come to his toes if his nose is warm; +And it's perfectly known that a Pobble's toes +Are safe--provided he minds his nose." + +The Pobble swam fast and well, + And when boats or ships came near him, +He tinkledy-binkledy-winkled a bell + So that all the world could hear him. +And all the Sailors and Admirals cried, +When they saw him nearing the farther side, +"He has gone to fish for his Aunt Jobiska's +Runcible Cat with crimson whiskers!" + +But before he touched the shore-- + The shore of the Bristol Channel, +A sea-green Porpoise carried away + His wrapper of scarlet flannel. +And when he came to observe his feet, +Formerly garnished with toes so neat, +His face at once became forlorn +On perceiving that all his toes were gone! + +And nobody ever knew, + From that dark day to the present, +Whoso had taken the Pobble's toes, + In a manner so far from pleasant. +Whether the shrimps or crawfish gray, +Or crafty mermaids stole them away, +Nobody knew; and nobody knows +How the Pobble was robbed of his twice five toes! + +The Pobble who has no toes + Was placed in a friendly Bark, +And they rowed him back and carried him up + To his Aunt Jobiska's Park. +And she made him a feast at his earnest wish, +Of eggs and buttercups fried with fish; +And she said, "It's a fact the whole world knows, +That Pobbles are happier without their toes." + + +THE JUMBLIES + +They went to sea in a sieve, they did; + In a sieve they went to sea: +In spite of all their friends could say, +On a winter's morn, on a stormy day, + In a sieve they went to sea. +And when the sieve turned round and round, +And every one cried, "You'll all be drowned!" +They called aloud, "Our sieve ain't big; +But we don't care a button, we don't care a fig: + In a sieve we'll go to sea!" + Far and few, far and few, + Are the lands where the Jumblies live; + Their heads are green and their hands are blue; + And they went to sea in a sieve. + +They sailed away in a sieve, they did, + In a sieve they sailed so fast, +With only a beautiful pea-green veil +Tied with a ribbon by way of a sail, + To a small tobacco-pipe mast. +And every one said who saw them go, +"Oh! won't they soon be upset, you know? +For the sky is dark and the voyage is long, +And happen what may, it's extremely wrong + In a sieve to sail so fast." + Far and few, far and few, + Are the lands where the Jumblies live; + Their heads are green and their hands are blue; + And they went to sea in a sieve. + +The water it soon came in, it did; + The water it soon came in; +So, to keep them dry, they wrapped their feet +In a pinky paper all folded neat; + And they fastened it down with a pin. +And they passed the night in a crockery-jar; +And each of them said, "How wise we are! +Though the sky be dark, and the voyage be long, +Yet we never can think we were rash or wrong, + While round in our sieve we spin." + Far and few, far and few, + Are the lands where the Jumblies live; + Their heads are green and their hands are blue; + And they went to sea in a sieve. + +And all night long they sailed away; + And when the sun went down, +They whistled and warbled a moony song +To the echoing sound of a coppery gong, + In the shade of the mountains brown. +"O Timballoo! How happy we are +When we live in a sieve and a crockery-jar! +And all night long, in the moonlight pale, +We sail away with a pea-green sail + In the shade of the mountains brown." + Far and few, far and few, + Are the lands where the Jumblies live; + Their heads are green and their hands are blue; + And they went to sea in a sieve. + +They sailed to the Western Sea, they did,-- + To a land all covered with trees: +And they bought an owl and a useful cart, +And a pound of rice, and a cranberry-tart, + And a hive of silvery bees; +And they bought a pig, and some green jackdaws, +And a lovely monkey with lollipop paws, +And forty bottles of ring-bo-ree, + And no end of Stilton cheese. + Far and few, far and few, + Are the lands where the Jumblies live; + Their heads are green and their hands are blue; + And they went to sea in a sieve. + +And in twenty years they all came back,-- + In twenty years or more; +And every one said, "How tall they've grown! +For they've been to the Lakes, and the Torrible Zone, + And the hills of the Chankly Bore." +And they drank their health, and gave them a feast +Of dumplings made of beautiful yeast; +And every one said, "If we only live, +We, too, will go to sea in a sieve, + To the hills of the Chankly Bore." + Far and few, far and few, + Are the lands where the Jumblies live; + Their heads are green and their hands are blue; + And they went to sea in a sieve. + + +* * * * * + + +POEMS BY HENRY W. LONGFELLOW + + +THE EMPEROR'S BIRD'S-NEST + +Once the Emperor Charles of Spain, + With his swarthy, grave commanders, +I forget in what campaign, +Long besieged, in mud and rain, + Some old frontier town of Flanders. + +Up and down the dreary camp, + In great boots of Spanish leather, +Striding with a measured tramp, +These Hidalgos, dull and damp, + Cursed the Frenchmen, cursed the weather. + +Thus as to and fro they went, + Over upland and through hollow, +Giving their impatience vent, +Perched upon the Emperor's tent, + In her nest, they spied a swallow. + +Yes, it was a swallow's nest, + Built of clay and hair of horses, +Mane, or tail, or dragoon's crest, +Found on hedge-rows east and west, + After skirmish of the forces. + +Then an old Hidalgo said, + As he twirled his gray mustachio, +"Sure this swallow overhead +Thinks the Emperor's tent a shed, + And the Emperor but a Macho!" + +Hearing his imperial name + Coupled with those words of malice, +Half in anger, half in shame, +Forth the great campaigner came + Slowly from his canvas palace. + +"Let no hand the bird molest," + Said he solemnly, "nor hurt her!" +Adding then, by way of jest, +"Golondrina is my guest, + 'Tis the wife of some deserter!" + +Swift as bowstring speeds a shaft, + Through the camp was spread the rumor, +And the soldiers, as they quaffed +Flemish beer at dinner, laughed + At the Emperor's pleasant humor. + +So unharmed and unafraid + Sat the swallow still and brooded, +Till the constant cannonade +Through the walls a breach had made + And the siege was thus concluded. + +Then the army, elsewhere bent, + Struck its tents as if disbanding, +Only not the Emperor's tent, +For he ordered, ere he went, + Very curtly, "Leave it standing!" + +So it stood there all alone, + Loosely flapping, torn and tattered, +Till the brood was fledged and flown, +Singing o'er those walls of stone + Which the cannon-shot had shattered. + + +THE RAINY DAY + +The day is cold, and dark, and dreary; +It rains, and the wind is never weary; +The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, +But at every gust the dead leaves fall, + And the day is dark and dreary! + +My life is cold, and dark, and dreary; +It rains, and the wind is never weary; +My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past, +But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast, + And the days are dark and dreary. + +Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; +Behind the clouds is the sun still shining; +Thy fate is the common fate of all, +Into each life some rain must fall, + Some days must be dark and dreary. + + +AN APRIL DAY + + When the warm sun, that brings +Seed-time and harvest, has returned again, +'Tis sweet to visit the still wood, where springs + The first flower of the plain. + + I love the season well, +When forest glades are teeming with bright forms, +Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell + The coming-on of storms. + + From the earth's loosened mould +The sapling draws its sustenance, and thrives; +Though stricken to the heart with winter's cold, + The drooping tree revives. + + The softly-warbled song +Comes from the pleasant woods, and colored wings +Glance quick in the bright sun, that moves along + The forest openings. + + When the bright sunset fills +The silver woods with light, the green slope throws +Its shadows in the hollows of the hills, + And wide the upland glows. + + And when the eve is born, +In the blue lake the sky, o'er-reaching far, +Is hollowed out, and the moon dips her horn, + And twinkles many a star. + + Inverted in the tide, +Stand the gray rocks, and trembling shadows throw, +And the fair trees look over, side by side, + And see themselves below. + + Sweet April!--many a thought +Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed; +Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought, + Life's golden fruit is shed. + + +RAIN IN SUMMER + +How beautiful is the rain! +After the dust and heat, +In the broad and fiery street, +In the narrow lane, +How beautiful is the rain! + +How it clatters along the roofs, +Like the tramp of hoofs! +How it gushes and struggles out +From the throat of the overflowing spout! + +Across the window pane +It pours and pours; +And swift and wide, +With a muddy tide, +Like a river down the gutter roars +The rain, the welcome rain! + * * * * +In the country, on every side, +Where far and wide, +Like a leopard's tawny and spotted hide, +Stretches the plain, +To the dry grass and the drier grain +How welcome is the rain! + * * * * + +DAYBREAK + +A wind came up out of the sea, +And said, "O mists, make room for me." + +It hailed the ships, and cried, "Sail on, +Ye mariners, the night is gone." + +And hurried landward far away, +Crying, "Awake! it is the day." + +It said unto the forest, "Shout! +Hang all your leafy banners out!" + +It touched the wood-bird's folded wing, +And said, "O bird, awake and sing." + +And o'er the farms, "O Chanticleer, +Your clarion blow; the day is near." + +It whispered to the fields of corn, +"Bow down, and hail the coming morn." + +It shouted through the belfry tower, +"Awake, O bell! proclaim the hour." + +It crossed the churchyard with a sigh, +And said, "Not yet! in quiet lie." + + +AFTERNOON IN FEBRUARY + +The day is ending, +The night is descending; +The marsh is frozen, + The river dead. + +Through clouds like ashes +The red sun flashes +On village windows + That glimmer red. + +The snow recommences; +The buried fences +Mark no longer + The road o'er the plain; + +While through the meadows, +Like fearful shadows, +Slowly passes + A funeral train. + +The bell is pealing, +And every feeling +Within me responds + To the dismal knell; + +Shadows are trailing, +My heart is bewailing +And tolling within + Like a funeral bell. + + +HIAWATHA'S FISHING + +Forth upon the Gitche Gumee, +On the shining Big-Sea-Water, +With his fishing-line of cedar, +Of the twisted bark of cedar, +Forth to catch the sturgeon Nahma, +Mishe-Nahma, King of Fishes, +In his birch canoe exulting +All alone went Hiawatha. + + Through the clear, transparent water +He could see the fishes swimming +Far down in the depths below him; +See the yellow perch, the Sahwa, + + Like a sunbeam in the water, +See the Shawgashee, the craw-fish, +Like a spider on the bottom, +On the white and sandy bottom. + + At the stern sat Hiawatha, +With his fishing-line of cedar; +In his plumes the breeze of morning +Played as in the hemlock branches; +On the bows, with tail erected, +Sat the squirrel, Adjidaumo; +In his fur the breeze of morning +Played as in the prairie grasses. + + On the white sand of the bottom +Lay the monster Mishe-Nahma, +Lay the sturgeon, King of Fishes; +Through his gills he breathed the water, +With his fins he fanned and winnowed, +With his tail he swept the sand-floor. + + There he lay in all his armor; +On each side a shield to guard him, +Plates of bone upon his forehead, +Down his sides and back and shoulders +Plates of bone with spines projecting! +Painted was he with his war-paints, +Stripes of yellow, red, and azure, +Spots of brown and spots of sable; +And he lay there on the bottom, +Fanning with his fins of purple, +As above him Hiawatha +In his birch canoe came sailing, +With his fishing-line of cedar. + + "Take my bait!" cried Hiawatha, +Down into the depths beneath him, +"Take my bait, O sturgeon, Nahma! +Come up from below the water, +Let us see which is the stronger!" +And he dropped his line of cedar +Through the clear, transparent water, +Waited vainly for an answer, +Long sat waiting for an answer, +And repeating loud and louder, +"Take my bait, O King of Fishes!" + + Quiet lay the sturgeon, Nahma, +Fanning slowly in the water, +Looking up at Hiawatha, +Listening to his call and clamor, +His unnecessary tumult, +Till he wearied of the shouting; +And he said to the Kenozha, +To the pike, the Maskenozha, +"Take the bait of this rude fellow, +Break the line of Hiawatha!" + + In his fingers Hiawatha +Felt the loose line jerk and tighten; +As he drew it in, it tugged so +That the birch canoe stood endwise, +Like a birch log in the water, +With the squirrel, Adjidaumo, +Perched and frisking on the summit. + + Full of scorn was Hiawatha +When he saw the fish rise upward, +Saw the pike, the Maskenozha, +Coming nearer, nearer to him, +And he shouted through the water, +"Esa! esa! shame upon you! +You are but the pike, Kenozha, +You are not the fish I wanted, +You are not the King of Fishes!" + + Reeling downward to the bottom +Sank the pike in great confusion, +And the mighty sturgeon, Nahma, +Said to Ugudwash, the sun-fish, +To the bream, with scales of crimson, +"Take the bait of this great boaster, +Break the line of Hiawatha!" + + Slowly upward, wavering, gleaming, +Rose the Ugudwash, the sun-fish, +Seized the line of Hiawatha, +Swung with all his weight upon it, +Made a whirlpool in the water, +Whirled the birch canoe in circles, +Round and round in gurgling eddies, +Till the circles in the water +Reached the far-off sandy beaches, +Till the water-flags and rushes +Nodded on the distant margins. + + But when Hiawatha saw him +Slowly rising through the water, +Lifting up his disk refulgent, +Loud he shouted in derision, +"Esa! esa! shame upon you! +You are Ugudwash, the sun-fish, +You are not the fish I wanted, +You are not the King of Fishes!" + + Slowly downward, wavering, gleaming, +Sank the Ugudwash, the sun-fish, +And again the sturgeon, Nahma, +Heard the shout of Hiawatha, +Heard his challenge of defiance, +The unnecessary tumult, +Ringing far across the water. + + From the white sand of the bottom +Up he rose with angry gesture, +Quivering in each nerve and fibre, +Clashing all his plates of armor, +Gleaming bright with all his war-paint; +In his wrath he darted upward, +Flashing leaped into the sunshine, +Opened his great jaws, and swallowed +Both canoe and Hiawatha. + + Down into that darksome cavern +Plunged the headlong Hiawatha, +As a log on some black river, +Shoots and plunges down the rapids, +Found himself in utter darkness, +Groped about in helpless wonder, +Till he felt a great heart beating, +Throbbing in that utter darkness. + + And he smote it in his anger, +With his fist, the heart of Nahma, +Felt the mighty King of Fishes +Shudder through each nerve and fibre, +Heard the water gurgle round him +As he leaped and staggered through it, +Sick at heart, and faint and weary. + + Crosswise then did Hiawatha +Drag his birch-canoe for safety, +Lest from out the jaws of Nahma, +In the turmoil and confusion, +Forth he might be hurled and perish. +And the squirrel, Adjidaumo, +Frisked and chattered very gayly, +Toiled and tugged with Hiawatha +Till the labor was completed. + + Then said Hiawatha to him, +"O my little friend, the squirrel, +Bravely have you toiled to help me; +Take the thanks of Hiawatha, +And the name which now he gives you; +For hereafter and forever +Boys shall call you Adjidaumo, +Tail-in-air the boys shall call you!" + + And again the sturgeon, Nahma, +Gasped and quivered in the water, +Then was still, and drifted landward +Till he grated on the pebbles, +Till the listening Hiawatha +Heard him grate upon the margin, +Felt him strand upon the pebbles, +Knew that Nahma, King of Fishes, +Lay there dead upon the margin. + + Then he heard a clang and flapping, +As of many wings assembling, +Heard a screaming and confusion, +As of birds of prey contending, +Saw a gleam of light above him, +Shining through the ribs of Nahma, +Saw the glittering eyes of sea-gulls, +Of Kayoshk, the sea-gulls, peering, +Gazing at him through the opening, +Heard them saying to each other, +"'Tis our brother, Hiawatha!" + + And he shouted from below them, +Cried exulting from the caverns: +"O ye sea-gulls! O my brothers! +I have slain the sturgeon, Nahma; +Make the rifts a little larger, +With your claws the openings widen, +Set me free from this dark prison, +And henceforward and forever +Men shall speak of your achievements, +Calling you Kayoshk, the sea-gulls, +Yes, Kayoshk, the Noble Scratchers!" + + And the wild and clamorous sea-gulls +Toiled with beak and claws together, +Made the rifts and openings wider +In the mighty ribs of Nahma, +And from peril and from prison, +From the body of the sturgeon, +From the peril of the water, +They released my Hiawatha. + + He was standing near his wigwam, +On the margin of the water, +And he called to old Nokomis, +Called and beckoned to Nokomis, +Pointed to the sturgeon, Nahma, +Lying lifeless on the pebbles, +With the sea-gulls feeding on him. + + "I have slain the Mishe-Nahma, +Slain the King of Fishes!" said he; +"Look! the sea-gulls feed upon him, +Yes, my friends Kayoshk, the sea-gulls; +Drive them not away, Nokomis, +They have saved me from great peril +In the body of the sturgeon, +Wait until their meal is ended, +Till their craws are full with feasting, +Till they homeward fly, at sunset, +To their nests among the marshes; +Then bring all your pots and kettles, +And make oil for us in Winter." + + And she waited till the sun set, +Till the pallid moon, the Night-sun, +Rose above the tranquil water, +Till Kayoshk, the sated sea-gulls, +From their banquet rose with clamor, +And across the fiery sunset +Winged their way to far-off islands, +To their nests among the rushes. + + To his sleep went Hiawatha, +And Nokomis to her labor, +Toiling patient in the moonlight, +Till the sun and moon changed places, +Till the sky was red with sunrise, +And Kayoshk, the hungry sea-gulls, +Came back from the reedy islands, +Clamorous for their morning banquet. + + Three whole days and nights alternate +Old Nokomis and the seagulls +Stripped the oily flesh of Nahma, +Till the waves washed through the rib-bones, +Till the sea-gulls came no longer, +And upon the sands lay nothing +But the skeleton of Nahma. + + +HIAWATHA'S FRIENDS + +Two good friends had Hiawatha, +Singled out from all the others, +Bound to him in closest union, +And to whom he gave the right hand +Of his heart, in joy and sorrow; +Chibiabos, the musician, +And the very strong man, Kwasind. + +Straight between them ran the pathway, +Never grew the grass upon it; +Singing birds, that utter falsehoods, +Story-tellers, mischief-makers, +Found no eager ear to listen, +Could not breed ill-will between them, +For they kept each other's counsel, +Spake with naked hearts together, +Pondering much and much contriving +How the tribes of men might prosper. + +Most beloved by Hiawatha +Was the gentle Chibiabos, +He the best of all musicians, +He the sweetest of all singers. +Beautiful and childlike was he, +Brave as man is, soft as woman, +Pliant as a wand of willow, +Stately as a deer with antlers. + +When he sang, the village listened; +All the warriors gathered round him, +All the women came to hear him; +Now he stirred their souls to passion, +Now he melted them to pity. + +From the hollow reeds he fashioned +Flutes so musical and mellow, +That the brook, the Sebowisha, +Ceased to murmur in the woodland, +That the wood-birds ceased from singing, +And the squirrel, Adjidaumo, +Ceased his chatter in the oak-tree, +And the rabbit, the Wabasso, +Sat upright to look and listen, + +Yes, the brook, the Sebowisha, +Pausing, said, "O