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diff --git a/old/pbalg10.txt b/old/pbalg10.txt deleted file mode 100644 index df0e567..0000000 --- a/old/pbalg10.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2645 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg Etext Poems By a Little Girl, by Hilda Conkling - - -Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check -the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! - -Please take a look at the important information in this header. -We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an -electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. - - -**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** - -**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** - -*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* - -Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and -further information is included below. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* - - - - - -Scanned by Charles Keller with OmniPage Professional OCR software -donated by Caere Corporation. - - - - - -POEMS -BY A LITTLE GIRL - -BY -HILDA CONKLING - - - - -WITH A PREFACE BY -AMY LOWELL - - - - -FOR YOU, MOTHER - -I have a dream for you, Mother, -Like a soft thick fringe to hide your eyes. -I have a surprise for you, Mother, -Shaped like a strange butterfly. -I have found a way of thinking -To make you happy; -I have made a song and a poem -All twisted into one. -If I sing, you listen; -If I think, you know. -I have a secret from everybody in the world full of people -But I cannot always remember how it goes; -It is a song -For you, Mother, -With a curl of cloud and a feather of blue -And a mist -Blowing along the sky. -If I sing it some day, under my voice, -Will it make you happy? - -Thanks are due to the editors of Poetry: -A Magazine of Verse, The Delineator, -Good Housekeeping, The Lyric, St. -Nicholas, and Contemporary Verse for -their courteous permission to reprint -many of the following poems. - - - - -PREFACE - -A book which needs to be written is one dealing -with the childhood of authors. It would be -not only interesting, but instructive; not merely -profitable in a general way, but practical in a -particular. We might hope, in reading it, to gain -some sort of knowledge as to what environments -and conditions are most conducive to the growth -of the creative faculty. We might even learn how -not to strangle this rare faculty in its early years. - -At this moment I am faced with a difficult task, -for here is an author and her childhood in a most -unusual position; these two conditions--that of -being an author, and that of being a child--appear -simultaneously, instead of in the due order to -which we are accustomed. For I wish at the outset -to state, and emphatically, that it is poetry, the -stuff and essence of poetry, which this book -contains. I know of no other instance in which such -really beautiful poetry has been written by a child; -but, confronted with so unwonted a state of things, -two questions obtrude themselves: how far has -the condition of childhood been impaired by, not -only the possession, but the expression, of the gift -of writing; how far has the condition of authorship -(at least in its more mature state still to -come) been hampered by this early leap into the -light? - -The first question concerns the little girl and -can best be answered by herself some twenty -years hence; the second concerns the world, and -again the answer must wait. We can, however, -do something--we can see what she is and what -she has done. And if the one is interesting to the -psychologist, the other is no less important to the -poet. - -Hilda Conkling is the younger daughter of Mrs. -Grace Hazard Conkling, Assistant Professor of -English at Smith College, Northampton, -Massachusetts. At the time of writing, Hilda has just -passed her ninth birthday. Her sister, Elsa, is -two years her senior. The children and their -mother live all the year round in Northampton, -and glimpses of the woods and hills surrounding -the little town crop up again and again in these -poems. This is Emily Dickinson's country, and -there is a reminiscent sameness in the fauna and -flora of her poems in these. - -The two little girls go to a school a few blocks -from where they live. In the afternoons, they -take long walks with their mother, or play in the -garden while she writes. On rainy days, there -are books and Mrs. Conkling's piano, which is not -just a piano, for Mrs. Conkling is a musician, and -we may imagine that the children hear a special -music as they certainly read a special literature. -By "special" I do not mean a