Chibiabos, +Teach my waves to flow in music, +Softly as your words in singing!" + +Yes, the bluebird, the Owaissa, +Envious, said, "O Chibiabos, +Teach me tones as wild and wayward, +Teach me songs as full of frenzy!" + +Yes, the robin, the Opechee, +Joyous, said, "O Chibiabos, +Teach me tones as sweet and tender, +Teach me songs as full of gladness!" +And the whippoorwill, Wawonaissa, +Sobbing, said, "O Chibiabos, +Teach me tones as melancholy, +Teach me songs as full of sadness!" + +All the many sounds of nature +Borrowed sweetness from his singing; +All the hearts of men were softened +By the pathos of his music; +For he sang of peace and freedom, +Sang of beauty, love, and longing; +Sang of death, and life undying +In the Islands of the Blessed, +In the kingdom of Ponemah, +In the land of the Hereafter. + +Very dear to Hiawatha +Was the gentle Chibiabos, +He the best of all musicians, +He the sweetest of all singers; +For his gentleness he loved him, +And the magic of his singing. + +Dear, too, unto Hiawatha +Was the very strong man, Kwasind, +He the strongest of all mortals, +He the mightiest among many; +For his very strength he loved him, +For his strength allied to goodness. + +Idle in his youth was Kwasind, +Very listless, dull, and dreamy, +Never played with other children, +Never fished and never hunted, +Not like other children was he; +But they saw that much he fasted, +Much his Manito entreated, +Much besought his Guardian Spirit. + +"Lazy Kwasind!" said his mother, +"In my work you never help me! +In the Summer you are roaming +Idly in the fields and forests; +In the Winter you are cowering +O'er the firebrands in the wigwam! +In the coldest days of Winter +I must break the ice for fishing; +With my nets you never help me! +At the door my nets are hanging, +Dripping, freezing with the water; +Go and wring them, Yenadizze! +Go and dry them in the sunshine!" + +Slowly, from the ashes, Kwasind +Rose, but made no angry answer; +From the lodge went forth in silence, +Took the nets, that hung together, +Dripping, freezing at the doorway, +Like a wisp of straw he wrung them, +Like a wisp of straw he broke them, +Could not wring them without breaking, +Such the strength was in his fingers. + +"Lazy Kwasind!" said his father, +"In the hunt you never help me; +Every bow you touch is broken, +Snapped asunder every arrow; +Yet come with me to the forest, +You shall bring the hunting homeward." + +Down a narrow pass they wandered, +Where a brooklet led them onward, +Where the trail of deer and bison +Marked the soft mud on the margin, +Till they found all further passage +Shut against them, barred securely +By the trunks of trees uprooted, +Lying lengthwise, lying crosswise, +And forbidding further passage. + +"We must go back," said the old man, +"O'er these logs we cannot clamber; +Not a woodchuck could get through them, +Not a squirrel clamber o'er them!" +And straightway his pipe he lighted, +And sat down to smoke and ponder. +But before his pipe was finished, +Lo! the path was cleared before him; +All the trunks had Kwasind lifted, +To the right hand, to the left hand, +Shot the pine-trees swift as arrows, +Hurled the cedars light as lances. + +"Lazy Kwasind!" said the young men, +As they sported in the meadow: +"Why stand idly looking at us, +Leaning on the rock behind you? +Come and wrestle with the others, +Let us pitch the quoit together!" + +Lazy Kwasind made no answer, +To their challenge made no answer, +Only rose, and, slowly turning, +Seized the huge rock in his fingers, +Tore it from its deep foundation, +Poised it in the air a moment, +Pitched it sheer into the river, +Sheer into the swift Pauwating, +Where it still is seen in Summer. + +Once as down that foaming river, +Down the rapids of Pauwating, +Kwasind sailed with his companions, +In the stream he saw a beaver, +Saw Ahmeek, the King of Beavers, +Struggling with the rushing currents, +Rising, sinking in the water. + +Without speaking, without pausing, +Kwasind leaped into the river, +Plunged beneath the bubbling surface, +Through the whirlpools chased the beaver, +Followed him among the islands, +Stayed so long beneath the water, +That his terrified companions +Cried, "Alas! good-bye to Kwasind! +We shall never more see Kwasind!" +But he reappeared triumphant, +And upon his shining shoulders +Brought the beaver, dead and dripping, +Brought the King of all the Beavers. + +And these two, as I have told you, +Were the friends of Hiawatha, +Chibiabos, the musician, +And the very strong man, Kwasind. +Long they lived in peace together, +Spake with naked hearts together, +Pondering much and much contriving +How the tribes of men might prosper. + + +HIAWATHA'S HUNTING + +Forth into the forest straightway +All alone walked Hiawatha +Proudly, with his bow and arrows, +And the birds sang round him, o'er him, +"Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!" +Sang the robin, the Opechee, +Sang the blue bird, the Owaissa, +"Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!" + +Up the oak tree, close beside him, +Sprang the squirrel, Adjidaumo, +In and out among the branches, +Coughed and chattered from the oak tree, +Laughed, and said between his laughing, +"Do not shoot me, Hiawatha!" + +And the rabbit from his pathway +Leaped aside, and at a distance +Sat erect upon his haunches, +Half in fear and half in frolic, +Saying to the little hunter, +"Do not shoot me, Hiawatha!" + +But he heeded not, nor heard them, +For his thoughts were with the red deer; +On their tracks his eyes were fastened, +Leading downward to the river, +To the ford across the river, +And as one in slumber walked he, + +Hidden in the alder bushes. +There he waited till the deer came, +Till he saw two antlers lifted, +Saw two eyes look from the thicket, +Saw two nostrils point to windward, +And a deer came down the pathway, +Flecked with leafy light and shadow. +And his heart within him fluttered, +Trembled like the leaves above him, +Like the birch-leaf palpitated, +As the deer came down the pathway. + +Then, upon one knee uprising, +Hiawatha aimed an arrow; +Scarce a twig moved with his motion, +Scarce a leaf was stirred or rustled, +But the wary roebuck started, +Stamped with all his hoofs together, +Listened with one foot uplifted, +Leaped as if to meet the arrow; +Ah! the singing, fatal arrow, +Like a wasp it buzzed and stung him! + +Dead he lay there in the forest, +By the ford across the river; +Beat his timid heart no longer, +But the heart of Hiawatha +Throbbed and shouted and exulted, +As he bore the red deer homeward, +And Iagoo and Nokomis +Hailed his coming with applauses. + +From the red deer's hide Nokomis +Made a cloak for Hiawatha, +From the red deer's flesh Nokomis +Made a banquet in his honor. +All the village came and feasted, +All the guests praised Hiawatha, +Called him Strong-heart, Soan-ge-taha! +Called him Loon-Heart, Mahn-go-taysee! + + +HIAWATHA'S SAILING + +"Give me of your bark, O Birch-Tree! +Of your yellow bark, O Birch-Tree! +Growing by the rushing river, +Tall and stately in the valley! +I a light canoe will build me, +Build a swift Cheemaun for sailing, +That shall float upon the river, +Like a yellow leaf in Autumn, +Like a yellow water-lily! + +"Lay aside your cloak, O Birch-Tree! +Lay aside your white-skin wrapper, +For the Summer-time is coming, +And the sun is warm in heaven, +And you need no white-skin wrapper!" + +Thus aloud cried Hiawatha +In the solitary forest, +By the rushing Taquamenaw, +When the birds were singing gayly, +In the Moon of Leaves were singing, +And the sun, from sleep awaking, +Started up and said, "Behold me! +Gheezis, the great Sun, behold me!" + +And the tree with all its branches +Rustled in the breeze of morning, +Saying, with a sigh of patience, +"Take my cloak, O Hiawatha!" + +With his knife the tree he girdled; +Just beneath its lowest branches, +Just above the roots, he cut it, +Till the sap came oozing outward: +Down the trunk, from top to bottom, +Sheer he cleft the bark asunder, +With a wooden wedge he raised it, +Stripped it from the trunk unbroken. + +"Give me of your boughs, O Cedar! +Of your strong and pliant branches, +My canoe to make more steady, +Make more strong and firm beneath me!" + +Through the summit of the Cedar +Went a sound, a cry of horror, +Went a murmur of resistance; +But it whispered, bending downward, +"Take my boughs, O Hiawatha!" + +Down he hewed the boughs of cedar, +Shaped them straightway to a framework, +Like two bows he formed and shaped them, +Like two bended bows together. + +"Give me of your roots, O Tamarack! +Of your fibrous roots, O Larch-Tree! +My canoe to bind together. +So to bind the ends together, +That the water may not enter, +That the river may not wet me!" + +And the Larch, with all its fibres, +Shivered in the air of morning, +Touched his forehead with its tassels, +Said, with one long sigh of sorrow, +"Take them all, O Hiawatha!" + +From the earth he tore the fibres, +Tore the tough roots of the Larch-Tree, +Closely sewed the bark together, +Bound it closely to the framework. + +"Give me of your balm, O Fir-Tree! +Of your balsam and your resin, +So to close the seams together +That the water may not enter, +That the river may not wet me!" + +And the Fir-Tree, tall and sombre, +Sobbed through all its robes of darkness, +Rattled like a shore with pebbles, +Answered wailing, answered weeping, +"Take my balm, O Hiawatha!" + +And he took the tears of balsam, +Took the resin of the Fir-Tree, +Smeared therewith each seam and fissure, +Made each crevice safe from water. + +"Give me of your quills, O Hedgehog! +All your quills, O Kagh, the Hedgehog! +I will make a necklace of them, +Make a girdle for my beauty, +And two stars to deck her bosom!" + +From a hollow tree the Hedgehog +With his sleepy eyes looked at him, +Shot his shining quills, like arrows, +Saying, with a drowsy murmur, +Through the tangle of his whiskers, +"Take my quills, O Hiawatha!" + +From the ground the quills he gathered, +All the little shining arrows, +Stained them red and blue and yellow, +With the juice of roots and berries; +Into his canoe he wrought them, +Round its waist a shining girdle, +Round its bow a gleaming necklace, +On its breast two stars resplendent. + +Thus the Birch Canoe was builded +In the valley, by the river, +In the bosom of the forest; +And the forest's life was in it, +All its mystery and its magic, +All the lightness of the birch-tree, +All the toughness of the cedar, +All the larch's supple sinews; +And it floated on the river +Like a yellow leaf in Autumn, +Like a yellow water-lily. + +Paddles none had Hiawatha, +Paddles none he had or needed, +For his thoughts as paddles served him, +And his wishes served to guide him; +Swift or slow at will he glided, +Veered to right or left at pleasure. + +Then he called aloud to Kwasind, +To his friend, the strong man, Kwasind, +Saying, "Help me clear this river +Of its sunken logs and sand-bars." + +Straight into the river Kwasind +Plunged as if he were an otter, +Dived as if he were a beaver, +Stood up to his waist in water, +To his arm-pits in the river, +Swam and shouted in the river, +Tugged at sunken logs and branches, +With his hands he scooped the sand-bars, +With his feet the ooze and tangle. + +And thus sailed my Hiawatha +Down the rushing Taquamenaw, +Sailed through all its bends and windings, +Sailed through all its deeps and shallows, +While his friend, the strong man, Kwasind, +Swam the deeps, the shallows waded. + +Up and down the river went they, +In and out among its islands, +Cleared its bed of root and sand-bar, +Dragged the dead trees from its channel, +Made its passage safe and certain +Made a pathway for the people, +From its springs among the mountains, +To the water of Pauwating, +To the bay of Taquamenaw. + + +* * * * * + + +POEMS BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH + + +TO A BUTTERFLY + +I've watched you now a full half hour +Self-poised upon that yellow flower; +And, little Butterfly! indeed +I know not if you sleep or feed. +How motionless!--not frozen seas +More motionless!--and then +What joy awaits you, when the breeze +Hath found you out among the trees, +And calls you forth again! + +This plot of orchard-ground is ours; +My trees they are, my Sister's flowers: +Here rest your wings when they are weary, +Here lodge as in a sanctuary! +Come often to us, fear no wrong; +Sit near us on the bough! +We'll talk of sunshine and of song, +And summer days, when we were young; +Sweet childish days, that were as long +As twenty days are now. + + +THE RAINBOW + +My heart leaps up when I behold + A rainbow in the sky: +So was it when my life began; +So is it now I am a man; +So be it when I shall grow old, + Or let me die! +The child is father of the man; +And I could wish my days to be +Bound each to each by natural piety. + + +WE ARE SEVEN + + --A simple Child, +That lightly draws its breath, +And feels its life in every limb, +What should it know of death? + +I met a little cottage Girl: +She was eight years old, she said; +Her hair was thick with many a curl +That clustered round her head. + +She had a rustic, woodland air, +And she was wildly clad: +Her eyes were fair, and very fair; +--Her beauty made me glad. + +"Sisters and brothers, little Maid, +How many may you be?" + +"How many? Seven in all," she said, +And wondering looked at me. + +"And where are they? I pray you tell." +She answered, "Seven are we; +And two of us at Conway dwell, +And two are gone to sea. + +"Two of us in the church-yard lie, +My sister and my brother; +And, in the church-yard cottage, I +Dwell near them with my mother." + +"You say that two at Conway dwell, +And two are gone to sea, +Yet ye are seven!--I pray you tell, +Sweet Maid, how this may be." + +Then did the little Maid reply, +"Seven boys and girls are we; +Two of us in the church-yard lie, +Beneath the church-yard tree." + +"You run about, my little Maid, +Your limbs they are alive; +If two are in the church-yard laid, +Then ye are only five." + +"Their graves are green, they may be seen," +The little Maid replied, +"Twelve steps or more from my mother's door, +And they are side by side. + +"My stockings there I often knit, +My kerchief there I hem; +And there upon the ground I sit, +And sing a song to them. + +"And often after sunset, Sir, +When it is light and fair, +I take my little porringer, +And eat my supper there. + +"The first that died was sister Jane; +In bed she moaning lay, +Till God released her of her pain; +And then she went away. + +"So in the church-yard she was laid; +And, when the grass was dry, +Together round her grave we played, +My brother John and I. + +"And when the ground was white with snow, +And I could run and slide, +My brother John was forced to go, +And he lies by her side." + +"How many are you, then," said I, +"If they two are in heaven?" +Quick was the little Maid's reply, +"O Master! we are seven." + +"But they are dead; those two are dead! +Their spirits are in heaven!" +'Twas throwing words away; for still +The little Maid would have her will, +And said, "Nay, we are seven!" + + +* * * * * + + +POEMS BY MARY HOWITT + + +THE VOICE OF SPRING + +I am coming, I am coming! +Hark! the honey bee is humming; +See, the lark is soaring high +In the blue and sunny sky, +And the gnats are on the wing +Wheeling round in airy ring. + +Listen! New-born lambs are bleating, +And the cawing rooks are meeting +In the elms--a noisy crowd. +All the birds are singing loud, +And the first white butterfly +In the sunshine dances by. + +Look around you, look around! +Flowers in all the fields abound, +Every running stream is bright, +All the orchard trees are white, +And each small and waving shoot +Promises sweet autumn fruit. + + +BIRDS IN SUMMER + +How pleasant the life of a bird must be, +Flitting about in each leafy tree; +In the leafy trees so broad and tall, +Like a green and beautiful palace hall, +With its airy chambers light and boon, +That open to sun and stars and moon; +That open to the bright blue sky, +And the frolicsome winds as they wander by. + +They have left their nests on the forest bough; +Those homes of delight they need not now; +And the young and the old they wander out, +And traverse their green world round about; +And hark! at the top of this leafy hall, +How one to the other in love they call! +"Come up! Come up!" they seem to say, +"Where the topmost twigs in the breezes sway." + +"Come up! come up! for the world is fair +Where the merry leaves dance in the summer air." +And the birds below give back the cry, +"We come, we come to the branches high." +How pleasant the lives of the birds must be, +Living in love in a leafy tree! +And away through the air what joy to go, +And to look on the green, bright earth below! + +How pleasant the life of a bird must be, +Skimming about on the breezy sea, +Cresting the billows like silvery foam, +Then wheeling away to its cliff-built home! +What joy it must be to sail, upborne, +By a strong free wing, through the rosy morn, +To meet the young sun, face to face, +And pierce, like a shaft, the boundless space! + +To pass through the bowers of the silver cloud; +To sing in the thunder hall aloud; +To spread out the wings for a wild, free flight +With the upper cloud-wings,--oh, what delight! +Oh, what would I give, like a bird, to go, +Right on through the arch of the sun-lit bow, +And see how the water-drops are kissed +Into green and yellow and amethyst. + +How pleasant the life of a bird must be, +Wherever it listeth, there to flee; +To go, when a joyful fancy calls, +Dashing down 'mong the waterfalls; +Then wheeling about, with its mate at play, +Above and below, and among the spray, +Hither and thither, with screams as wild +As the laughing mirth of a rosy child. + +What joy it must be, like a living breeze, +To flutter about 'mid the flowering trees; + +Lightly to soar, and to see beneath, +The wastes of the blossoming purple heath, +And the yellow furze, like fields of gold, +That gladdened some fairy region old! +On the mountain tops, on the billowy sea, +On the leafy stems of a forest tree, +How pleasant the life of a bird must be! + + +THE SPIDER AND THE FLY + + +"Will you walk into my parlor?" + Said a spider to a fly; +"'Tis the prettiest little parlor + That ever you did spy. +The way into my parlor + Is up a winding stair, +And I have many pretty things + To show you when you're there." +"O no, no," said the little fly, + "To ask me is in vain; +For who goes up your winding stair + Can ne'er come down again." + +"I'm sure you must be weary + With soaring up so high; +Will you rest upon my little bed?" + Said the spider to the fly. +"There are pretty curtains drawn around; + The sheets are fine and thin; +And if you like to rest awhile, + I'll snugly tuck you in." +"O no, no," said the little fly, + "For I've often heard it said +They never, never wake again, + Who sleep upon your bed." + +Said the cunning spider to the fly, + "Dear friend, what shall I do +To prove the warm affection + I've always felt for you? +I have, within my pantry, + Good store of all that's nice; +I'm sure you're very welcome-- + Will you please to take a slice?" +"O no, no," said the little fly, + "Kind sir, that cannot be; +I've heard what's in your pantry, + And I do not wish to see." + +"Sweet creature," said the spider, + "You're witty and you're wise; +How handsome are your gauzy wings, + How brilliant are your eyes. +I have a little looking-glass + Upon my parlor shelf; +If you'll step in one moment, dear, + You shall behold yourself." +"I thank you, gentle sir," she said, + "For what you're pleased to say, +And bidding you good-morning now, + I'll call another day." + +The spider turned him round about, + And went into his den, +For well he knew the silly fly + Would soon be back again; +So he wove a subtle web + In a little corner sly, +And set his table ready + To dine upon the fly. + +He went out to his door again, + And merrily did sing, +"Come hither, hither, pretty fly, + With pearl and silver wing; +Your robes are green and purple, + There's a crest upon your head; +Your eyes are like the diamond bright, + But mine are dull as lead." + +Alas, alas! how very soon + This silly little fly, +Hearing his wily, flattering words, + Came slowly flitting by; +With buzzing wings she hung aloft, + Then near and nearer drew-- +Thought only of her brilliant eyes, + And green and purple hue; +Thought only of her crested head-- + Poor foolish thing! At last +Up jumped the cunning spider, + And fiercely held her fast. + +He dragged her up his winding stair, + Into his dismal den +Within his little parlor--but + She ne'er came out again! +And now, dear little children + Who may this story read, +To idle, silly, flattering words, + I pray you, ne'er give heed. +Unto an evil counselor + Close heart and ear and eye; +And take a lesson from this tale + Of the spider and the fly. + + +THE FAIRIES OF THE CALDON LOW + +"And where have you been, my Mary, + And where have you been from me?" +"I've been to the top of the Caldon Low, + The midsummer night to see!" + +"And what did you see, my Mary, + All up on the Caldon Low?" +"I saw the glad sunshine come down, + And I saw the merry winds blow." + +"And what did you hear, my Mary, + All up on the Caldon Hill?" +"I heard the drops of the water made, + And the ears of the green corn fill." + +"Oh! tell me all, my Mary-- + All, all that ever you know; +For you must have seen the fairies + Last night on the Caldon Low." + +"Then take me on your knee, mother; + And listen, mother of mine: +A hundred fairies danced last night. + And the harpers they were nine; + +"And their harp-strings rung so merrily + To their dancing feet so small; +But oh! the words of their talking + Were merrier far than all." + +"And what were the words, my Mary, + That then you heard them say?" +"I'll tell you all, my mother; + But let me have my way. + +"Some of them play'd with the water, + And roll'd it down the hill; +'And this,' they said, 'shall speedily turn + The poor old miller's mill; + +"'For there has been no water + Ever since the first of May; +And a busy man will the miller be + At dawning of the day. + +"'Oh! the miller, how he will laugh + When he sees the mill-dam rise! +The jolly old miller, how he will laugh + Till the tears fill both his eyes!' + +"And some they seized the little winds + That sounded over the hill; +And each put a horn unto his mouth, + And blew both loud and shrill; + +"'And there,' they said, 'the merry winds go + Away from every horn; +And they shall clear the mildew dank + From the blind old widow's corn. + +"'Oh! the poor, blind widow, + Though she has been blind so long, +She'll be blithe enough when the mildew's gone, + And the corn stands tall and strong,' + +"And some they brought the brown lint-seed, + And flung it down from the Low; +'And this!' they said, 'by the sunrise, + In the weaver's croft shall grow. + +"'Oh! the poor, lame weaver, + How he will laugh outright +When he sees his dwindling flax-field + All full of flowers by night!' + +"And then outspoke a brownie, + With a long beard on his chin; +'I have spun up all the tow,' said he, + 'And I want some more to spin. + +"'I've spun a piece of hempen cloth, + And I want to spin another; +A little sheet for Mary's bed, + And an apron for her mother.' + +"With that I could not help but laugh, + And I laugh'd out loud and free; +And then on the top of the Caldon Low + There was no one left but me. + +"And all on the top of the Caldon Low + The mists were cold and gray, +And nothing I saw but the mossy stones + That round about me lay. + +"But, coming down from the hill-top, + I heard afar below, +How busy the jolly miller was, + And how the wheel did go. + +"And I peep'd into the widow's field, + And, sure enough, were seen +The yellow ears of the mildew'd corn, + All standing stout and green. + +"And down by the weaver's croft I stole, + To see if the flax were sprung; +And I met the weaver at his gate, + With the good news on his tongue. + +"Now this is all I heard, mother, + And all that I did see; +So, pr'ythee, make my bed, mother, + For I'm tired as I can be." + + +OLD CHRISTMAS + +Now he who knows old Christmas, + He knows a carle of worth; +For he is as good a fellow + As any upon earth. + +He comes warm cloaked and coated, + And buttoned up to the chin; +And soon as he comes a-nigh the door + We open and let him in. + +And with sprigs of holly and ivy + We make the house look gay, +Just out of an old regard for him, + For it was his ancient way. + +He must be a rich old fellow, + What money he gives away! +There is not a lord in England + Could equal him any day. + +Good luck unto old Christmas, + And long life, let us sing, +For he doth more good unto the poor + Than many a crowned king. + + +* * * * * + + +POEMS BY ALICE AND PHOEBE CARY + + +THE PIG AND THE HEN + + The pig and the hen, + They both got in one pen, +And the hen said she wouldn't go out. + "Mistress Hen," says the pig, + "Don't you be quite so big!" +And he gave her a push with his snout. + + "You are rough, and you're fat, + But who cares for all that; +I will stay if I choose," says the hen. + "No, mistress, no longer!" + Says pig, "I'm the stronger, +And mean to be boss of my pen!" + + Then the hen cackled out + Just as close to his snout +As she dare: "You're an ill-natured brute, + And if I had the corn, + Just as sure as I'm born, +I would send you to starve or to root!" + + "But you don't own the cribs; + So I think that my ribs +Will be never the leaner for you: + This trough is my trough, + And the sooner you're off," +Says the pig, "why the better you'll do!" + + "You're not a bit fair, + And you're cross as a bear; +What harm do I do in your pen? + But a pig is a pig, + And I don't care a fig +For the worst you can say," says the hen. + + Says the pig, "You will care + If I act like a bear +And tear your two wings from your neck," + "What a nice little pen + You have got!" says the hen, +Beginning to scratch and to peck. + + Now the pig stood amazed + And the bristles, upraised +A moment past, fell down so sleek. + "Neighbor Biddy," says he, + "If you'll just allow me, +I will show you a nice place to pick!" + + So she followed him off, + And they ate from one trough-- + +They had quarreled for nothing, they saw; + And when they had fed, + "Neighbor Hen," the pig said, +"Won't you stay here and roost in my straw?" + + "No, I thank you; you see + That I sleep in a tree," +Says the hen; "but I _must_ go away; + So a grateful good-by." + "Make your home in my sty," +Says the pig, "and come in every day." + + Now my child will not miss + The true moral of this +Little story of anger and strife; + For a word spoken soft + Will turn enemies oft +Into friends that will stay friends for life. + + +A LESSON OF MERCY + +A boy named Peter + Found once in the road +All harmless and helpless, + A poor little toad; + +And ran to his playmate, + And all out of breath +Cried, "John, come and help, + And we'll stone him to death!" + +And picking up stones, + The two went on the run, +Saying, one to the other, + "Oh, won't we have fun?" + +Thus primed and all ready, + They'd got nearly back, +When a donkey came + Dragging a cart on the track. + +Now the cart was as much + As the donkey could draw, +And he came with his head + Hanging down; so he saw, + +All harmless and helpless, + The poor little toad, +A-taking his morning nap + Right in the road. + +He shivered at first, + Then he drew back his leg, +And set up his ears, + Never moving a peg. + +Then he gave the poor toad, + With his warm nose a dump, +And he woke and got off + With a hop and jump. + +And then with an eye + Turned on Peter and John, +And hanging his homely head + Down, he went on. + +"We can't kill him now, John," + Says Peter, "that's flat, +In the face of an eye and + An action like that!" + +"For my part, I haven't + The heart to," says John; +"But the load is too heavy + That donkey has on: + +"Let's help him"; so both lads + Set off with a will +And came up with the cart + At the foot of the hill. + +And when each a shoulder + Had put to the wheel, +They helped the poor donkey + A wonderful deal. + +When they got to the top + Back again they both run, +Agreeing they never + Had had better fun. + + +NOVEMBER + +The leaves are fading and falling, + The winds are rough and wild, +The birds have ceased their calling, + But let me tell you, my child, + +Though day by day, as it closes, + Doth darker and colder grow, +The roots of the bright red roses + Will keep alive in the snow. + +And when the winter is over, + The boughs will get new leaves, +The quail come back to the clover, + And the swallow back to the eaves. + +The robin will wear on his bosom + A vest that is bright and new, +And the loveliest wayside blossom + Will shine with the sun and dew. + +The leaves to-day are whirling, + The brooks are all dry and dumb, +But let me tell you, my darling, + The spring will be sure to come. + +There must be rough, cold weather, + And winds and rains so wild; +Not all good things together + Come to us here, my child. + +So, when some dear joy loses + Its beauteous summer glow, +Think how the roots of the roses + Are kept alive in the snow. + + +LITTLE GOTTLIEB + +Across the German Ocean, + In a country far from our own, +Once, a poor little boy, named Gottlieb, + Lived with his mother alone. + +They dwelt in the part of a village + Where the houses were poor and small, +But the home of little Gottlieb, + Was the poorest one of all + +He was not large enough to work, + And his mother could do no more +(Though she scarcely laid her knitting down) + Than keep the wolf from the door. + +She had to take their threadbare clothes, + And turn, and patch, and darn; +For never any woman yet + Grew rich by knitting yarn. + +And oft at night, beside her chair, + Would Gottlieb sit, and plan +The wonderful things he would do for her, + When he grew to be a man. + +One night she sat and knitted, + And Gottlieb sat and dreamed, +When a happy fancy all at once + Upon his vision beamed. + +'Twas only a week till Christmas, + And Gottlieb knew that then +The Christ-child, who was born that day, + Sent down good gifts to men. + +But he said, "He will never find us, + Our home is so mean and small. +And we, who have most need of them, + Will get no gifts at all." + +When all at once a happy light + Came into his eyes so blue, +And lighted up his face with smiles, + As he thought what he could do. + +Next day when the postman's letters + Came from all over the land; +Came one for the Christ-child, written + In a child's poor trembling hand. + +You may think he was sorely puzzled + What in the world to do; +So he went to the Burgomaster, + As the wisest man he knew. + +And when they opened the letter, + They stood almost dismayed +That such a little child should dare + To ask the Lord for aid. + +Then the Burgomaster stammered, + And scarce knew what to speak, +And hastily he brushed aside + A drop, like a tear, from his cheek. + +Then up he spoke right gruffly, + And turned himself about: +"This must be a very foolish boy, + And a small one, too, no doubt." + +But when six rosy children + That night about him pressed, +Poor, trusting little Gottlieb + Stood near him, with the rest. + +And he heard his simple, touching prayer, + Through all their noisy play; +Though he tried his very best to put + The thought of him away. + +A wise and learned man was he, + Men called him good and just; +But his wisdom seemed like foolishness, + By that weak child's simple trust. + +Now when the morn of Christmas came + And the long, long week was done, +Poor Gottlieb, who scarce could sleep, + Rose up before the sun, + +And hastened to his mother, + But he scarce might speak for fear, +When he saw her wondering look, and saw + The Burgomaster near. + +He wasn't afraid of the Holy Babe, + Nor his mother, meek and mild; +But he felt as if so great a man + Had never been a child. + +Amazed the poor child looked, to find + The hearth was piled with wood, +And the table, never full before, + Was heaped with dainty food. + +Then half to hide from himself the truth + The Burgomaster said, +While the mother blessed him on her knees, + And Gottlieb shook for dread; + +"Nay, give no thanks, my good dame, + To such as me for aid, +Be grateful to your little son, + And the Lord to whom he prayed!" + +Then turning round to Gottlieb, + "Your written prayer, you see, +Came not to whom it was addressed, + It only came to me! + +"'Twas but a foolish thing you did, + As you must understand; +For though the gifts are yours, you know, + You have them from my hand." + +Then Gottlieb answered fearlessly, + Where he humbly stood apart, +"But the Christ-child sent them all the same, + He put the thought in your heart!" + + +OUR HEROES + +Here's a hand to the boy who has courage + To do what he knows to be right; +When he falls in the way of temptation, + He has a hard battle to fight. +Who strives against self and his comrades + Will find a most powerful foe; +All honor to him if he conquers-- + A cheer for the boy who says "No!" + +There's many a battle fought daily + The world knows nothing about; +There's many a brave little soldier + Whose strength puts a legion to rout. + +And he who fights sin single-handed + Is more of a hero, I say, +Than he who leads soldiers to battle, + And conquers by arms in the fray. + +Be steadfast, my boy, when you're tempted + And do what you know to be right; +Stand firm by the colors of manhood, + And you will overcome in the fight. +"The Right" be your battle-cry ever, + In waging the warfare of life; +And God, who knows who are the heroes, + Will give you the strength for the strife. + + +AN APRIL WELCOME + +Come up, April, through the valley, + In your robes of beauty drest, +Come and wake your flowery children + From their wintry beds of rest; +Come and overblow them softly + With the sweet breath of the south; +Drop upon them, warm and loving, + Tenderest kisses of your mouth. + +Touch them with your rosy fingers, + Wake them with your pleasant tread, +Push away the leaf-brown covers, + Over all their faces spread; + +Tell them how the sun is waiting + Longer daily in the skies, +Looking for the bright uplifting + Of their softly-fringed eyes. + +Call the crow-foot and the crocus, + Call the pale anemone, +Call the violet and the daisy, + Clothed with careful modesty; +Seek the low and humble blossoms, + Of their beauties unaware, +Let the dandelion and fennel, + Show their shining yellow hair. + +Bid the little homely sparrows + Chirping, in the cold and rain, +Their impatient sweet complaining, + Sing out from their hearts again; +Bid them set themselves to mating, + Cooing love in softest words, +Crowd their nests, all cold and empty, + Full of little callow birds. + +Come up, April, through the valley, + Where the fountain sleeps to-day, +Let him, freed from icy fetters, + Go rejoicing on his way; +Through the flower-enameled meadows + Let him run his laughing race, +Making love to all the blossoms + That o'erlean and kiss his face. + +But not birds and blossoms only, + Not alone the streams complain, +Men and maidens too are calling, + Come up, April, come again! +Waiting with the sweet impatience + Of a lover for the hours +They shall set the tender beauty + Of thy feet among the flowers! + + +AUTUMN + +Shorter and shorter now the twilight clips + The days, as through the sunset gates they crowd, +And Summer from her golden collar slips + And strays through stubble-fields and moans aloud. + +Save when by fits the warmer air deceives, + And, stealing hopeful to some sheltered bower, +She lies on pillows of the yellow leaves, + And tries the old tunes over for an hour. + +The wind, whose tender whisper in the May + Set all the young blooms listening through the grove, +Sits rustling in the faded boughs to-day + And makes his cold and unsuccessful love. + +The rose has taken off her 'tire of red-- + The mullein-stalk its yellow stars have lost, +And the proud meadow-pink hangs down her head + Against earth's chilly bosom, witched with frost. + +The robin, that was busy all the June, + Before the sun had kissed the topmost bough, +Catching our hearts up in his golden tune, + Has given place to the brown cricket now. + +The very cock crows lonesomely at morn-- + Each flag and fern the shrinking stream divides-- +Uneasy cattle low, and lambs forlorn + Creep to their strawy sheds with nettled sides. + +Shut up the door: who loves me must not look + Upon the withered world, but haste to bring +His lighted candle, and his story-book, + And live with me the poetry of spring. + + +* * * * * + + +POEMS BY CHARLES KINGSLEY + + +THE THREE FISHERS + + +Three fishers went sailing away to the west-- + Away to the west as the sun went down; +Each thought on the woman who loved him the best, + And the children stood watching them out of the town; +For men must work, and women must weep; +And there's little to earn, and many to keep, + Though the harbor bar be moaning. + +Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower, + And they trimm'd the lamps as the sun went down; +They look'd at the squall, and they look'd at the shower, + And the night-rack came rolling up, ragged and brown; +But men must work, and women must weep, +Though storms be sudden, and waters deep, + And the harbor bar be moaning. + +Three corpses lay out on the shining sands + In the morning gleam as the tide went down, +And the women are weeping and wringing their hands + For those who will never come home to the town; +For men must work, and women must weep-- +And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep-- + And good-bye to the bar and its moaning. + + +THE "OLD, OLD SONG" + +When all the world is young, lad, + And all the trees are green; +And every goose a swan, lad, + And every lass a queen,-- +Then hey for boot and horse, lad, + And round the world away; +Young blood must have its course, lad, + And every dog his day. + +When all the world is old, lad, + And all the trees are brown; +And all the sport is stale, lad, + And all the wheels run down,-- +Creep home, and take your place there, + The spent and maimed among: +God grant you find one face there + You loved when all was young. + + +A FAREWELL + +My fairest child, I have no song to give you; + No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray; +Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you + For every day. + +Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever; + Do noble things, not dream them, all day long: +And so make life, death, and that vast forever + One grand, sweet song. + + +THE LOST DOLL + +I once had a sweet little doll, dears, + The prettiest doll in the world; +Her cheeks were so red and white, dears, + And her hair was so charmingly curled. +But I lost my poor little doll, dears, + As I played in the heath one day; +And I cried for her more than a week, dears, + But I never could find where she lay. + +I found my poor little doll, dears, + As I played in the heath one day; +Folks say she is terribly changed, dears, + For her paint is all washed away, +And her arms trodden off by the cows, dears, + And her hair not the least bit curled; +Yet for old sakes' sake, she is still, dears, + The prettiest doll in the world. + + +* * * * * + + +POEMS BY HELEN HUNT JACKSON + + +"DOWN TO SLEEP" + +November woods are bare and still; +November days are clear and bright; +Each noon burns up the morning's chill; +The morning's snow is gone by night. +Each day my steps grow slow, grow light, +As through the woods I reverent creep, +Watching all things lie "down to sleep." + +I never knew before what