prescribed course -(for dietitians of the mind are quite as apt to be -faddists as dietitians of the stomach), but just -that sort of reading which a person who passionately -loves books would most want to introduce -her children to. And here I think we have the -answer to the why of Hilda. She and her sister -have been their mother's close companions ever -since they were born. They have never known -that somewhat equivocal relationship--a child -with its nurse. They have never been for hours -at a time in contact with an elementary intelligence. -If Hilda had shown these poems to even -the most sympathetic nurse, what would have been -the result? In the first place, they would, in all -probability, have been lost, since Hilda does not -write her poems, but tells them; in the second, they -would have been either extravagantly praised or -laughingly commented upon. In either case, the -fine flower of creation would most certainly have -been injured. - -Then again, blessed though many of the nurses -of childhood undoubtedly are (and we all remember -them), they have no means of answering the -thousand and one questions of an eager, opening -mind. To be an adequate companion to childhood, -one must know so many things. Hilda is -fortunate in her mother, for if these poems reveal -one thing more than another it is that Mrs. -Conkling is dowered with an admirable tact. In -the dedication poem to her mother, the little girl -says: - - "If I sing, you listen; - If I think, you know." - -No finer tribute could be offered by one person to -another than the contented certainty of understanding -in those two lines. - -Hilda tells her poems, and the method of it is -this: They come out in the course of conversation, -and Mrs. Conkling is so often engaged in -writing that there is nothing to be remarked if she -scribbles absently while talking to the little girls. -But this scribbling is really a complete draught of -the poem. Occasionally Mrs. Conkling writes -down the poem later from memory and reads it -afterwards to the child, who always remembers -if it is not exactly in its original form. No line, -no cadence, is altered from Hilda's version; the -titles have been added for convenience, but they -are merely obvious handles derived from the -text. - -Naturally it is only a small proportion of -Hilda's life which is given to poetry. Much is -devoted to running about, a part to study, etc. It -is, however, significant that Hilda is not very keen -about games with other children. Not that she -is by any means either shy or solitary, but they do -not greatly interest her. Doubtless childhood -pays its debt of possession more steadily than we -know. - -Now to turn to the book itself; at the very start, -here is an amazing thing. This slim volume contains -one hundred and seven separate poems, and -that is counting as one all the very short pieces -written between the ages of five and six. Certainly -that is a remarkable output for a little girl, -and the only possible explanation is that the poems -are perfectly instinctive. There is no working -over as with an adult poet. Hilda is subconscious, -not self-conscious. Her mother says that she -rarely hesitates for a word. When the feeling is -strong, it speaks for itself. Read the dedication -poem, "For You, Mother." It is full of feeling, -and of that simple, dignified, adequate diction -which is the speech of feeling: - - "I have found a way of thinking - To make you happy." - -That is beautiful, and, once read, inevitable; -but it waited for a child to say. Poem after poem -is charged with this feeling, this expression of -great love: - - "I will sing you a song, - Sweets-of-my-heart, - With love in it, - (How I love you!)" - - "Will you love me to-morrow after next - As if I had a bird's way of singing?" - -But it is not only the pulse of feeling in such -passages which makes them surprising; it is the -perfectly original expression of it. When one -reads a thing and voluntarily exclaims: "How -beautiful! How natural! How true!" then -one knows that one has stumbled upon that flash -of personality which we call genius. These poems -are full of such flashes: - - "Sparkle up, little tired flower - Leaning in the grass!" - - . . . - - "There is a star that runs very fast, - That goes pulling the moon - Through the tops of the poplars." - - . . . - - "There is sweetness in the tree, - And fireflies are counting the leaves. - I like this country, - I like the way it has." - -A pansy has a "thinking face"; a rooster has a -comb "gay as a parade," he shouts "crooked -words, loud . . . sharp . . . not beautiful!"; -frozen water is asked if it cannot "lift" itself -"with sun," and "Easter morning says a glad -thing over and over." - -No matter who wrote them, those passages -would be beautiful, the oldest poet in the world -could not improve upon them; and yet the reader -has only to turn to the text to see the incredibly -early age at which such expressions came into the -author's mind. - -Where childhood betrays genius is in the mounting -up of detail. Inadequate lines not infrequently -jar a total effect, as when, in the poem of -the star pulling the moon, she suddenly ends, -"Mr. Moon, does he make you hurry?" Or, -speaking of a drop of water: - - "So it went on with its life - For several years - Until at last it was never heard of - Any more." - -This is the perennial child, thinking as children -think; and we are glad of it. It makes the whole -more healthy, more sure of development. When -the subconscious mind of Hilda Conkling takes a -vacation, she does not "nod," as erstwhile -Homer; she merely reverts to type and is a child -again. - -I think too highly of these poems to speak of -the volume as though it were the finished achievement -of a grown-up person. Some of the poems -can be taken in that way, but by no means all. -The child who writes them frequently transcends -herself, but her thoughts for the most part are -those proper to every imaginative child. Fairies -play a large role in her fancies, and so does the -sandman. There are kings, and princesses, and -golden wings, and there are reminiscences of -story-books, and hints of pictures that have pleased -her. After all, that is the way we all make our -poems, but the grown-up poet tries to get away -from his author, he tries to see more than the -painter has seen. The little girl is quite -untroubled by any questions of technique. She -takes what to her is the obvious always, and in -these copied pieces it is, naturally, less her own -peculiar obvious than in the nature poems. - -Hilda Conkling is evidently possessed of a rare -and accurate power of observation. And when -we add this to her gift of imagination, we see -that it is the perfectly natural play of these two -faculties which makes what to her is an obvious -expression. She does not search for it, it is her -natural mode of thought. But, luckily for her, -she has been guided by a wisdom which has not -attempted to show her a better way. Her observation -has been carefully, but unobtrusively, cultivated; -her imagination has been stimulated by the -reading of excellent books; but both these lines -of instruction have been kept apparently apart -from her own work. She has been let alone there; -she has been taught by an analogy which she has -never suspected. By this means, her poetical gift -has functioned happily, without ever for a moment -experiencing the tension of doubt. - -A few passages will serve to show how well -Hilda knows how to use her eyes: - - "The water came in with a wavy look - Like a spider's web." - -A bluebird has a back "like a feathered sky." -Apostrophizing a snow-capped mountain she -writes: - - "You shine like a lily - But with a different whiteness." - -She asks a humming-bird: - - "Why do you stand on the air - And no sun shining?" - -She hears a chickadee: - - "Far off I hear him talking - The way smooth bright pebbles - Drop into water." - -Now let us follow her a step farther, to where -the imagination takes a firmer hold: - - "The world turns softly - Not to spill its lakes and rivers. - The water is held in its arms - And the sky is held in the water." - -School lessons, and a reflection in a pond-- -that is the stuff of which all poetry is made. It -is the fusion which shows the quality of the poet. -Turn to the text and read "Geography." Really, -this is an extraordinary child! - -It is pleasant to watch her with the artist's -eagerness intrigued by the sounds of words, for -instance: - - "--silvery lonesome lapping of the long wave." - -Again, enchanted by a little bell of rhyme, we have -this amusing catalogue: - - "John-flowers, - Mary-flowers, - Polly-flowers - Cauli-flowers." - -That is the conscious Hilda, the gay little girl, -but it shows a quick ear nevertheless. We can -almost hear the giggle with which that "Cauli- -flowers" came out. Usually rhyme does not -appear to be a matter of moment to her. Some -poets think in rhyme, some do not; Hilda -evidently belongs to the second category. -"Treasure," and "The Apple-Jelly-Fish-Tree," and -"Short Story" are the only poems in the book -which seem to follow a clearly rhymed pattern. -If any misguided schoolmistress had ever -suggested that a poem should have rhyme and -metre, this book would never have been "told." -In "Moon Doves," however, there