beds, +Fragrant to smell, and soft to touch, +The forest sifts and shapes and spreads; +I never knew before how much +Of human sound there is in such +Low tones as through the forest sweep, +When all wild things lie "down to sleep." + +Each day I find new coverlids +Tucked in, and more sweet eyes shut tight; +Sometimes the viewless mother bids +Her ferns kneel down full in my sight; +I hear their chorus of "good-night"; +And half I smile, and half I weep, +Listening while they lie "down to sleep." + +November woods are bare and still; +November days are bright and good; +Life's noon burns up life's morning chill; +Life's night rests feet which long have stood; +Some warm soft bed, in field or wood, +The mother will not fail to keep, +Where we can "lay us down to sleep." + + +SEPTEMBER + +The goldenrod is yellow, + The corn is turning brown, +The trees in apple orchards + With fruit are bending down; + +The gentian's bluest fringes + Are curling in the sun; +In dusty pods the milkweed + Its hidden silk has spun; + +The sedges flaunt their harvest + In every meadow nook, +And asters by the brookside + Make asters in the brook; + +From dewy lanes at morning + The grapes' sweet odors rise; +At noon the roads all flutter + With yellow butterflies-- + +By all these lovely tokens + September days are here, +With summer's best of weather + And autumn's best of cheer. + + +OCTOBER'S BRIGHT BLUE WEATHER + +O suns and skies and clouds of June, + And flowers of June together, +Ye cannot rival for one hour + October's bright blue weather. + +When loud the bumble-bee makes haste, + Belated, thriftless, vagrant, +And golden-rod is dying fast, + And lanes with grapes are fragrant; + +When gentians roll their fringes tight + To save them for the morning, +And chestnuts fall from satin burrs + Without a sound of warning; + +When on the ground red apples lie + In piles like jewels shining, +And redder still on old stone walls + Are leaves of woodbine twining; + +When all the lovely wayside things + Their white-winged seeds are sowing, +And in the fields, still green and fair, + Late aftermaths are growing; + +When springs run low, and on the brooks, + In idle golden freighting, +Bright leaves sink noiseless in the hush + Of woods, for winter waiting; + +When comrades seek sweet country haunts, + By twos and twos together, +And count like misers hour by hour, + October's bright blue weather. + +O suns and skies and flowers of June, + Count all your boasts together, +Love loveth best of all the year + October's bright blue weather. + + +* * * * * + + +POEMS BY GABRIEL SETOUN + + +ROMANCE + +I saw a ship a-sailing, + A-sailing on the sea; +Her masts were of the shining gold, + Her deck of ivory; +And sails of silk, as soft as milk, + And silver shrouds had she. + +And round about her sailing, + The sea was sparkling white, +The waves all clapped their hands and sang + To see so fair a sight. +They kissed her twice, they kissed her thrice, + And murmured with delight. + +Then came the gallant captain, + And stood upon the deck; +In velvet coat, and ruffles white, + Without a spot or speck; +And diamond rings, and triple strings + Of pearls around his neck. + +And four-and-twenty sailors + Were round him bowing low; +On every jacket three times three + Gold buttons in a row; +And cutlasses down to their knees; + They made a goodly show. + +And then the ship went sailing, + A-sailing o'er the sea; +She dived beyond the setting sun, + But never back came she, +For she found the lands of the golden sands, + Where the pearls and diamonds be. + + +JACK FROST + +The door was shut, as doors should be, + Before you went to bed last night; +Yet Jack Frost has got in, you see, + And left your window silver white. + +He must have waited till you slept; + And not a single word he spoke, +But pencilled o'er the panes and crept + Away again before you woke. + +And now you cannot see the hills + Nor fields that stretch beyond the lane; +But there are fairer things than these + His fingers traced on every pane. + +Rocks and castles towering high; + Hills and dales, and streams and fields; +And knights in armor riding by, + With nodding plumes and shining shields. + +And here are little boats, and there + Big ships with sails spread to the breeze; +And yonder, palm trees waving fair + On islands set in silver seas, + +And butterflies with gauzy wings; + And herds of cows and flocks of sheep; +And fruit and flowers and all the things + You see when you are sound asleep. + +For, creeping softly underneath + The door when all the lights are out, +Jack Frost takes every breath you breathe, + And knows the things you think about. + +He paints them on the window-pane + In fairy lines with frozen steam; +And when you wake you see again + The lovely things you saw in dream. + + +THE WORLD'S MUSIC + +The world's a very happy place, + Where every child should dance and sing, +And always have a smiling face, + And never sulk for anything. + +I waken when the morning's come, + And feel the air and light alive +With strange sweet music like the hum + Of bees about their busy hive. + +The linnets play among the leaves + At hide-and-seek, and chirp and sing; +While, flashing to and from the eaves, + The swallows twitter on the wing. + +The twigs that shake, and boughs that sway; + And tall old trees you could not climb; +And winds that come, but cannot stay, + Are singing gaily all the time. + +From dawn to dark the old mill-wheel + Makes music, going round and round; +And dusty-white with flour and meal, + The miller whistles to its sound. + +And if you listen to the rain + Where leaves and birds and bees are dumb, +You hear it pattering on the pane + Like Andrew beating on his drum. + +The coals beneath the kettle croon, + And clap their hands and dance in glee; +And even the kettle hums a tune + To tell you when it's time for tea. + +The world is such a happy place + That children, whether big or small, +Should always have a smiling face, + And never, never sulk at all. + + +* * * * * + + +POEMS BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE + + +A MORNING SONG + +Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, + And Phoebus 'gins arise, +His steeds to water at those springs + On chaliced flowers that lies; +And winking Mary-buds begin + To ope their golden eyes: +With everything that pretty bin, + My lady sweet, arise: + Arise, arise! + + +UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE + + Under the greenwood tree + Who loves to lie with me, + And tune his merry note + Unto the sweet bird's throat, +Come hither, come hither, come hither! + Here shall he see + No enemy +But winter and rough weather. + Who doth ambition shun, + And loves to live i' the sun, + Seeking the food he eats, + And pleased with what he gets, +Come hither, come hither, come hither! + Here shall he see + No enemy +But winter and rough weather. + + +LULLABY FOR TITANIA + +FIRST FAIRY +You spotted snakes with double tongue, + Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen; +Newts and blind-worms, do no wrong, + Come not near our fairy queen. + +_Chorus_ + Philomel, with melody + Sing in our sweet lullaby; +Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby! + Never harm, + Nor spell, nor charm, + Come our lovely lady nigh! + So good-night, with lullaby. + +SECOND FAIRY +Weaving spiders, come not here; + Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence; +Beetles black, approach not near; + Worm, nor snail, do no offence. + + +SONG OF THE FAIRY + + Over hill, over dale, + Thorough bush, thorough brier, + Over park, over pale, + Thorough flood, thorough fire, + I do wander everywhere, + Swifter than the moon's sphere; + And I serve the fairy queen, + To dew her orbs upon the green. + The cowslips tall her pensioners be! + In their gold coats spots you see; + Those be rubies, fairy favors, + In those freckles live their savors: +I must go seek some dewdrops here, +And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. + + +WINTER + +When icicles hang by the wall + And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, +And Tom bears logs into the hall, + And milk comes frozen home in pail, +When blood is nipp'd, and ways be foul, +Then nightly sings the staring owl, + To-who; +Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note, +While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. + +When all around the wind doth blow, + And coughing drowns the parson's saw, +And birds sit brooding in the snow, + And Marian's nose looks red and raw, +When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, +Then nightly sings the staring owl, + To-who; +Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note, +While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. + + +* * * * * +* * * * * + +POEMS BY VARIOUS AUTHORS + + +FRAIDIE-CAT + +I shan't tell you what's his name: +When we want to play a game, +Always thinks that he'll be hurt, +Soil his jacket in the dirt, +Tear his trousers, spoil his hat,-- +Fraidie-Cat! Fraidie-Cat! + +Nothing of the boy in him! +"Dasn't" try to learn to swim; +Says a cow'll hook; if she +Looks at him he'll climb a tree; +"Scart" to death at bee or bat,-- +Fraidie-Cat! Fraidie-Cat! + +Claims there're ghosts all snowy white +Wandering around at night +In the attic; wouldn't go +There for anything, I know; +B'lieve he'd run if you said "Scat!" +Fraidie-Cat! Fraidie-Cat! + _Clinton Scollard._ + + +JACK IN THE PULPIT + +Jack in the pulpit + Preaches to-day, +Under the green trees + Just over the way. +Squirrel and song-sparrow, + High on their perch, +Hear the sweet lily-bells + Ringing to church. +Come, hear what his reverence + Rises to say, +In his low painted pulpit + This calm Sabbath-day. +Fair is the canopy + Over him seen, +Penciled by Nature's hand, + Black, brown, and green. +Green is his surplice, + Green are his bands; +In his queer little pulpit + The little priest stands. + +In black and gold velvet, + So gorgeous to see, +Comes with his bass voice + The chorister bee. +Green fingers playing + Unseen on wind-lyres, +Low singing bird voices,-- + These are his choirs. +The violets are deacons-- + I know by the sign +That the cups which they carry + Are purple with wine. +And the columbines bravely + As sentinels stand +On the look-out with all their + Red trumpets in hand. + +Meek-faced anemones, + Drooping and sad; +Great yellow violets, + Smiling out glad; +Buttercups' faces, + Beaming and bright; +Clovers, with bonnets,-- + Some red and some white; +Daisies, their white fingers + Half-clasped in prayer; +Dandelions, proud of + The gold of their hair; +Innocents,--children + Guileless and frail, +Meek little faces + Upturned and pale; +Wild-wood geraniums, + All in their best, +Languidly leaning + In purple gauze dressed:-- +All are assembled + This sweet Sabbath-day +To hear what the priest + In his pulpit will say. + +Look! white Indian pipes + On the green mosses lie! +Who has been smoking + Profanely so nigh? +Rebuked by the preacher + The mischief is stopped, +But the sinners, in haste, + Have their little pipes dropped. +Let the wind, with the fragrance + Of fern and black birch, +Blow the smell of the smoking + Clean out of the church! +So much for the preacher: + The sermon comes next,-- +Shall we tell how he preached it, + And where was his text? +Alas! like too many + Grown-up folks who play +At worship in churches + Man-builded to-day,-- +We heard not the preacher + Expound or discuss; + +But we looked at the people, + And they looked at us. +We saw all their dresses, + Their colors and shapes; +The trim of their bonnets, + The cut of their capes. +We heard the wind-organ, + The bee, and the bird, +But of Jack in the pulpit + We heard not a word! + _Clara Smith._ + + +THE ANT AND THE CRICKET + +A silly young cricket, accustomed to sing +Through the warm, sunny months of gay summer and spring, +Began to complain, when he found that at home +His cupboard was empty and winter was come. + Not a crumb to be found + On the snow-covered ground; + Not a flower could he see, + Not a leaf on a tree. + +"Oh, what will become," says the cricket, "of me?" +At last by starvation and famine made bold, +All dripping with wet and all trembling with cold, +Away he set off to a miserly ant +To see if, to keep him alive, he would grant + Him shelter from rain. + A mouthful of grain + He wished only to borrow, + He'd repay it to-morrow; +If not helped, he must die of starvation and sorrow. + +Says the ant to the cricket: "I'm your servant and friend, +But we ants never borrow, we ants never lend. +Pray tell me, dear sir, did you lay nothing by +When the weather was warm?" Said the cricket, "Not I. + My heart was so light + That I sang day and night, + For all nature looked gay." + "You sang, sir, you say? +Go then," said the ant, "and sing winter away." + +Thus ending, he hastily lifted the wicket +And out of the door turned the poor little cricket. +Though this is a fable, the moral is good-- +If you live without work, you must live without + food. + _Anonymous._ + + +WISHING + +Ring-Ting! I wish I were a Primrose, +A bright yellow Primrose, blowing in the spring! + The stooping boughs above me, + The wandering bee to love me, + The fern and moss to creep across, + And the Elm tree for our king! + +Nay--stay! I wish I were an Elm tree, +A great, lofty Elm tree, with green leaves gay! + The winds would set them dancing, + The sun and moonshine glance in, + The birds would house among the boughs, + And sweetly sing. + +Oh no! I wish I were a Robin, +A Robin or a little Wren, everywhere to go; + Through forest, field, or garden, + And ask no leave or pardon, + Till winter comes with icy thumbs + To ruffle up our wing! + +Well--tell! Where should I fly to, +Where go to sleep in the dark wood or dell? + Before a day was over, + Home comes the rover, + For mother's kiss--sweeter this + Than any other thing. + _William Allingham._ + + +ROBIN REDBREAST + +Good-bye, good-bye to Summer! + For Summer's nearly done; +The garden smiling faintly, + Cool breezes in the sun! +Our thrushes now are silent,-- + Our swallows flown away,-- +But Robin's here in coat of brown, + And scarlet breast-knot gay. +Robin, Robin Redbreast, + O Robin dear! +Robin sings so sweetly + In the falling of the year. + +Bright yellow, red, and orange, + The leaves come down in hosts; +The trees are Indian princes, + But soon they'll turn to ghosts; +The scanty pears and apples + Hang russet on the bough; +It's autumn, autumn, autumn late, + 'Twill soon be winter now. +Robin, Robin Redbreast, + O Robin dear! +And what will this poor Robin do? + For pinching days are near. + +The fireside for the cricket, + The wheat-stack for the mouse, +When trembling night-winds whistle + And moan all round the house. +The frosty ways like iron, + The branches plumed with snow,-- +Alas! in winter dead and dark, + Where can poor Robin go? +Robin, Robin Redbreast, + O Robin dear! +And a crumb of bread for Robin, + His little heart to cheer. + _William Allingham._ + + +THE CHESTNUT BURR + +A wee little nut lay deep in its nest +Of satin and brown, the softest and best, +And slept and grew while its cradle rocked-- +As it hung in the boughs that interlocked. + +Now, the house was small where the cradle lay, +As it swung in the winds by night and day; +For a thicket of underbrush fenced it round, +This lone little cot by the great sun browned. + +This little nut grew, and ere long it found +There was work outside on the soft, green ground; +It must do its part, so the world might know +It had tried one little seed to sow. + +And soon the house that had kept it warm +Was tossed about by the autumn storm; +The stem was cracked, the old house fell, +And the chestnut burr was an empty shell. + +But the little nut, as it waiting lay, +Dreamed a wonderful dream one day, +Of how it should break its coat of brown, +And live as a tree, to grow up and down. + _Anonymous._ + + +MARJORIE'S ALMANAC + +Robins in the tree-top, + Blossoms in the grass, +Green things a-growing + Everywhere you pass; +Sudden little breezes, + Showers of silver dew, +Black bough and bent twig + Budding out anew; +Pine-tree and willow-tree, + Fringed elm and larch,-- +Don't you think that May-time's + Pleasanter than March? + +Apples in the orchard + Mellowing one by one; +Strawberries upturning + Soft cheeks to the sun; + +Roses faint with sweetness, + Lilies fair of face, +Drowsy scents and murmurs + Haunting every place; +Lengths of golden sunshine, + Moonlight bright as day,-- +Don't you think that summer's + Pleasanter than May? + +Roger in the corn-patch + Whistling negro songs; +Pussy by the hearth-side + Romping with the tongs; +Chestnuts in the ashes + Bursting through the rind; +Red leaf and gold leaf + Rustling down the wind; +Mother "doin' peaches" + All the afternoon,-- +Don't you think that autumn's + Pleasanter than June? + +Little fairy snow-flakes + Dancing in the flue; +Old Mr. Santa Claus, + What is keeping you? +Twilight and firelight + Shadows come and go; + +Merry chime of sleigh-bells + Tinkling through the snow; +Mother knitting stockings + (Pussy's got the ball),-- +Don't you think that winter's + Pleasanter than all? + _Thomas Bailey Aldrich._ + + +KRISS KRINGLE + +Just as the moon was fading + Amid her misty rings, +And every stocking was stuffed + With childhood's precious things, + +Old Kriss Kringle looked around, + And saw on the elm-tree bough, +High hung, an oriole's nest, + Lonely and empty now. + +"Quite a stocking," he laughed, + "Hung up there on a tree! +I didn't suppose the birds + Expected a present from me!" + +Then old Kriss Kringle, who loves + A joke as well as the best, +Dropped a handful of snowflakes + Into the oriole's empty nest. + _Thomas Bailey Aldrich._ + + +LITTLE BY LITTLE + +"Little by little," an acorn said, +As it slowly sank in its mossy bed, +"I am improving every day, +Hidden deep in the earth away." + +Little by little, each day it grew; +Little by little, it sipped the dew; +Downward it sent out a thread-like root; +Up in the air sprung a tiny shoot. + +Day after day, and year after year, +Little by little the leaves appear; +And the slender branches spread far and wide, +Till the mighty oak is the forest's pride. + +Far down in the depths of the dark blue sea, +An insect train work ceaselessly. +Grain by grain, they are building well, +Each one alone in its little cell. + +Moment by moment, and day by day, +Never stopping to rest or to play, +Rocks upon rocks, they are rearing high, +Till the top looks out on the sunny sky. + +The gentle wind and the balmy air, +Little by little, bring verdure there; +Till the summer sunbeams gayly smile +On the buds and the flowers of the coral isle. + +"Little by little," said a thoughtful boy, +"Moment by moment, I'll well employ, +Learning a little every day, +And not spending all my time in play. +And still this rule in my mind shall dwell, +_Whatever I do, I will do it well._ + +"Little by little, I'll learn to know +The treasured wisdom of long ago; +And one of these days, perhaps, we'll see +That the world will be the better for me"; +And do you not think that this simple plan +Made him a wise and useful man? + _Anonymous._ + + +THE FAIRY QUEEN + + Come, follow, follow me-- + You, fairy elves that be, + Which circle on the green-- + Come, follow Mab, your queen! +Hand in hand let's dance around, +For this place is fairy ground. + + When mortals are at rest, + And snoring in their nest, + Unheard and unespied, + Through keyholes we do glide; +Over tables, stools, and shelves, +We trip it with our fairy elves. + + And if the house be foul + With platter, dish, or bowl, + Upstairs we nimbly creep, + And find the sluts asleep; +There we pinch their arms and thighs-- +None escapes, nor none espies. + + But if the house be swept, + And from uncleanness kept, + We praise the household maid, + And duly she is paid; +For we use, before we go, +To drop a tester in her shoe. + + Upon a mushroom's head + Our tablecloth we spread; + A grain of rye or wheat + Is manchet, which we eat; +Pearly drops of dew we drink, +In acorn cups, fil'd to the brink. + + The brains of nightingales, + With unctuous fat of snails, + Between two cockles stew'd, + Is meat that's easily chew'd; +Tails of worms, and marrow of mice, +Do make a dish that's wondrous nice. + + The grasshopper, gnat, and fly, + Serve us for our minstrelsy; + Grace said, we dance a while, + And so the time beguile; +And if the moon doth hide her head, +The glow-worm lights us home to bed. + + On tops of dewy grass + So nimbly do we pass, + The young and tender stalk + Ne'er bends when we do walk; +Yet in the morning may be seen +Where we the night before have been. + _Anonymous._ + + +A BUSY DAY + +The bluff March wind set out from home + Before the peep of day, +But nobody seemed to be glad he had come, + And nobody asked him to stay. + +Yet he dried up the snow-banks far and near, + And made the snow-clouds roll, +Huddled up in a heap, like driven sheep, + Way off to the cold North Pole. + +He broke the ice on the river's back + And floated it down the tide, +And the wild ducks came with a loud "Quack, quack," + To play in the waters wide. + +He snatched the hat off Johnny's head + And rolled it on and on, +And oh, what a merry chase it led + Little laughing and scampering John! + +He swung the tree where the squirrel lay + Too late in its winter bed, +And he seemed to say in his jolly way, + "Wake up, little sleepy head!" + +He dried the yard so that Rob and Ted + Could play at marbles there, +And he painted their cheeks a carmine red + With the greatest skill and care. + +He shook all the clothes-lines, one by one, + What a busy time he had! +But nobody thanked him for all he had done; + Now wasn't that just too bad? + _Anonymous._ + + +A LAUGHING CHORUS + +Oh, such a commotion under the ground + When March called, "Ho, there! ho!" +Such spreading of rootlets far and wide, + Such whispering to and fro; +And, "Are you ready?" the Snowdrop asked, + "'Tis time to start, you know." +"Almost, my dear," the Scilla replied; + "I'll follow as soon as you go." +Then, "Ha! ha! ha!" a chorus came + Of laughter soft and low, +From the millions of flowers under the ground-- + Yes--millions--beginning to grow. + +"I'll promise my blossoms," the Crocus said, + "When I hear the bluebirds sing." +And straight thereafter, Narcissus cried, + "My silver and gold I'll bring." +"And ere they are dulled," another spoke, + "The Hyacinth bells shall ring." +And the Violet only murmured, "I'm here," + And sweet grew the air of spring. +Then, "Ha! ha! ha!" a chorus came + Of laughter soft and low, +From the millions of flowers under the ground-- + Yes--millions--beginning to grow. + +Oh, the pretty, brave things! through the coldest days, + Imprisoned in walls of brown, +They never lost heart though the blast shrieked loud, + And the sleet and the hail came down, +But patiently each wrought her beautiful dress, + Or fashioned her beautiful crown; +And now they are coming to brighten the world, + Still shadowed by Winter's frown; +And well may they cheerily laugh, "Ha! ha!" + In a chorus soft and low, +The millions of flowers hid under the ground-- + Yes--millions--beginning to grow. + _Anonymous._ + + +THE WALRUS AND THE CARPENTER + +The sun was shining on the sea, + Shining with all his might: +He did his very best to make + The billows smooth and bright-- +And this was odd, because it was + The middle of the night. + +The moon was shining sulkily, + Because she thought the sun +Had got no business to be there + After the day was done-- +"It's very rude of him," she said, + "To come and spoil the fun!" + +The sea was wet as wet could be, + The sands were dry as dry. +You could not see a cloud, because + No cloud was in the sky: +No birds were flying overhead-- + There were no birds to fly. + +The Walrus and the Carpenter + Were walking close at hand: +They wept like anything to see + Such quantities of sand: +"If this were only cleared away," + They said, "It would be grand!" + +"If seven maids with seven mops + Swept it for half a year, +Do you suppose," the Walrus said, + "That they could get it clear?" +"I doubt it," said the Carpenter, + And shed a bitter tear. + +"O Oysters, come and walk with us!" + The Walrus did beseech. +"A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk, + Along the briny beach: +We cannot do with more than four, + To give a hand to each." + +The eldest Oyster looked at him, + But never a word he said: +The eldest Oyster winked his eye, + And shook his heavy head-- +Meaning to say he did not choose + To leave the oyster-bed. + +But four young Oysters hurried up, + All eager for the treat: +Their coats were brushed, their faces washed, + Their shoes were clean and neat-- +And this was odd, because, you know, + They hadn't any feet. + +Four other Oysters followed them + And yet another four; +And thick and fast they came at last, + And more, and more, and more-- +All hopping through the frothy waves, + And scrambling to the shore. + +The Walrus and the Carpenter + Walked on a mile or so, +And then they rested on a rock + Conveniently low: +And all the little Oysters stood + And waited in a row. + +"The time has come," the Walrus said, + "To talk of many things: +Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax-- + Of cabbages--and kings-- +And why the sea is boiling hot-- + And whether pigs have wings." + +"But wait a bit," the Oysters cried, + "Before we have our chat; +For some of us are out of breath, + And all of us are fat!" +"No hurry!" said the Carpenter. + They thanked him much for that + +"A loaf of bread," the Walrus said, + "Is what we chiefly need: +Pepper and vinegar besides + Are very good indeed-- +Now, if you're ready, Oysters dear, + We can begin to feed." + +"But not on us!" the Oysters cried, + Turning a little blue. +"After such kindness, that would be + A dismal thing to do!" +"The night is fine," the Walrus said, + "Do you admire the view? + +"It was so kind of you to come! + And you are very nice!" +The Carpenter said nothing but + "Cut us another slice. +I wish you were not quite so deaf-- + I've had to ask you twice!" + +"It seems a shame," the Walrus said, + "To play them such a trick. +After we've brought them out so far, + And made them trot so quick!" +The Carpenter said nothing but + "The butter's spread too thick!" + +"I weep for you," the Walrus said: + "I deeply sympathize." +With sobs and tears he sorted out + Those of the largest size, +Holding his pocket-handkerchief + Before his streaming eyes. + +"O Oysters," said the Carpenter, + "You've had a pleasant run! +Shall we be trotting home again?" + But answer came there none-- +And this was scarcely odd, because + They'd eaten every one. + _Lewis Carroll._ + + +A LOBSTER QUADRILLE + +"Will you walk a little faster?" said a whiting + to a snail, +"There's a porpoise close behind us, and + he's treading on my tail. +See how eagerly the lobsters and the turtles all + advance! +They are waiting on the shingle--will you come + and join the dance? +Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will + you join the dance? +Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't + you join the dance? + + +"You can really have no notion how delightful + it will be +When they take us up and throw us, with the + lobsters, out to sea!" +But the snail replied, "Too far, too far!" and + gave a look askance-- +Said he thanked the whiting kindly, but he + would not join the dance. +Would not, could not, would not, could not, + would not join the dance. +Would not, could not, would not, could not, could + not join the dance. + +"What matters it how far we go?" his scaly + friend replied, +"There is another shore, you know, upon the + other side. +The further off from England the nearer is to + France-- +Then turn not pale, beloved snail, but come and + join the dance. +Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will + you join the dance? +Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't + you join the dance?" + _Lewis Carroll._ + + +DANDELION + +He is a roguish little elf, + A gay audacious fellow, +Who tramps about in doublet green + And skirt of brightest yellow; +In ev'ry field, by ev'ry road, + He peeps among the grasses, +And shows his sunny little face + To ev'ry one that passes. + +Within the churchyard he is seen, + Beside the headstones peeping, +And shining like a golden star + O'er some still form there sleeping; +Beside the house door oft he springs, + In all his wanton straying, +And children shout in laughing glee + To find him in their playing. + +At eve he dons his nightgown green, + And goes to bed right early, +At morn, he spreads his yellow skirts + To catch the dewdrops pearly; +A darling elf is Dandelion, + A roguish wanton sweeting; +Yet he is loved by ev'ry child, + All give him joyous greeting. + _Kate L. Brown._ + + +NIGHT + +The sun descending in the west, + The evening star does shine; +The birds are silent in their nest, + And I must seek for mine. + The moon, like a flower + In heaven's high bower, + With silent delight + Sits and smiles on the night. + +Farewell, green fields and happy grove, + Where flocks have ta'en delight; +Where lambs have nibbled, silent move + The feet of angels bright; + Unseen they pour blessing, + And joy without ceasing, + On each bud and blossom, + And each sleeping bosom. + +They look in every thoughtless nest + Where birds are cover'd warm, +They visit caves of every beast, + To keep them all from harm:-- + If they see any weeping + That should have been sleeping + They pour sleep on their head, + And sit down by their bed. + _William Blake._ + + +A LAUGHING SONG + +When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy, +And the dimpling stream runs laughing by; +When the air does laugh with our merry wit, +And the green hill laughs with the noise of it; + +When the meadows laugh with lively green, +And the grasshopper laughs in the merry scene; +When Mary, and Susan, and Emily, +With their sweet round mouths sing, "Ha, ha, he!" + +When the painted birds laugh in the shade, +Where our table with cherries and nuts is spread: +Come live, and be merry, and join with me +To sing the sweet chorus of "Ha, ha, he!" + _William Blake._ + + +THE LAND OF DREAMS + +"Awake, awake, my little boy! +Thou wast thy mother's only joy; +Why dost thou weep in thy gentle sleep? +O wake! thy father does thee keep." + +--"O what land is the Land of Dreams? +What are its mountains, and what are its streams? +O father! I saw my mother there, +Among the lilies by waters fair. + +"Among the lambs, clothed in white, +She walk'd with her Thomas in sweet delight: +I wept for joy; like a dove I mourn:-- +O when shall I again return!" + +--"Dear child! I also by pleasant streams +Have wander'd all night in the Land of Dreams:-- +But, though calm and warm the waters wide, +I could not get to the other side." + +--"Father, O father! what do we here, +In this land of unbelief and fear?-- +The Land of Dreams is better far, +Above the light of the morning star." + _William Blake._ + + +ROBERT OF LINCOLN + +Merrily swinging on briar and weed, + Near to the nest of his little dame, +Over the mountain-side or mead, + Robert of Lincoln is telling his name. + Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, + Spink, spank, spink, +Snug and safe is that nest of ours, +Hidden among the summer flowers. + Chee, chee, chee. + +Robert of Lincoln is gayly dressed, + Wearing a bright, black wedding-coat; +White are his shoulders, and white his crest, + Hear him call in his merry note, + Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, + Spink, spank, spink, +Look what a nice, new coat is mine; +Sure there was never a bird so fine. + Chee, chee, chee. + +Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife, + Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, +Passing at home a patient life, + Broods in the grass while her husband sings: + Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, + Spink, spank, spink, +Brood, kind creature, you need not fear +Thieves and robbers while I am here. + Chee, chee, chee. + +Modest and shy as a nun is she; + One weak chirp is her only note; +Braggart, and prince of braggarts is he, + Pouring boasts from his little throat, + Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, + Spink, spank, spink, +Never was I afraid of man, +Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can. + Chee, chee, chee. + +Six white eggs on a bed of hay, + Flecked with purple, a pretty sight: +There as the mother sits all day, + Robert is singing with all his might, + Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, + Spink, spank, spink, +Nice good wife, that never goes out, +Keeping house while I frolic about. + Chee, chee, chee. + +Soon as the little ones chip the shell, + Six wide mouths are open for food; +Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well, + Gathering seeds for the hungry brood: + Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, + Spink, spank, spink, +This new life is likely to be +Hard for a gay young fellow like me. + Chee, chee, chee. + +Robert of Lincoln at length is made + Sober with work, and silent with care, +Off is his holiday garment laid, + Half forgotten that merry air: + Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, + Spink, spank, spink, +Nobody knows but my mate and I, +Where our nest and our nestlings lie, + Chee, chee, chee. + +Summer wanes; the children are grown; + Fun and frolic no more he knows, +Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum drone; + Off he flies, and we sing as he goes, + Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, + Spink, spank, spink, +When you can pipe that merry old strain, +Robert of Lincoln, come back again. + Chee, chee, chee. + _William Cullen Bryant._ + + +A CHILD'S THOUGHT OF GOD + +They say that God lives very high; + But if you look above the pines +You cannot see our God; and why? + +And if you dig down in the mines, + You never see Him in the gold, +Though from Him all that's glory shines. + +God is so good, He wears a fold + Of heaven and earth across His face, +Like secrets kept, for love, untold. + +But still I feel that His embrace + Slides down by thrills, through all things made, +Through sight and sound of every place; + +As if my tender mother laid + On my shut lids her kisses' pressure, +Half waking me at night, and said, + "Who kissed you through the dark, dear guesser?" + _Elizabeth Barrett Browning._ + + +"BOB WHITE" + +I see you, on the zigzag rails, + You cheery little fellow! +While purple leaves are whirling down, + And scarlet, brown, and yellow. +I hear you when the air is full + Of snow-down of the thistle; +All in your speckled jacket trim, + "Bob White! Bob White!" you whistle. + +Tall amber sheaves, in rustling rows, + Are nodding there to greet you; +I know that you are out for play-- + How I should like to meet you! +Though blithe of voice, so shy you are, + In this delightful weather; +What splendid playmates you and I, + "Bob White," would make together! + +There, you are gone! but far away + I hear your whistle falling. +Ah! may be it is hide-and-seek, + And that's why you are calling. +Along those hazy uplands wide + We'd be such merry rangers; +What! silent now, and hidden too? + "Bob White," don't let's be strangers. + +Perhaps you teach your brood the game, + In yonder rainbowed thicket, +While winds are playing with the leaves, + And softly creaks the cricket. +"Bob White! Bob White!"--again I hear + That blithely whistled chorus; +Why should we not companions be? + One Father watches o'er us! + _George Cooper._ + + +THE DAISIES + +Over the shoulders and slopes of the dune + I saw the white daisies go down to the sea, +A host in the sunshine, an army in June, + The people God sends us to set our hearts free. + +The bobolinks rallied them up from the dell, + The orioles whistled them out of the wood; +And all of their saying was, "Earth, it is well!" + And all of their dancing was, "Life, thou art good!" + _Bliss Carman._ + + +WAITING TO GROW + +Little white snowdrop just waking up, +Violet, daisy, and sweet buttercup, +Think of the flowers that are under the snow, + Waiting to grow! + +And think what a number of queer little seeds, +Of flowers and mosses, of ferns and of weeds, +Are under the leaves and under the snow, + Waiting to grow! + +Think of the roots getting ready to sprout, +Reaching their slender brown fingers about, +Under the ice and the leaves and the snow, + Waiting to grow! + +No seed is so small, or hidden so well, +That God cannot find it; and soon he will tell +His sun where to shine, and His rain where to go, + Making it grow! + _Frank French._ + + +THE DANDELIONS + +Upon a showery night and still, + Without a sound of warning, +A trooper band surprised the hill, + And held it in the morning. + +We were not waked by bugle notes + No cheer our dreams invaded, +And yet, at dawn, their yellow coats + On the green slopes paraded. + +We careless folk the deed forgot; + Till one day, idly walking, +We marked upon the self-same spot + A crowd of veterans, talking. +They shook their trembling heads and gray, + With pride and noiseless laughter, +When, well-a-day! they blew away, + And ne'er were heard of after. + _Helen Gray Cone._ + + +A FAIRY TALE + +There stands by the wood-path shaded + A meek little beggar maid; +Close under her mantle faded + She is hidden like one afraid. + +Yet if you but lifted lightly + That mantle of russet brown, +She would spring up slender and sightly, + In a smoke-blue silken gown. + +For she is a princess, fated, + Disguised in the wood to dwell, +And all her life long has awaited + The touch that should break the spell; + +And the Oak, that has cast around her + His root like a wrinkled arm, +Is the wild old wizard that bound her + Fast with his cruel charm. + +Is the princess worth your knowing? + Then haste, for the spring is brief, +And find the Hepatica growing, + Hid under a last year's leaf! + _Helen Gray Cone._ + + +A FABLE + +The mountain and the squirrel +Had a quarrel, +And the former called the latter "Little Prig"; +Bun replied, +"You are doubtless very big; +But all sorts of things and weather +Must be taken in together, +To make up a year +And a sphere. +And I think it no disgrace +To occupy my place. +If I'm not so large as you +You are not so small as I, +And not half so spry. + +I'll not deny you make +A very pretty squirrel track; +Talents differ; all is well and wisely put; +If I cannot carry forests on my back, +Neither can you crack a nut." + _Ralph Waldo Emerson._ + + +THE NIGHT WIND + +Have you ever heard the wind go "Yooooo"? + 'Tis a pitiful sound to hear! +It seems to chill you through and through + With a strange and speechless fear. +'Tis the voice of the night that broods outside + When folk should be asleep, +And many and many's the time I've cried +To the darkness brooding far and wide + Over the land and the deep: + "Whom do you want, O lonely night, + That you wail the long hours through?" +And the night would say in its ghostly way: + "Yoooooooo! + Yoooooooo! + Yoooooooo!" + +My mother told me long ago + (When I was a little tad) +That when the night went wailing so, + Somebody had been bad; + +And then, when I was snug in bed, + Whither I had been sent, +With the blankets pulled up round my head, +I'd think of what my mother'd said, + And wonder what boy she meant! + And "Who's been bad to-day?" I'd ask + Of the wind that hoarsely blew; +And the voice would say in its meaningful way: + "Yoooooooo! + Yoooooooo! + Yoooooooo!" + +That this was true I must allow-- + You'll not believe it, though! +Yes, though