is a distinctly -metrical effect without rhyme. But the great -majority of the poems are built upon cadence, -and the subtlety of this little girl's cadences -are a delight to those who can hear them. -Doubtless her musical inheritance has all to do -with this, for in poem after poem the instinct for -rhythm is unerring. So constantly is this the case, -that it is scarcely necessary to point out particular -examples. I may, however, name, as two of her -best for other qualities as well, "Gift," and -"Poems." The latter contains two of her quick -strokes of observation and comparison: the morning -"like the inside of a snow-apple," and she herself -curled "cushion-shaped" in the window-seat. - -Dear me! How simple these poems seem when -you read them done. But try to write something -new about a dandelion. Try it; and then read -the poem of that name here. It is charming; -how did she think of it? How indeed! - -Delightful conceits she has--another is "Sun -Flowers"--but how comes a child of eight to -prick and point with the rapier of irony? For it -is nothing less than irony in "The Tower and the -Falcon." Did she quite grasp its meaning -herself? We may doubt it. In this poem, the -subconscious is very much on the job. - -To my thinking, the most successful poems in -the book--and now I mean successful from a -grown-up standpoint--are "For You, Mother," -"Red Rooster," "Gift," "Poems," "Dandelion," -"Butterfly," "Weather," "Hills," and -"Geography." And it will be noticed that these -are precisely the poems which must have sprung -from actual experience. They are not the book -poems, not even the fairy poems, they are the -records of reactions from actual happenings. I -have not a doubt that Hilda prefers her fairy- -stories. They are the conscious play of her -imagination, it must be "fun" to make them. -Ah, but it is the unconscious with which we are -most concerned, those very poems which are probably -to her the least interesting are the ones which -most certainly reveal the fulness of poetry from -which she draws. She probably hardly thought -at all, so natural was it, to say that three pinks -"smell like more of them in a blue vase," but the -expression fills the air with so strong a scent that -no superlative could increase it. - -"Gift" is a lovely poem, it has feeling, -expression, originality, cadence. If a child can write -such a poem at eight years old, what does it mean? -That depends, I think, on how long the instructors -of youth can be persuaded to keep "hands off." -A period of imitation is, I fear, inevitable, but if -consciousness is not induced by direct criticism, if -instruction in the art of writing is abjured, the -imitative period will probably be got through -without undue loss. I think there is too much -native sense of beauty and proportion here to be -entirely killed even by the drying and freezing -process which goes by the name of education. - -What this book chiefly shows is high promise; -but it also has its pages of real achievement, and -that of so high an order it may well set us pondering. - AMY LOWELL. - -CONTENTS - -FOUR TO FIVE YEARS OLD - - - - FIRST SONGS - -FIVE TO SIX YEARS OLD - - GARDEN OF THE WORLD - THEATRE-SONG - VELVETS - TWO SONGS - MOON SONG - SUNSET - MOUSE - SHORT STORY - BY LAKE CHAMPLAIN - SPRING SONG - WATER - SHADY BRONN - CHICKADEE - THE CHAMPLAIN SANDMAN - ROSE-MOSS - ABOUT MY DREAMS - -SIX TO SEVEN YEARS OLD - - AUTUMN SONG - THE DREAM - BUTTERFLY - EVENING - THUNDER SHOWER - RED CROSS SONG - PURPLE ASTERS - SONG FOR A PLAY - PEACOCK FEATHERS - RED ROOSTER - TREE-TOAD - -SEVEN TO NINE YEARS OLD - - THE LONESOME WAVE - RED-CAP MOSS - RAMBLER ROSE - GIFT - THE WHITE CLOUD - MOON THOUGHT - THE OLD BRIDGE - FERNS - LAND OF NOD - SUN FLOWERS - HOLLAND SONG - FOUNTAIN-TALK - POPLARS - THE TOWER AND THE FALCON - THOUGHTS - POEM-SKETCH IN THREE PARTS - THE DEW-LIGHT - YELLOW SUMMER THROAT - PEGASUS - VENICE BRIDGE - NIGHT GOES RUSHING BY - DANDELION - IF I COULD TELL YOU THE WAY - ROSE-PETAL - POEMS - SEAGARDE - EASTER - BLUEBIRD - GEOGRAPHY - MARCH THOUGHT - MORNING - SONG - SNOWFLAKE SONG - SNOWSTORM - POPPY - BUTTERFLY - CLOUDS - NARCISSUS - LITTLE SNAIL - CHERRIES ARE RIPE - A THING FORGOTTEN - LITTLE PAPOOSE - FAIRIES AGAIN - OH, MY HAZEL-EYED MOTHER - THE GREEN PALM TREE - TREASURE - TWO PICTURES - TELL ME - SILVERHORN - SPARKLING DROP OF WATER - HAY-COCK - ONLY MORNING-GLORY THAT FLOWERED - WEATHER - SUMMER-DAY SONG - PINK ROSE-PETALS - THE LONESOME GREEN APPLE - I AM - MUSHROOM SONG - THE APPLE-JELLY-FISH-TREE - THREE LOVES - THE FIELD OF WONDER - MOON DOVES - I WENT TO SEA - THREE THOUGHTS OF MY HEART - SNOW-CAPPED MOUNTAIN - THE