I'm quite a model now, + I was not always so. +And if you doubt what things I say, + Suppose you make the test; +Suppose, when you've been bad some day +And up to bed are sent away + From mother and the rest-- + Suppose you ask, "Who has been bad?" + And then you'll hear what's true; +For the wind will moan in its ruefulest tone: + "Yoooooooo! + Yoooooooo! + Yoooooooo!" + _Eugene Field._ + + +DON'T KILL THE BIRDS + +Don't kill the birds, the pretty birds + That sing about your door, +Soon as the joyous spring has come + And chilling storms are o'er. +The little birds, how sweet they sing! + Oh, let them joyous live, +And never seek to take the life + That you can never give! + +Don't kill the birds, the pretty birds + That play among the trees; +'Twould make the earth a cheerless place + Should we dispense with these. +The little birds, how fond they play! + Do not disturb their sport; +But let them warble forth their songs + Till winter cuts them short. + +Don't kill the birds, the happy birds, + That bless the fields and grove; +So innocent to look upon, + They claim our warmest love. +The happy birds, the tuneful birds, + How pleasant 'tis to see! +No spot can be a cheerless place + Where'er their presence be. + _J. Colesworthy._ + + + +A THANKSGIVING FABLE + +It was a hungry pussy cat, upon Thanksgiving morn, +And she watched a thankful little mouse, that ate an ear of corn. +"If I ate that thankful little mouse, how thankful he should be, +When he has made a meal himself, to make a meal for me! + +"Then with his thanks for having fed, and his thanks for feeding me, +With all _his_ thankfulness inside, how thankful I shall be!" +Thus mused the hungry pussy cat, upon Thanksgiving Day; +But the little mouse had overheard and declined (with thanks) to stay. + _Oliver Herford._ + + +THE BALLAD OF THE TEMPEST + +We were crowded in the cabin, + Not a soul would dare to sleep,-- +It was midnight on the waters, + And a storm was on the deep. + +'Tis a fearful thing in winter + To be shattered by the blast, +And to hear the rattling trumpet + Thunder, "Cut away the mast!" + +So we shuddered there in silence,-- + For the stoutest held his breath, +While the hungry sea was roaring + And the breakers talked with Death. + +As thus we sat in darkness, + Each one busy with his prayers, +"We are lost!" the captain shouted, + As he staggered down the stairs. + +But his little daughter whispered, + As she took his icy hand, +"Isn't God upon the ocean, + Just the same as on the land?" + +Then we kissed the little maiden, + And we spoke in better cheer, +And we anchored safe in harbor, + When the morn was shining clear. + _James T. Fields._ + + +A CHILD'S PRAYER + +God make my life a little light, + Within the world to glow,-- +A tiny flame that burneth bright, + Wherever I may go. + +God make my life a little flower, + That giveth joy to all;-- +Content to bloom in native bower + Although its place be small. + +God make my life a little song, + That comforteth the sad; +That helpeth others to be strong, + And makes the singer glad. + +God make my life a little staff + Whereon the weak may rest,-- +That so what health and strength I have + May serve my neighbor best. + +God make my life a little hymn + Of tenderness and praise,-- +Of faith, that never waxeth dim, + In all His wondrous ways. + _Matilda B. Edwards._ + + +JACK FROST + +The Frost looked forth one still, clear night, +And whispered, "Now I shall be out of sight; +So, through the valley, and over the height, + In silence I'll take my way. +I will not go on like that blustering train, +The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain, +That make such a bustle and noise in vain, + But I'll be as busy as they!" + +So he flew to the mountain, and powdered its crest; +He lit on the trees, and their boughs he drest +With diamonds and pearls; and over the breast + Of the quivering lake he spread +A coat of mail, that it need not fear +The downward point of many a spear +That he hung on its margin, far and near, + Where a rock could rear its head. + +He went to the windows of those who slept, +And over each pane, like a fairy, crept; +Wherever he breathed, wherever he stepped, + By the light of the morn were seen +Most beautiful things; there were flowers and trees; +There were bevies of birds and swarms of bees; +There were cities with temples and towers; and these + All pictured in silvery sheen! + +But he did one thing that was hardly fair-- +He peeped in the cupboard, and finding there +That all had forgotten for him to prepare-- + "Now, just to set them a-thinking, + +I'll bite this basket of fruit," said he, +"This costly pitcher I'll burst in three; +And the glass of water they've left for me + Shall 'tchick' to tell them I'm drinking!" + _Hannah F. Gould._ + + +FAIRY SONG + +Shed no tear! oh, shed no tear! +The flower will bloom another year. +Weep no more! oh, weep no more! +Young buds sleep in the root's white core. +Dry your eyes! oh, dry your eyes! +For I was taught in Paradise +To ease my breast of melodies,-- + Shed no tear. + +Overhead! look overhead! +'Mong the blossoms white and red-- +Look up, look up! I flutter now +On this fresh pomegranate bough. +See me! 'tis this silvery bill +Ever cures the good man's ill. +Shed no tear! oh, shed no tear! +The flower will bloom another year. +Adieu, adieu--I fly--adieu! +I vanish in the heaven's blue,-- + Adieu, adieu! + _John Keats._ + + +THE DOVE + +I had a dove, and the sweet dove died; +And I have thought it died of grieving: +Oh, what could it grieve for? its feet were tied +With a silken thread of my own hands' weaving. +Sweet little red feet! Why should you die-- +Why would you leave me, sweet bird! why? +You lived alone in the forest tree; +Why, pretty thing! would you not live with me? +I kiss'd you oft and gave you white peas; +Why not live sweetly, as in the green trees? + _John Keats._ + + +THE WIND IN A FROLIC + +The wind one morning sprang up from sleep, +Saying, "Now for a frolic! now for a leap! +Now for a madcap, galloping chase! +I'll make a commotion in every place!" +So it swept with a bustle right through a great town, +Creaking the signs, and scattering down +The shutters, and whisking, with merciless squalls, +Old women's bonnets and gingerbread stalls. +There never was heard a much lustier shout +As the apples and oranges tumbled about; +And urchins, that stand with their thievish eyes +Forever on watch, ran off each with a prize. + +Then away to the fields it went blustering and humming, +And the cattle all wondered whatever was coming. +It plucked by their tails the grave matronly cows, +And tossed the colts' manes all about their brows, +Till offended at such a familiar salute, +They all turned their backs and stood silently mute. + +So on it went, capering and playing its pranks; +Whistling with reeds on the broad river banks; +Puffing the birds, as they sat on a spray, +Or the travelers grave on the king's highway. +It was not too nice to bustle the bags +Of the beggar, and flutter his dirty rags. +'Twas so bold that it feared not to play its joke +With the doctor's wig, and the gentleman's cloak. +Through the forest it roared, and cried gayly, "Now, +You sturdy old oaks, I'll make you bow!" +And it made them bow without more ado, +Or it cracked their great branches through and through. + +Then it rushed like a monster o'er cottage and farm, +Striking their inmates with sudden alarm; +And they ran out like bees in a midsummer swarm. +There were dames with kerchiefs tied over their caps, +To see if their poultry were free from mishaps. +The turkeys they gobbled, the geese screamed aloud, +And the hens crept to roost in a terrified crowd; +There was rearing of ladders, and logs laying on, +Where the thatch from the roof threatened soon to be gone. +But the wind had passed on, and had met in a lane +With a schoolboy, who panted and struggled in vain, +For it tossed him, and twirled him, then passed, and he stood +With his hat in a pool and his shoe in the mud. + _William Howitt._ + + +A DAY + +I'll tell you how the sun rose,-- + A ribbon at a time. +The steeples swam in amethyst, + The news like squirrels ran. + +The hills untied their bonnets, + The bobolinks begun. +Then said I softly to myself, + "That must have been the sun!" + +But how he set I know not; + There seemed a purple stile +Which little yellow boys and girls + Were climbing all the while. + +Till when they reached the other side, + A dominie in gray +Put gently up the evening bars, + And led the flock away. + _Emily Dickinson._ + + +THE GRASS + +The grass so little has to do,-- +A sphere of simple green, +With only butterflies to brood, +And bees to entertain, + +And stir all day to pretty tunes +The breezes fetch along, +And hold the sunshine in its lap +And bow to everything; + +And thread the dews all night, like pearls, +And make itself so fine,-- +A duchess were too common +For such a noticing. + +And even when it dies, to pass +In odors so divine, +As lowly spices gone to sleep, +Or amulets of pine. + +And then to dwell in sovereign barns, +And dream the days away,-- +The grass so little has to do, +I wish I were the hay. + _Emily Dickinson._ + + +WHITE SEAL + +Oh! hush thee, my baby, the night is behind us, + And black are the waters that sparkled so green. +The moon, o'er the combers, looks downward to find us + At rest in the hollows that rustle between. + +Where billow meets billow, there soft be thy pillow; + Ah, weary, wee flipperling, curl at thy ease! +The storm shall not wake thee, nor shark overtake thee, + Asleep in the arms of the slow-swinging seas. + _Rudyard Kipling._ + + +THE CAMEL'S HUMP + +The Camel's hump is an ugly lump + Which well you may see at the Zoo; +But uglier yet is the hump we get + From having too little to do. + +Kiddies and grown-ups too-oo-oo, +If we haven't enough to do-oo-oo, + We get the hump-- + Cameelious hump-- +The hump that is black and blue! + +We climb out of bed with a frouzly head + And a snarly-yarly voice. +We shiver and scowl and we grunt and we growl + At our bath and our boots and our toys! + +And there ought to be a corner for me +(And I know there is one for you) + When we get the hump-- + Cameelious hump-- +The hump that is black and blue! + +The cure for this ill is not to sit still, + Or frowst with a book by the fire; +But to take a large hoe and a shovel also, + And dig till you gently perspire. + +And then you will find that the sun and the wind +And the Djinn of the Garden too, + Have lifted the hump-- + The horrible hump-- +The hump that is black and blue! + +I get it as well as you-oo-oo, +If I haven't enough to do-oo-oo, + We all get hump-- + Cameelious hump-- +Kiddies and grown-ups too! + _Rudyard Kipling._ + + +THE TREE + +The Tree's early leaf buds were bursting their brown; +"Shall I take them away?" said the Frost, sweeping down. + "No, leave them alone + Till the blossoms have grown," +Prayed the Tree, while he trembled from rootlet to crown. + +The Tree bore his blossoms, and all the birds sung: +"Shall I take them away?" said the Wind, as he swung. + "No, leave them alone + Till the berries have grown," +Said the Tree, while his leaflets quivering hung. + +The Tree bore his fruit in the mid-summer glow: +Said the girl, "May I gather thy berries now?" + "Yes, all thou canst see: + Take them; all are for thee," +Said the Tree, while he bent down his laden boughs low. + _Bjornstjerne Bjornson._ + + +CHOOSING A NAME + +I have got a new-born sister. +I was nigh the first that kissed her. +When the nursing-woman brought her +To papa, his infant daughter, +How papa's dear eyes did glisten! +She will shortly be to christen, +And papa has made the offer +I shall have the naming of her. + +Now, I wonder what would please her-- +Charlotte, Julia, or Louisa? +Ann and Mary, they're too common; +Joan's too formal for a woman; +Jane's a prettier name beside, +But we had a Jane that died. +They would say, if 'twas Rebecca, +That she was a little Quaker; +Edith's pretty, but that looks +Better in old English books; + +Ellen's left off long ago; +Blanche is out of fashion now. +None that I have named as yet +Are so good as Margaret. +Emily is neat and fine; +What do you think of Caroline? +How I'm puzzled and perplexed +What to choose or think of next! +I am in a little fever +Lest the name that I should give her +Should disgrace her or defame her:-- +I will leave papa to name her. + _Mary Lamb._ + + +CALLING THE VIOLET + +Dear little Violet, + Don't be afraid! +Lift your blue eyes + From the rock's mossy shade! +All the birds call for you + Out of the sky: +May is here, waiting, + And here, too, am I. + +Why do you shiver so, + Violet sweet? +Soft is the meadow-grass + Under my feet. +Wrapped in your hood of green, + Violet, why +Peep from your earth-door + So silent and shy? + +Trickle the little brooks + Close to your bed; +Softest of fleecy clouds + Float overhead; +"Ready and waiting!" + The slender reeds sigh: +"Ready and waiting!" + We sing--May and I. + +Come, pretty Violet, + Winter's away: +Come, for without you + May isn't May. +Down through the sunshine + Wings flutter and fly;-- +Quick, little Violet, + Open your eye! + +Hear the rain whisper, + "Dear Violet, come!" +How can you stay + In your underground home? +Up in the pine-boughs + For you the winds sigh. +Homesick to see you, + Are we--May and I. + +Ha! though you care not + For call or for shout, +Yon troop of sunbeams + Are winning you out. +Now all is beautiful + Under the sky: +May's here--and violets! + Winter, good-by! + _Lucy Larcom._ + + +THE BROWN THRUSH + +There's a merry brown thrush sitting up in the tree. +"He's singing to me! He's singing to me!" +And what does he say, little girl, little boy? +"Oh, the world's running over with joy! + Don't you hear? Don't you see? + Hush! Look! In my tree, +I'm as happy as happy can be!" + +And the brown thrush keeps singing, "A nest do you see, +And five eggs, hid by me in the juniper tree? +Don't meddle! don't touch! little girl, little boy, +Or the world will lose some of its joy! + Now I'm glad! now I'm free! + And I always shall be, +If you never bring sorrow to me." + +So the merry brown thrush sings away in the tree, +To you and to me, to you and to me; +And he sings all the day, little girl, little boy, +"Oh, the world's running over with joy! + But long it won't be, + Don't you know? Don't you see? +Unless we are as good as can be!" + _Lucy Larcom._ + + +THE WIND AND THE MOON + +Said the Wind to the Moon, "I will blow you out. + You stare + In the air + Like a ghost in a chair, +Always looking what I am about; +I hate to be watched--I'll blow you out." + +The Wind blew hard, and out went the Moon. + So deep, + On a heap + Of clouds, to sleep, +Down lay the Wind, and slumbered soon-- +Muttering low, "I've done for that Moon." + +He turned in his bed; she was there again! + On high + In the sky + With her one ghost eye, +The Moon shone white and alive and plain. +Said the Wind--"I will blow you out again." + +The Wind blew hard, and the Moon grew dim. + "With my sledge + And my wedge + I have knocked off her edge! +If only I blow right fierce and grim, +The creature will soon be dimmer than dim." + +He blew and he blew, and she thinned to a thread. + "One puff + More's enough + To blow her to snuff! +One good puff more where the last was bred, +And glimmer, glimmer, glum will go the thread!" + +He blew a great blast, and the thread was gone; + In the air + Nowhere + Was a moonbeam bare; +Far off and harmless the shy stars shone; +Sure and certain the Moon was gone. + +The Wind, he took to his revels once more; + On down + In town, + Like a merry-mad clown, +He leaped and hallooed with whistle and roar, +"What's that?" The glimmering thread once more! + +He flew in a rage--he danced and blew; + But in vain + Was the pain + Of his bursting brain; +For still the broader the Moon-scrap grew, +The broader he swelled his big cheeks and blew. + +Slowly she grew--till she filled the night, + And shone + On her throne + In the sky alone, +A matchless, wonderful, silvery light, +Radiant and lovely, the Queen of the night. + +Said the Wind--"What a marvel of power am I! + With my breath, + Good faith! + I blew her to death-- +First blew her away right out of the sky-- +Then blew her in; what strength have I!" + +But the Moon, she knew nothing about the affair, + For high + In the sky, + With her one white eye, +Motionless, miles above the air, +She had never heard the great Wind blare. + _George Macdonald._ + + +A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS + +'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house +Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; +The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, +In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there. +The children were nestled all snug in their beds, +While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads; +And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap, +Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap,-- +When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, +I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. +Away to the window I flew like a flash, +Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash; +The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow +Gave a luster of mid-day to objects below; +When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, +But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer, +With a little old driver, so lively and quick, +I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. +More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, +And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name: +"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen! +On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!