BROOK AND ITS CHILDREN - BIRD OF PARADISE - SHINY BROOK - HILLS - ADVENTURE - FAIRIES - HUMMING-BIRD - BLUE GRASS - ENVOY - -FOUR TO FIVE YEARS OLD - -FIRST SONGS - -I -Rosy plum-tree, think of me -When Spring comes down the world! - -II -There's dozens full of dandelions -Down in the field: -Little gold plates, -Little gold dishes in the grass. -I cannot count them, -But the fairies know every one. - -III -Oh wrinkling star, wrinkling up so wise, -When you go to sleep do you shut your eyes? - -IV -The red moon comes out in the night. -When I'm asleep, the moon comes pattering up -Into the trees. -Then I peep out my window -To watch the moon go by. - -V -Sparkle up, little tired flower -Leaning in the grass! -Did you find the rain of night -Too heavy to hold? - -VI -The garden is full of flowers -All dancing round and round. - John-flowers, - Mary-flowers, - Polly-flowers, - Cauli-flowers, -They dance round and round -And they bow down and down -To a black-eyed daisy. - -VII -There is going to be the sound of bells -And murmuring. -This is the brook dance: -There is going to be sound of voices, -And the smallest will be the brook: -It is the song of water -You will hear, -A little winding song -To dance to . . . - -VIII -Blossoms in the growing tree, -Why don't you speak to me? -I want to grow like you, -Smiling . . . smiling . . . - -IX - -If I find a moon, -I will sing a moon-song. -If I find a flower, -What song shall I sing, -Rose-song or clover-song? - -X -The blossoms will be gone in the winter: -Oh apples, come for the June! -Can you come, will you bloom? -Will you stay till the cold? - -XI -I will sing you a song, -Sweets-of-my-heart, -With love in it, -(How I love you!) -And a rose to swing in the wind, -The wind that swings roses! - -XII -Will you love me to-morrow after next, -As if I had a bird's way of singing? - - -FIVE TO SIX YEARS OLD - -GARDEN OF THE WORLD - -The butterfly swings over the violet -That stands by the water, -In the garden that sings -All day. -The sun goes up in the dawn, -The water waves softly. -In the trees are little breezes, -In the garden trees. -Blue hills and blue waters I -The big blue ocean lies around in the sun -Watching his waves toss . . . - -THEATRE-SONG - -Eagles were flying over the sky -And mermaids danced in the gold waters. -Eagles were calling over the sky -And the water was the color of blue flowers. -Sunshine was 'flected in the waves -Like meadows of white buds. -This is what I saw -On a morning long ago . . . - -VELVETS - -By a Bed of Pansies - -This pansy has a thinking face -Like the yellow moon. -This one has a face with white blots: -I call him the clown. -Here goes one down the grass -With a pretty look of plumpness; -She is a little girl going to school -With her hands in the pockets of her pinafore. -Her name is Sue. -I like this one, in a bonnet, -Waiting, - -Her eyes are so deep! -But these on the other side, -These that wear purple and blue, -They are the Velvets, -The king with his cloak, -The queen with her gown, -The prince with his feather. -These are dark and quiet -And stay alone. - -I know you, Velvets, -Color of Dark, -Like the pine-tree on the hill -When stars shine! - -TWO SONGS - -After Hearing the Wagner Story-book - -The birds came to tell Siegfried a story, -A story of the woods out of a tree: -How the ring was fairy -And there were things it could do for him -Day and night: -How the river flowed green and wavy -Under the Rainbow Bridge, -And Brunnhilda slept in a wreath of fire. -Grane watched her, standing close beside, -Grane the big white horse, -Dear Grane of her heart. -She dreamed she was far from her father, -But Siegfried was coming, -Siegfried, through the big trees, -Up the hill, -Through the fire! - -II - -"Siegfried, hear us! -Give us back the ring!" -The lady with the shell, -The water-lady with the green hair, -Calling, cried "Siegfried!" -But he laughed to hear her, -Laughed in the sun -And went into the woods laughing: -He was happy in his heart, -And he had golden hair -Till the sun loved him. -"Siegfried!" -I will call him! -"Siegfried!" -But he will not hear me. -He could talk to birds and rivers, -And he is gone. - -MOON SONG - -There is a star that runs very fast, -That goes pulling the moon -Through the tops of the poplars. -It is all in silver, -The tall star: -The moon rolls goldenly along -Out of breath. -Mr. Moon, does he make you hurry? - -SUNSET - -Once upon a time at evening-light -A little girl was sad. -There was a color in the sky, -A color she knew in her dreamful heart -And wanted to keep. -She held out her arms -Long, long, -And saw it flow away on the wind. -When it was gone -She did not love the moonlight -Or care for the stars. -She had seen the rose in the sky. - -Sometimes I am sad -Because I have a thought -Of this little girl. - -MOUSE - -Little mouse in gray velvet, -Have you had a cheese-breakfast? -There are no crumbs on your coat, -Did you use a napkin? -I wonder what you had to eat, -And who dresses you in gray velvet? - -SHORT STORY - -I found the gold on the hill; -I found the hid gold! - -The wicked queen -Stole the gold, -Hid it under a stone -And never told. - -The selfish queen -Rolling away -In her white limousine, -Never knew nor dreamed -That I searched all day -Till I found the gold, -The gold! - -BY LAKE CHAMPLAIN - -I was bare as a leaf -And I felt the wind on my shoulder. -The trees laughed -When I picked up the sun in my fingers. -The wind was chasing the waves, -Tangling their white curls. -"Willow trees," I said, -"O willows, -Look at your lake! -Stop laughing at a little girl -Who runs past your feet in the sand!" - -SPRING SONG - -I love daffodils. -I love Narcissus when he bends his head. -I can hardly keep March and spring and Sunday and daffodils -Out of my rhyme of song. -Do you know anything about the spring -When it comes again? -God knows about it while winter is lasting. -Flowers bring him power in the spring, -And birds bring it, and children. -He is sometimes sad and alone -Up there in the sky trying to keep his worlds happy. -I bring him songs -When he is in his sadness, and weary. -I tell him how I used to wander out -To study stars and the moon he made, -And flowers in the dark of the wood. -I keep reminding him about his flowers he has forgotten, -And that snowdrops are up. -What can I say to make him listen? -"God," I say, -"Don't you care! -Nobody must be sad or sorry -In the spring-time of flowers." - -WATER - -The world turns softly -Not to spill its lakes and rivers. -The water is held in its arms -And the sky is held in the water. -What is water, -That pours silver, -And can hold the sky? - -SHADY BRONN - -When the clouds come deep against the sky -I sit alone in my room to think, -To remember the fairy dreams I made, -Listening to the rustling out of the trees. -The stories in my fairy-tale book -Come new to me every day. -But at my farm on the hill-top -I have the wind for a fairy, -And the shapes of things: -Shady Bronn is the name of my little farm: -It is the name of a dream I have -Where leaves move, -And the wind rings them like little bells. - -CHICKADEE - -The chickadee in the appletree -Talks all the time very gently. -He makes me sleepy. -I rock away to the sea-lights. -Far off I hear him talking -The way smooth bright pebbles -Drop into water . . . -Chick-a-dee-dee-dee . . . - -THE CHAMPLAIN SANDMAN - -The Sandman comes pattering across the Bay: -His hair is silver, -His footstep soft. -The moon shines on his silver hair, -On his quick feet. -The Sandman comes searching across the Bay: -He goes to all the houses he knows -To put sand in little girls' eyes. -That is why I go to my sleepy bed, -And why the lake-gull leaves the moon alone. -There are no wings to moonlight any more, -Only the Sandman's hair. - -ROSE-MOSS - -Little Rose-moss beside the stone, -Are you lonely in the garden? -There are no friends of you, -And the birds are gone. -Shall I pick you?" - -"Little girl up by the hollyhock, -I am not lonely. -I feel the sun burning, -I hold light in my cup, -I have all the rain I want, -I think things to myself that you don't know, -And I listen to the talk of crickets. -I am not lonely, -But you may pick me -And take me to your mother." - -ABOUT MY DREAMS - -Now the flowers are all folded -And the dark is going by. -The evening is arising . . . -It is time to rest. -When I am sleeping -I find my pillow full of dreams. -They are all new dreams: -No one told them to me -Before I came through the cloud. -They remember the sky, my little dreams, -They have wings, they are quick, they are sweet. -Help me tell my dreams -To the other children, -So that their bread may taste whiter, -So that the milk they drink -May make them think of meadows -In the sky of stars. -Help me give bread to the other children -So that their dreams may come back: -So they will remember what they knew -Before they came through the cloud. -Let me hold their little hands in the dark, -The lonely children, - -ABOUT MY DREAMS - -The babies that have no mothers any more. -Dear God, let me hold up my silver cup -For them to drink, -And tell them the sweetness -Of my dreams. - - -SIX TO SEVEN YEARS OLD - -AUTUMN SONG - -I made a ring of leaves -On the autumn grass: -I was a fairy queen all day. -Inside the ring, the wind wore sandals -Not to make