-- +To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall, +Now, dash away, dash away, dash away all!" +As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, +When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky, +So, up to the housetop the coursers they flew, +With the sleigh full of toys,--and St. Nicholas too. +And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof +The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. +As I drew in my head and was turning around, +Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound; +He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot, +And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot; +A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, +And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack. +His eyes how they twinkled; his dimples how merry! +His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry; +His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, +And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow. +The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, +And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath. +He had a broad face and a little round belly +That shook when he laughed like a bowl full of jelly. +He was chubby and plump--a right jolly old elf-- +And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself. +A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head, +Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. +He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, +And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk, +And laying his finger aside of his nose, +And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. +He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, +And away they all flew like the down of a thistle. +But I heard him exclaim, ere they drove out of sight, +"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a goodnight!" + _Clement C. Moore._ + + +HUNTING SONG + +Up, up! ye dames and lasses gay! +To the meadows trip away. +'Tis you must tend the flocks this morn, +And scare the small birds from the corn. + Not a soul at home may stay: + For the shepherds must go + With lance and bow + To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day. + +Leave the hearth and leave the house +To the cricket and the mouse: +Find grannam out a sunny seat, +With babe and lambkin at her feet. + Not a soul at home may stay: + For the shepherds must go + With lance and bow + To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day. + _Samuel T. Coleridge._ + + +THE FIR-TREE + +The winds have blown more bitter +Each darkening day of fall; +High over all the house-tops +The stars are far and small +I wonder, will my fir-tree +Be green in spite of all? + +O grief is colder--colder +Than wind from any part; +And tears of grief are bitter tears, +And doubt's a sorer smart! +But I promised to my fir-tree +To keep the fragrant heart. + _Josephine Preston Peabody._ + + +HOW THE LEAVES CAME DOWN + +"I'll tell you how the leaves came down," + The great tree to his children said, +"You're getting sleepy, Yellow and Brown, + Yes, very sleepy, little Red. + It is quite time to go to bed." + +"Ah!" begged each silly, pouting leaf, + "Let us a little longer stay; +Dear Father Tree, behold our grief; + Tis such a very pleasant day + We do not want to go away." + +So, for just one more merry day + To the great tree the leaflets clung, +Frolicked and danced, and had their way, + Upon the autumn breezes swung, + Whispering all their sports among,-- + +"Perhaps the great tree will forget, + And let us stay until the spring, +If we all beg, and coax, and fret." + But the great tree did no such thing; + He smiled to hear their whispering. + +"Come, children, all to bed," he cried; + And ere the leaves could urge their prayer, +He shook his head, and far and wide, + Fluttering and rustling everywhere, + Down sped the leaflets through the air. + +I saw them; on the ground they lay, + Golden and red, a huddled swarm, +Waiting till one from far away, + White bedclothes heaped upon her arm, + Should come to wrap them safe and warm. + +The great bare tree looked down and smiled, + "Good-night, dear little leaves," he said. +And from below each sleepy child + Replied, "Good-night," and murmured, + "It is so nice to go to bed!" + _Susan Coolidge._ + + +THE LITTLE LADYBIRD + +Ladybird, ladybird! fly away home! + The field-mouse has gone to her nest, +The daisies have shut up their sleepy red eyes, + And the bees and the birds are at rest. + +Ladybird, ladybird! fly away home! + The glow-worm is lighting her lamp, +The dew's falling fast, and your fine speckled wings + Will flag with the close-clinging damp. + +Ladybird, ladybird! fly away home! + Good luck if you reach it at last! +The owl's come abroad, and the bat's on the roam, + Sharp set from their Ramazan fast. + +Ladybird, ladybird! fly away home! + The fairy bells tinkle afar! +Make haste or they'll catch you, and harness you fast + With a cobweb to Oberon's car. + +Ladybird, ladybird! fly away home! + To your house in the old willow-tree, +Where your children so dear have invited the ant + And a few cozy neighbors to tea. + +Ladybird, ladybird! fly away home! + And if not gobbled up by the way, +Nor yoked by the fairies to Oberon's car, + You're in luck! and that's all I've to say! + _Caroline B. Southey._ + + +THE BLUEBIRD + +I know the song that the bluebird is singing, +Out in the apple-tree where he is swinging; +Brave little fellow, the skies may look dreary; +Nothing cares he while his heart is so cheery. + +Hark! how the music leaps out from his throat, +Hark! was there ever so merry a note? +Listen awhile and you'll hear what he's saying, +Up in the apple-tree swinging and swaying. + +"Dear little blossoms down under the snow, +You must be weary of winter, I know; +Hark, while I sing you a message of cheer; +Summer is coming and spring-time is here! + +"Little white snowdrop! I pray you arise; +Bright yellow crocus! come, open your eyes; +Sweet little violets, hid from the cold, +Put on your mantles of purple and gold; +Daffodils! daffodils! say, do you hear?-- +Summer is coming and spring-time is here!" + _Emily Huntington Miller._ + + +THE BLUE JAY + +O Blue Jay up in the maple tree, +Shaking your throat with such bursts of glee, +How did you happen to be so blue? +Did you steal a bit of the lake for your crest, +And fasten blue violets into your vest? +Tell me, I pray you,--tell me true! + +Did you dip your wings in azure dye, +When April began to paint the sky, +That was pale with the winter's stay? +Or were you hatched from a blue-bell bright, +'Neath the warm, gold breast of a sunbeam light, +By the river one blue spring day? + +O Blue Jay up in the maple tree, +A-tossing your saucy head at me, +With ne'er a word for my questioning, +Pray, cease for a moment your "ting-a-link," +And hear when I tell you what I think,-- +You bonniest bit of spring. + +I think when the fairies made the flowers, +To grow in these mossy fields of ours, +Periwinkles and violets rare, +There was left of the spring's own color, blue, +Plenty to fashion a flower whose hue +Would be richer than all and as fair. + +So, putting their wits together, they +Made one great blossom so bright and gay, +The lily beside it seemed blurred: +And then they said, "We will toss it in air; +So many blue blossoms grow everywhere, +Let this pretty one be a bird." + _Susan Hartley Swett._ + + +THE VIOLET + +Down in a green and shady bed + A modest violet grew; +Its stalk was bent, it hung its head, + As if to hide from view. + +And yet it was a lovely flower, + Its colors bright and fair! +It might have graced a rosy bower, + Instead of hiding there. + +Yet there it was content to bloom, + In modest tints arrayed; +And there diffused its sweet perfume, + Within the silent shade. + +Then let me to the valley go, + This pretty flower to see, +That I may also learn to grow + In sweet humility. + _Jane Taylor._ + + +THE FERN SONG + +Dance to the beat of the rain, little Fern, +And spread out your palms again, + And say, "Tho' the Sun + Hath my vesture spun, +He hath labored, alas, in vain, + But for the shade + That the Cloud hath made, +And the gift of the Dew and the Rain." + Then laugh and upturn + All your fronds, little Fern, +And rejoice in the beat of the rain! + _John Bannister Tabb._ + + +KING SOLOMON AND THE BEES +_A Tale of the Talmud_ + +When Solomon was reigning in his glory, + Unto his throne the Queen of Sheba came, +(So in the Talmud you may read the story) + Drawn by the magic of the monarch's fame, +To see the splendors of his court, and bring +Some fitting tribute to the mighty king. + +Nor this alone; much had her Highness heard + What flowers of learning graced the royal speech; +What gems of wisdom dropped with every word; + What wholesome lessons he was wont to teach +In pleasing proverbs; and she wished, in sooth, +To know if Rumor spoke the simple truth. + +Besides, the queen had heard (which piqued her most) + How through the deepest riddles he could spy; +How all the curious arts that women boast + Were quite transparent to his piercing eye; +And so the queen had come--a royal guest-- +To put the sage's cunning to the test. + +And straight she held before the monarch's view, + In either hand, a radiant wreath of flowers; +The one, bedecked with every charming hue, + Was newly culled from Nature's choicest bowers; +The other, no less fair in every part, +Was the rare product of divinest Art. + +"Which is the true, and which the false?" she said, + Great Solomon was silent. All-amazed, +Each wondering courtier shook his puzzled head, + While at the garlands long the monarch gazed, +As one who sees a miracle, and fain, +For very rapture, ne'er would speak again. + +"Which is the true?" once more the woman asked, + Pleased at the fond amazement of the king; +"So wise a head should not be hardly tasked, + Most learned liege, with such a trivial thing!" +But still the sage was silent; it was plain +A deepening doubt perplexed the royal brain. + +While thus he pondered, presently he sees, + Hard by the casement,--so the story goes,-- +A little band of busy, bustling bees, + Hunting for honey in a withered rose. +The monarch smiled, and raised his royal head; +"Open the window!"--that was all he said. + +The window opened at the king's command; + Within the room the eager insects flew, +And sought the flowers in Sheba's dexter hand! + And so the king and all the courtiers knew +That wreath was Nature's; and the baffled queen +Returned to tell the wonders she had seen. + +My story teaches (every tale should bear + A fitting moral) that the wise may find +In trifles light as atoms in the air, + Some useful lesson to enrich the mind, +Some truth designed to profit or to please,-- +As Israel's king learned wisdom from the bees! + _John G. Saxe._ + + +LULLABY OF AN INFANT CHIEF + +O hush thee, my baby, thy sire was a knight,-- +Thy mother a lady both lovely and bright; +The woods and the glens, from the towers which we see, +They all are belonging, dear baby, to thee. + +O fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows, +It calls but the warders that guard thy repose; +Their bows would be bended, their blades would be red, +Ere the step of a foeman drew near to thy bed. + +O hush thee, my baby, the time soon will come, +When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and drum; +Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while you may, +For strife comes with manhood, and waking with day. + _Sir Walter Scott._ + + +HAIL, COLUMBIA! + +Hail, Columbia! happy land! +Hail, ye heroes! heaven-born band! + Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause, + Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause, +And when the storm of war was gone, + +Enjoyed the peace your valor won. + Let independence be our boast, + Ever mindful what it cost; + Ever grateful for the prize, + Let its altar reach the skies. + + Firm, united, let us be, + Rallying round our Liberty; + As a band of brothers joined, + Peace and safety we shall find. + +Immortal patriots! rise once more: +Defend your rights, defend your shore: + Let no rude foe, with impious hand, + Let no rude foe, with impious hand, +Invade the shrine where sacred lies +Of toil and blood the well-earned prize. + While offering peace sincere and just, + In Heaven we place a manly trust, + That truth and justice will prevail, + And every scheme of bondage fail. + +Sound, sound, the trump of Fame! +Let WASHINGTON'S great name + Ring through the world with loud applause; + Ring through the world with loud applause; +Let every clime to Freedom dear, +Listen with a joyful ear. + With equal skill, and godlike power, + He governed in the fearful hour + Of horrid war; or guides, with ease, + The happier times of honest peace. + +Behold the chief who now commands, +Once more to serve his country, stands-- + The rock on which the storm will beat, + The rock on which the storm will beat; +But, armed in virtue firm and true, +His hopes are fixed on Heaven and you; + When hope was sinking in dismay, + And glooms obscured Columbia's day, + His steady mind, from changes free, + Resolved on death or liberty. + _Joseph Hopkinson._ + + +THE SNOWDROP + +Many, many welcomes, +February fair-maid! +Ever as of old time, +Solitary firstling, +Coming in the cold time, +Prophet of the gay time, +Prophet of the May time, +Prophet of the roses, +Many, many welcomes, +February fair-maid! + _Alfred, Lord Tennyson._ + + +THE OWL + +When cats run home and light is come, + And dew is cold upon the ground, +And the far-off stream is dumb, + And the whirring sail goes round, + And the whirring sail goes round, + Alone and warming his five wits, + The white owl in the belfry sits. + +When merry milkmaids click the latch, + And rarely smells the new-mown hay, +And the cock hath sung beneath the thatch + Twice or thrice his roundelay, + Twice or thrice his roundelay; + Alone and warming his five wits, + The white owl in the belfry sits. + _Alfred, Lord Tennyson._ + + +A TRAGIC STORY + +There lived a sage in days of yore, +And he a handsome pigtail wore; +But wondered much and sorrowed more + Because it hung behind him. + +He mused upon this curious case, +And swore he'd change the pigtail's place, +And have it hanging at his face, + Not dangling there behind him. + +Said he, "The mystery I've found,-- +I'll turn me round."-- +He turned him round; + But still it hung behind him. + +Then round and round, and out and in, +All day the puzzled sage did spin; +In vain--it mattered not a pin-- + The pigtail hung behind him. + +And right, and left, and round about, +And up, and down, and in, and out +He turned; but still the pigtail stout + Hung steadily behind him. + +And though his efforts never slack, +And though he twist, and twirl, and tack, +Alas! still faithful to his back + The pigtail hangs behind him. + _William M. Thackeray._ + + +A CHRISTMAS CAROL + + There's a song in the air! + There's a star in the sky! + There's a mother's deep prayer + And a baby's low cry! +And the star rains its fire while the Beautiful sing, +For the manger of Bethlehem cradles a king. + + There's a tumult of joy + O'er the wonderful birth, + For the virgin's sweet boy + Is the Lord of the earth. +Ay! the star rains its fire and the Beautiful sing, +For the manger of Bethlehem cradles a king. + + In the light of that star + Lie the ages impearled; + And that song from afar + Has swept over the world. +Every hearth is aflame, and the Beautiful sing +In the homes of the nations that Jesus is King. + + We rejoice in the light, + And we echo the song + That comes down through the night + From the heavenly throng. +Ay! we shout to the lovely evangel they bring, +And we greet in his cradle our Saviour and King. + _J.G. Holland._ + +THE WONDERFUL WORLD + +"Great, wide, beautiful, wonderful world, +With the wonderful water round you curled, +And the wonderful grass upon your breast,-- +World, you are beautifully drest. + +"The wonderful air is over me, +And the wonderful wind is shaking the tree, +It walks on the water, and whirls the mills, +And talks to itself on the tops of the hills. + +"You friendly Earth! how far do you go +With the wheat-fields that nod and the rivers that flow, +With cities and gardens, and cliffs, and isles +And people upon you for thousands of miles? + +"Ah, you are so great, and I am so small, +I tremble to think of you, World, at all; +And yet, when I said my prayers, to-day, +A whisper inside me seemed to say, +'You are more than the Earth, though you are such a dot: +You can love and think, and the Earth cannot!" + _William B. Rands._ + + +NOBODY KNOWS + +Often I've heard the Wind sigh + By the ivied orchard wall, +Over the leaves in the dark night, + Breathe a sighing call, +And faint away in the silence, + While I, in my bed, +Wondered, 'twixt dreaming and waking, + What it said. + +Nobody knows what the Wind is, + Under the height of the sky, +Where the hosts of the stars keep far away house + And its wave sweeps by-- +Just a great wave of the air, + Tossing the leaves in its sea, +And foaming under the eaves of the roof + That covers me. + +And so we live under deep water, + All of us, beasts and men, +And our bodies are buried down under the sand, + When we go again; +And leave, like the fishes, our shells, + And float on the Wind and away, +To where, o'er the marvellous tides of the air, + Burns day. + _Walter de la Mare._ + + +THE TRUANTS + +Ere my heart beats too coldly and faintly + To remember sad things, yet be gay, +I would sing a brief song of the world's little children + Magic hath stolen away. + +The primroses scattered by April, + The stars of the wide Milky Way, +Cannot outnumber the hosts of the children + Magic hath stolen away. + +The buttercup green of the meadows, + The snow of the blossoming may, +Lovelier are not than the legions of children + Magic hath stolen away. + +The waves tossing surf in the moonbeam, + The albatross lone on the spray, +Alone know the tears wept in vain for the children + Magic hath stolen away. + +In vain: for at hush of the evening, + When the stars twinkle into the grey, +Seems to echo the far-away calling of children + Magic hath stolen away. + _Walter de la Mare._ + + +WILL EVER? + +Will he ever be weary of wandering, + The flaming sun? +Ever weary of waning in lovelight, + The white still moon? +Will ever a shepherd come + With a crook of simple gold, +And lead all the little stars + Like lambs to the fold? + +Will ever the Wanderer sail + From over the sea, +Up the river of water, + To the stones to me? +Will he take us all into his ship, + Dreaming, and waft us far, +To where in the clouds of the West, + The Islands are? + _Walter de la Mare._ + + +WANDERERS + +Wide are the meadows of night, +And daisies are shining there, +Tossing their lovely dews, +Lustrous and fair; +And through these sweet fields go, +Wanderers amid the stars-- +Venus, Mercury, Uranus, Neptune, +Saturn, Jupiter, Mars. + +'Tired in their silver, they move, +And circling, whisper and say, +Fair are the blossoming meads of delight +Through which we stray. + _Walter de la Mare._ + + +CHRISTMAS + +While shepherds watched their flocks by night, + All seated on the ground, +The angel of the Lord came down, + And glory shone around. + +"Fear not," said he,--for mighty dread + Had seized their troubled mind-- +"Glad tidings of great joy I bring + To you and all mankind. + +"To you, in David's town, this day + Is born, of David's line, +The Saviour, who is Christ the Lord; + And this shall be the sign: + +"The heavenly babe you there shall find + To human view displayed, +All meanly wrapped in swathing bands, + And in a manger laid." + +Thus spake the seraph; and forthwith + Appeared a shining throng +Of angels, praising God, and thus + Addressed their joyful song: + +"All glory be to God on high, + And to the earth be peace: +Good-will henceforth from heaven to men + Begin and never cease!" + _Nahum Tate._ + + +THE SNOW-BIRD'S SONG + +The ground was all covered with snow one day, +And two little sisters were busy at play, +When a snow-bird was sitting close by on a tree, +And merrily singing his chick-a-dee-dee, + Chick-a-dee-dee, chick-a-dee-dee, +And merrily singing his chick-a-dee-dee. + +He had not been singing that tune very long, +Ere Emily heard him, so loud was his song; +"Oh, sister, look out of the window," said she, +"Here's a dear little bird singing chick-a-dee-dee. + Chick-a-dee-dee, chick-a-dee-dee, +Here's a dear little bird singing chick-a-dee-dee. + +"Oh, mother, do get him some stockings and shoes, +And a nice little frock, and a hat if you choose; +I wish he'd come into the parlor, and see +How warm we would make him, poor chick-a-dee-dee! + Chick-a-dee-dee, chick-a-dee-dee, +How warm we would make him, poor chick-a-dee-dee!" + +"There is One, my dear child, though I cannot tell who, +Has clothed me already, and warm enough too. +Good morning! Oh, who are so happy as we?" +And away he went singing his chick-a-dee-dee. + Chick-a-dee-dee, chick-a-dee-dee, +And away he went singing his chick-a-dee-dee. + _F.C. Woodworth._ + + +SPRING + +The alder by the river + Shakes out her powdery curls; +The willow buds in silver + For little boys and girls. + +The little birds fly over + And oh, how sweet they sing! +To tell the happy children + That once again 'tis spring. + +The gay green grass comes creeping + So soft beneath their feet; +The frogs begin to ripple + A music clear and sweet. + +And buttercups are coming, + And scarlet columbine, +And in the sunny meadows + The dandelions shine. + +And just as many daisies + As their soft hands can hold +The little ones may gather, + All fair in white and gold. + +Here blows the warm red clover, + There peeps the violet blue; +O happy little children! + God made them all for