a noise of going. -The caterpillars, like little snow men, -Had wound themselves in their winter coats. -The hands of the trees were bare -And their fingers fluttered. -I was a queen of yellow leaves and brown, -And the redness of my fairy ring -Kept me warm. -For the wind blew near, -Though he made no noise of going, -And I hadn't a close-made wrap -Like the caterpillars. -Even a queen of fairies can be cold -When summer has forgotten and gone! -Keep me warm, red leaves; -Don't let the frost tiptoe into my ring -On the magic grass! - -THE DREAM - -When I slept, I thought I was upon the mountain-tops, -And this is my dream. -I saw the little people come out into the night, -I saw their wings glittering under the stars. -Crickets played all the tunes they knew. -It was so comfortable with light . . . -Stars, a rainbow, the moon! -The fairies had shiny crowns -On their bright hair. -The bottoms of their little gowns were roses! -It was musical in the moony light, -And the fairy queen, -Oh, it was all golden where she came -With tiny pages on her trail. -She walked slowly to her high throne, -Slowly, slowly to music, -And watched the dancing that went on -All night long in star-glitter -On the mountain-tops. - -BUTTERFLY - -Butterfly, -I like the way you wear your wings. -Show me their colors, -For the light is going. -Spread out their edges of gold, -Before the Sandman puts me to sleep -And evening murmurs by. - -EVENING - -Now it is dusky, -And the hermit thrush and the black and white warbler -Are singing and answering together. -There is sweetness in the tree, -And fireflies are counting the leaves. -I like this country, -I like the way it has, -But I cannot forget my dream I had of the sea, -The gulls swinging and calling, -And the foamy towers of the waves. - -THUNDER SHOWER - -The dark cloud raged. -Gone was the morning light. -The big drops darted down: -The storm stood tall on the rose-trees: -And the bees that were getting honey -Out of wet roses, -The hiding bees would not come out of the flowers -Into the rain. - -RED CROSS SONG - -When I heard the bees humming in the hive, -They were so busy about their honey, -I said to my mother, -What can I give, -What can I give to help the Red Cross? -And Mother said to me: -You can give honey too! -Honey of smiles! -Honey of love! - -PURPLE ASTERS - -It isn't alone the asters -In my garden, -It is the butterflies gleaming -Like crowns of kings and queens! -It isn't alone purple -And blue on the edge of purple, -It is what the sun does, -And the air moving clearly, -The petals moving and the wings, -In my queer little garden! - -SONG FOR A PLAY - -Soldier drop that golden spear! -Wait till the fires arise! -Wait till the sky drops down and touches the spear, -Crystal and mother-of-pearl! -The sunlight droops forward -Like wings. -The birds sing songs of sun-drops. -The sky leans down where the spear stands upward. . . -I hear music . . . -It is the end . . . - -PEACOCK FEATHERS - -On trees of fairyland -Grow peacock feathers of daylight colors -Like an Austrian fan. -But there is a strange thing! -I have heard that night gathers these feathers -For her cloak; -I have heard that the stars, the moon, -Are the eyes of peacock feathers -From fairy trees. -It is a thing that may be, -But I should not be sure of it, my dear, -If I were you! - -RED ROOSTER - -Red rooster in your gray coop, -O stately creature with tail-feathers red and blue, -Yellow and black, -You have a comb gay as a parade -On your head: -You have pearl trinkets -On your feet: -The short feathers smooth along your back -Are the dark color of wet rocks, -Or the rippled green of ships -When I look at their sides through water. -I don't know how you happened to be made -So proud, so foolish, -Wearing your coat of many colors, -Shouting all day long your crooked words, -Loud . . . sharp . . . not beautiful! - -TREE-TOAD - -Tree-toad is a small gray person -With a silver voice. -Tree-toad is a leaf-gray shadow -That sings. -Tree-toad is never seen -Unless a star squeezes through the leaves, -Or a moth looks sharply at a gray branch. -How would it be, I wonder, -To sing patiently all night, -Never thinking that people are asleep? -Raindrops and mist, starriness over the trees, -The moon, the dew, the other little singers, -Cricket . . . toad . . . leaf rustling . . . -They would listen: -It would be music like weather -That gets into all the corners -Of out-of-doors. - -Every night I see little shadows -I never saw before. -Every night I hear little voices -I never heard before. -When night comes trailing her starry cloak, -I start out for slumberland, -With tree-toads calling along the