you. + _Celia Thaxter._ + + +THE SANDPIPER + +Across the narrow beach we flit, + One little sandpiper and I; +And fast I gather, bit by bit, + The scattered driftwood bleached and dry. +The wild waves reach their hands for it, + The wild wind raves, the tide runs high, +As up and down the beach we flit, + One little sandpiper and I. + +Above our heads the sullen clouds + Scud black and swift across the sky; +Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds + Stand out the white lighthouses high. +Almost as far as eye can reach + I see the close-reefed vessels fly, +As fast we flit along the beach,-- + One little sandpiper and I. + +I watch him as he skims along, + Uttering his sweet and mournful cry; +He starts not at my fitful song, + Or flash of fluttering drapery. +He has no thought of any wrong; + He scans me with a fearless eye. +Staunch friends are we, well tried and strong, + The little sandpiper and I. + +Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night + When the loosed storm breaks furiously? +My driftwood fire will burn so bright! + To what warm shelter canst thou fly? +I do not fear for thee, though wroth +The tempest rushes through the sky: + For are we not God's children both, +Thou, little sandpiper, and I? + _Celia Thaxter._ + + +O LITTLE TOWN OF BETHLEHEM + +O little town of Bethlehem, + How still we see thee lie! +Above thy deep and dreamless sleep + The silent stars go by; +Yet in thy dark streets shineth + The everlasting Light; +The hopes and fears of all the years + Are met in thee to-night. + +For Christ is born of Mary, + And, gathered all above, +While mortals sleep, the angels keep + Their watch of wondering love. +O morning stars, together + Proclaim the holy birth! +And praises sing to God the King, + And peace to men on earth. + +How silently, how silently, + The wondrous gift is given! +So God imparts to human hearts + The blessings of His heaven. +No ear may hear His coming, + But in this world of sin, +Where meek souls will receive Him still, + The dear Christ enters in. + +O holy Child of Bethlehem! + Descend to us, we pray; +Cast out our sin, and enter in, + Be born in us to-day. +We hear the Christmas angels + The great glad tidings tell; +Oh, come to us, abide with us, + Our Lord Emmanuel! + _Phillips Brooks._ + + +THE SANDMAN + +The rosy clouds float overhead, + The sun is going down, +And now the sandman's gentle tread + Comes stealing through the town. + + "White sand, white sand," he softly cries, + And, as he shakes his hand, + Straightway there lies on babies' eyes + His gift of shining sand. +Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown, +As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he + goes through the town. + + From sunny beaches far away, + Yes, in another land, + He gathers up at break of day + His store of shining sand. + No tempests beat that shore remote, + No ships may sail that way; + His little boat alone may float + Within that lovely bay. +Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown, +As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he + goes through the town. + + He smiles to see the eyelids close + Above the happy eyes! + And every child right well he knows-- + Oh, he is very wise! + But if, as he goes through the land, + A naughty baby cries, + His other hand takes dull gray sand + To close the wakeful eyes. +Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown, +As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he + goes through the town. + + So when you hear the sandman's song + Sound through the twilight sweet, + Be sure you do not keep him long + A-waiting on the street. + Lie softly down, dear little head, + Rest quiet, busy hands, + Till, by your bed his good-night said, + He strews the shining sands. +Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown, +As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he + goes through the town. + _Margaret Vandegrift._ + + +RED RIDING-HOOD + +On the wide lawn the snow lay deep, +Ridged o'er with many a drifted heap; +The wind that through the pine-trees sung +The naked elm-boughs tossed and swung; +While, through the window, frosty-starred, +Against the sunset purple barred, +We saw the sombre crow flap by, +The hawk's gray fleck along the sky, + +The crested blue-jay flitting swift, +The squirrel poising on the drift, +Erect, alert, his broad gray tail +Set to the north wind like a sail. +It came to pass, our little lass, +With flattened face against the glass, +And eyes in which the tender dew +Of pity shone, stood gazing through +The narrow space her rosy lips +Had melted from the frost's eclipse: +"Oh, see," she cried, "the poor blue-jays! +What is it that the black crow says? +The squirrel lifts his little legs +Because he has no hands, and begs; +He's asking for my nuts, I know; +May I not feed them on the snow?" + +Half lost within her boots, her head +Warm-sheltered in her hood of red, +Her plaid skirt close about her drawn, +She floundered down the wintry lawn; +Now struggling through the misty veil +Blown round her by the shrieking gale; +Now sinking in a drift so low +Her scarlet hood could scarcely show +Its dash of color on the snow. + +She dropped for bird and beast forlorn +Her little store of nuts and corn, +And thus her timid guests bespoke: +"Come, squirrel, from your hollow oak,-- +Come, black old crow,--come, poor blue-jay, +Before your supper's blown away! +Don't be afraid, we all are good; +And I'm mamma's Red Riding-Hood!" + +O Thou whose care is over all, +Who heedest even the sparrow's fall, +Keep in the little maiden's breast +The pity which is now its guest! +Let not her cultured years make less +The childhood charm of tenderness, +But let her feel as well as know, +Nor harder with her polish grow! +Unmoved by sentimental grief +That wails along some printed leaf, +But prompt with kindly word and deed +To own the claims of all who need, +Let the grown woman's self make good +The promise of Red Riding-Hood! + _John G. Whittier._ + + +THE SONG SPARROW + +There is a bird I know so well, + It seems as if he must have sung + Beside my crib when I was young; +Before I knew the way to spell + The name of even the smallest bird, + His gentle, joyful song I heard. +Now see if you can tell, my dear, +What bird it is, that every year, +Sings "Sweet--sweet--sweet--very merry cheer." + +He comes in March, when winds are strong, + And snow returns to hide the earth; + But still he warms his head with mirth, +And waits for May. He lingers long + While flowers fade, and every day + Repeats his sweet, contented lay; +As if to say we need not fear +The season's change, if love is here, +With "Sweet--sweet--sweet--very merry cheer." + +He does not wear a Joseph's coat + Of many colors, smart and gay; + His suit is Quaker brown and gray, +With darker patches at his throat. + And yet of all the well-dressed throng, + Not one can sing so brave a song. +It makes the pride of looks appear +A vain and foolish thing to hear +His "Sweet--sweet--sweet--very merry cheer." + _Henry van Dyke._ + + +I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER + +I remember, I remember, + The house where I was born, +The little window where the sun + Came peeping in at morn; +He never came a wink too soon, + Nor brought too long a day; +But now, I often wish the night + Had borne my breath away. + +I remember, I remember, + The roses, red and white; +The violets and the lily-cups, + Those flowers made of light! +The lilacs where the robin built, + And where my brother set +The laburnum on his birthday,-- + The tree is living yet! + +I remember, I remember, + Where I was used to swing; +And thought the air must rush as fresh + To swallows on the wing; +My spirit flew in feathers then, + That is so heavy now, +And summer pools could hardly cool + The fever on my brow! + +I remember, I remember, + The fir trees dark and high; +I used to think their slender tops + Were close against the sky; +It was a childish ignorance, + But now 'tis little joy +To know I'm farther off from Heaven + Than when I was a boy. + _Thomas Hood._ + + +TALKING IN THEIR SLEEP + + "You think I am dead," + The apple tree said, +"Because I have never a leaf to show-- + Because I stoop, + And my branches droop, +And the dull gray mosses over me grow! +But I'm still alive in trunk and shoot; + The buds of next May + I fold away-- +But I pity the withered grass at my root." + + "You think I am dead," + The quick grass said, +"Because I have parted with stem and blade! + But under the ground + I am safe and sound +With the snow's thick blanket over me laid. +I'm all alive, and ready to shoot, + Should the spring of the year + Come dancing here-- +But I pity the flower without branch or root." + "You think I am dead," + A soft voice said, +"Because not a branch or root I own. + I never have died, + But close I hide +In a plumy seed that the wind has sown. +Patient I wait through the long winter hours; + You will see me again-- + I shall laugh at you then, +Out of the eyes of a hundred flowers." + _Edith M. Thomas._ + + +LITTLE DANDELION + +Little bud Dandelion + Hears from her nest, +"Merry heart, starry eye, + Wake from your rest!" +Wide ope the emerald lids; + Robin's above; +Wise little Dandelion + Smiles at his love. + +Cold lie the daisy-banks, + Clad but in green, +Where in the Mays agone + Bright hues were seen. +Wild pinks are slumbering, + Violets delay-- +True little Dandelion + Greeteth the May. + +Meek little Dandelion + Groweth more fair, +Till dries the amber dew + Out from her hair. +High rides the thirsty sun, + Fiercely and high,-- +Faint little Dandelion + Closeth her eye. + +Dead little Dandelion, + In her white shroud, +Heareth the angel-breeze + Call from the cloud. +Tiny plumes fluttering + Make no delay, +Little winged Dandelion + Soareth away. + _Helen L. Bostwick._ + + +* * * * * +* * * * * + + +INDEX OF TITLES + +Afternoon in February _Henry W. Longfellow_ +Ant and the Cricket, The _Anonymous_ +April Day, An _Henry W. Longfellow_ +April Welcome, An _Phoebe Cary_ +Autumn _Alice Cary_ +Autumn Fires _Robert Louis Stevenson_ + +Ballad of the Tempest, The _James T. Fields_ +Birds in Summer _Mary Howitt_ +Bluebird, The _Emily Huntington Miller_ +Blue Jay, The _Susan Hartley Swett_ +"Bob White" _George Cooper_ +Brook-Song, The _James Whitcomb Riley_ +Brown Thrush, The _Lucy Larcom_ +Busy Day, A _Anonymous_ + +Calling the Violet _Lucy Larcom_ +Camel's Hump, The _Rudyard Kipling_ +Captain's Daughter, The (See "Ballad of the Tempest") +Chestnut Burr, The _Anonymous_ +Child's Prayer, A _Matilda B. Edwards_ +Child's Thought of God, A _Elizabeth Barrett Browning_ +Choosing a Name _Mary Lamb_ +Christmas _Nahum Tate_ +Christmas Carol, A _J.G. Holland_ + +Daisies, The _Bliss Carman_ +Dandelion _Kate L. Brown_ +Dandelions, The _Helen Gray Cone_ +Day, A _Emily Dickinson_ +Daybreak _Henry W. Longfellow_ +Don't Kill the Birds _J. Colesworthy_ +Dove, The _John Keats_ +"Down to Sleep" _Helen Hunt Jackson_ + +Emperor's Bird's Nest, The _Henry W. Longfellow_ + +Fable, A _Ralph Waldo Emerson_ +Fairies of the Caldon Low, The _Mary Howitt_ +Fairy Queen, The _Anonymous_ +Fairy Song _John Keats_ +Fairy Tale, A _Helen Gray Cone_ +Farewell, A _Charles Kingsley_ +Fern Song, The _John Bannister Tabb_ +Fir-Tree, The _Josephine Preston Peabody_ +Fraidie-Cat _Clinton Scollard_ + +Grass, The _Emily Dickinson_ + +Hail, Columbia! _Joseph Hopkinson_ +Hiawatha's Fishing _Henry W. Longfellow_ +Hiawatha's Friends _Henry W. Longfellow_ +Hiawatha's Hunting _Henry W. Longfellow_ +Hiawatha's Sailing _Henry W. Longfellow_ +How the Leaves Came Down _Susan Coolidge_ +Hunting Song _Samuel T. Coleridge_ + +I Remember, I Remember _Thomas Hood_ + +Jack Frost _Gabriel Setoun_ +Jack Frost _Hannah F. Gould_ +Jack in the Pulpit _Clara Smith_ +Jumblies, The _Edward Lear_ + +King Solomon and the Bees _John G. Saxe_ +Kriss Kringle _Thomas Bailey Aldrich_ + +Land of Dreams, The _William Blake_ +Land of Story-Books, The _Robert Louis Stevenson_ +Laughing Chorus, A _Anonymous_ +Laughing Song, A _William Blake_ +Lesson of Mercy, A _Alice Cary_ +Life Lesson, A _James Whitcomb Riley_ +Little by Little _Anonymous_ +Little Dandelion _Helen L. Bostwick_ +Little Gottlieb _Phoebe Cary_ +Little Ladybird, The _Caroline B. Southey_ +Little Orphant Annie _James Whitcomb Riley_ +Lobster Quadrille, A _Lewis Carroll_ +Lost Doll, The _Charles Kingsley_ +Lullaby for Titania _William Shakespeare_ +Lullaby of an Infant Chief _Sir Walter Scott_ + +Marjorie's Almanac _Thomas Bailey Aldrich_ +Morning Song, A _William Shakespeare_ + +Night _William Blake_ +Night Wind, The _Eugene Field_ +Nobody Knows _Walter de la Mare_ +November _Alice Gary_ + +October's Bright Blue Weather _Helen Hunt Jackson_ +Old Christmas _Mary Howitt_ +"Old, Old Song," The _Charles Kingsley_ +O Little Town of Bethlehem _Phillips Brooks_ +Our Heroes _Phoebe Cary_ +Owl, The _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ + +Pig and the Hen, The _Alice Gary_ +Pirate Story _Robert Louis Stevenson_ +Pobble Who Has No Toes, The _Edward Lear_ + +Quangle Wangle's Hat, The _Edward Lear_ + +Rainbow, The _William Wordsworth_ +Rain in Summer _Henry W. Longfellow_ +Rainy Day, The _Henry W. Longfellow_ +Red Riding-Hood _John G. Whittier_ +Robert of Lincoln _William Cullen Bryant_ +Robin Redbreast _William Allingham_ +Romance _Gabriel Setoun_ + +Sandman, The _Margaret Vandegrift_ +Sandpiper, The _Celia Thaxter_ +September _Helen Hunt Jackson_ +Snow-bird's Song, The _F.C. Woodworth_ +Snowdrop, The _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ +Song of the Fairy _William Shakespeare_ +Song Sparrow, The _Henry van Dyke_ +Spider and the Fly, The _Mary Howitt_ +Spring _Celia Thaxter_ + +Talking in Their Sleep _Edith M. Thomas_ +Thanksgiving Fable, A _Oliver Herford_ +Three Fishers, The _Charles Kingsley_ +To a Butterfly _William Wordsworth_ +Tragic Story, A _William M. Thackeray_ +Tree, The _Bjornstjerne Bjornson_ +Truants, The _Walter de la Mare_ + +Under the Greenwood Tree _William Shakespeare_ +Unseen Playmate, The _Robert Louis Stevenson_ + +Violet, The _Jane Taylor_ +Visit from St. Nicholas, A _Clement C. Moore_ +Voice of Spring, The _Mary Howitt_ + +Waiting to Grow _Frank French_ +Walrus and the Carpenter, The _Lewis Carroll_ +Wanderers _Walter de la Mare_ +We Are Seven _William Wordsworth_ +While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks By Night (See "Christmas") +White Seal _Rudyard Kipling_ +Will Ever? _Walter de la Mare_ +Wind and the Moon, The _.George Macdonald_ +Wind in a Frolic, The _William Howitt_ +Wind, The _Robert Louis Stevenson_ +Winter _William Shakespeare_ +Winter-Time _Robert Louis Stevenson_ +Wishing _William Allingham_ +Wonderful World, The _William B. Rands_ +World's Music, The _Gabriel Setoun_ + + +* * * * * +* * * * * + + +INDEX OF FIRST LINES + +A boy named Peter +Across the German Ocean +Across the narrow beach we flit +"And where have you been, my Mary +A silly young cricket, accustomed to sing +A simple Child +At evening when the lamp is lit +"Awake, awake, my little boy! +A wee little nut lay deep in its nest +A wind came up out of the sea + +Come, follow, follow me +Come up, April, through the valley + +Dance to the beat of the rain, little Fern +Dear little Violet +Don't kill the birds, the pretty birds +Down in a green and shady bed + +Ere my heart beats too coldly and faintly + +Forth into the forest straightway +Forth upon the Gitche Gumee + +"Give me of your bark, O Birch-Tree! +God make my life a little light +Good-bye, good-bye to Summer +"Great, wide, beautiful, wonderful world + +Hail, Columbia! happy land! +Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings +Have you ever heard the wind go "Yooooo"? +He is a roguish little elf +Here's a hand to the boy who has courage +How beautiful is the rain! +How pleasant the life of a bird must be + +I am coming, I am coming! +I had a dove, and the sweet dove died +I have got a new-born sister +I know the song that the bluebird is singing +"I'll tell you how the leaves came down" +I'll tell you how the sun rose +In the other gardens +I once had a sweet little doll, dears +I remember, I remember +I saw a ship a-sailing +I saw you toss the kites on high +I see you, on the zigzag rails +I shan't tell you what's his name +It was a hungry pussy cat, upon Thanksgiving morn +I've watched you now a full half hour + +Jack in the pulpit +Just as the moon was fading + +Ladybird, ladybird! fly away home! +Late lies the wintry sun a-bed +Little brook! Little brook! +Little bud Dandelion +"Little by little," an acorn said +Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay +Little white snowdrop just waking up + +Many, many welcomes +Merrily swinging on briar and weed +My fairest child, I have no song to give you +My heart leaps up when I behold + +November woods are bare and still +Now he who knows old Christmas + +O Blue Jay up in the maple tree +Often I've heard the Wind sigh +Oh I hush thee, my baby, the night is behind us +Oh, such a commotion under the ground +O hush thee, my baby, thy sire was a knight +O little town of Bethlehem +Once the Emperor Charles of Spain +On the top of the Crumpetty Tree +On the wide lawn the snow lay deep +O suns and skies and clouds of June +Over hill, over dale +Over the shoulders and slopes of the dune + +Ring-Ting! I wish I were a Primrose +Robins in the tree-top + +Said the Wind to the Moon, "I will blow you out +Shed no tear! oh, shed no tear! +Shorter and shorter now the twilight clips + +The alder by the river +The bluff March wind set out from home +The Camel's hump is an ugly lump +The day is cold, and dark, and dreary +The day is ending +The door was shut, as doors should be +The Frost looked forth one still, clear night +The goldenrod is yellow +The grass so little has to do +The ground was all covered with snow one day +The leaves are fading and falling +The mountain and the squirrel +The pig and the hen +The Pobble who has no toes +There is a bird I know so well +There! little girl! don't cry! +There lived a sage in days of yore +There's a merry brown thrush sitting up in the tree +There's a song in the air +There stands by the wood-path shaded +The rosy clouds float overhead +The sun descending in the west +The sun was shining on the sea +The Tree's early leaf buds were bursting their brown +The wind one morning sprang up from sleep +The winds have blown more bitter +The world's a very happy place +They say that God lives very high +They went to sea in a sieve, they did +Three fishers went sailing away to the west +Three of us afloat in the meadow by the swing +'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house +Two good friends had Hiawatha + +Under the greenwood tree +Upon a showery night and still +Up, up! ye dames and lasses gay! + +We were crowded in the cabin +When all the world is young, lad +When cats run home and light is come +When children are playing alone on the green +When icicles hang by the wall +When Solomon was reigning in his glory +When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy +When the warm sun, that brings +While shepherds watched their flocks by night +Wide are the meadows of night +Will he ever be weary of wandering +"Will you walk a little faster?" said a whiting to a snail +"Will you walk into my parlor?" + +You spotted snakes with double tongue +"You think I am dead" + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Required Poems for Reading and +Memorizing, by Anonymous + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK REQUIRED POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 10131.txt or 10131.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/1/3/10131/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Cathy Golde and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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