roadside. -Good-night, I say to one, Good-by, I say to another: -I hope to find you on the way -We have traveled before! -I hope to hear you singing on the Road of Dreams! - - -SEVEN TO NINE YEARS OLD - -THE LONESOME WAVE - -There is an island -In the middle of my heart, -And all day comes lapping on the shore -A long silver wave. -It is the lonesome wave; -I cannot see the other side of it. -It will never go away -Until it meets the glad gold wave -Of happiness! - -Wandering over the monstrous rocks, -Looking into the caves, -I see my island dark, all cold, -Until the gold wave sweeps in -From a sea deep blue, -And flings itself on the beach. -Oh, it is joy, then! -No more whispers like sorrow, -No more silvery lonesome lapping of the long wave . . . - -RED-CAP MOSS - -Have you seen red-cap moss -In the woods? -Have you looked under the trembling caps -For faces? -Have you seen wonder on those faces -Because you are so big? - -RAMBLER ROSE - -Rambler Rose in great clusters, -Looking at me, at my mother with me -Under this apple-tree, -Your faces watch us from outside the shade. - The wind blows on you, - The rain drops on you, - The sun shines on you, -You are brighter than before. -You turn your faces to the wind -And watch my mother and me, -Thinking of things I cannot mention -Outside of my mind. -Rambler Rose in the shining wind, -You smile at me, -Smile at my mother! - -GIFT - -This is mint and here are three pinks -I have brought you, Mother. -They are wet with rain -And shining with it. -The pinks smell like more of them -In a blue vase: -The mint smells like summer -In many gardens. - -THE WHITE CLOUD - -There are many clouds -But not like the one I see, -For mine floats like a swan in featheriness -Over the River of the Broken Pine. - -There are many clouds -But not like the one that goes sailing -Like a ship full of gold that shines, -Like a ship leaning above blue water. - -There are many clouds -But not like the one I wait for, -For mine will have a strangeness -Whiter than anything your eyes remember. - -MOON THOUGHT - -The moon is thinking of the river -Winding through the mountains far away, -Because she has a river in her heart -Full of the same silver. - -THE OLD BRIDGE - -The old bridge has a wrinkled face. -He bends his back -For us to go over. -He moans and weeps -But we do not hear. -Sorrow stands in his face -For the heavy weight and worry -Of people passing. -The trees drop their leaves into the water; -The sky nods to him. -The leaves float down like small ships -On the blue surface -Which is the sky. -He is not always sad: -He smiles to see the ships go down -And the little children -Playing on the river banks. - -FERNS - -Small ferns up-coming through the mossy green, -Up-curling and springing, -See trees circling round them, -And the straight brook like a lily-stem: -Hear the water laughing -At the stern old pine-tree -Who keeps sighing to himself all day long -What's the use! What's the use! - -LAND OF NOD - -I wander mountain to mountain, -From sea to sea, -I wander into a country -Where everyone is asleep. -There in the Land of Nod -I never think of home, -For home is there, -With sleeping doves and silvery girls, -Sleeping boys and drowsy roses. -There I find people whose eyes are heavy, -And trees with folded wings. - -SUN FLOWERS - -Sun-flowers, stop growing! -If you touch the sky where those clouds are passing -Like tufts of dandelion gone to seed, -The sky will put you out! -You know it is blue like the sea . . . -Maybe it is wet, too! -Your gold faces will be gone forever -If you brush against that blue -Ever so softly! - -HOLLAND SONG - -For a Dutch picture - -When light comes creeping through the -That shine with mist, -When winds blow soft, -Windmills wake and whirl. -In Holland, in Holland, -Everything is cheerful -Across the sea: -White nets are beside the water -Where ships sail by. -The mountains begin to get blue, -The Dutch girls begin to sing, -The windmills begin to whirl. -Then night comes -The mountains turn dark gray -And faint away into night. -Not a bird chirps his song. -All is drowsy, -All is strange, -With the moon and stars shining round the world: -The wind stops, -The windmills stop -In Holland . . . - -FOUNTAIN-TALK - -Said the fountain to its clear bed, -"You might flow faster! -I am sprinkling my best, every day, -But ice is holding you fast. -Can't you get out? -Can't you lift yourself with sun? -I am tired waiting for slow cold water -To fling about the air: -Can't you wake yourself up?" -But the fountain-basin murmured softly -"Sleep . . . sleep . . . -Sleep . . . sleep . . . -You with your talking and talking! -Hush . . . hush . . . -I hear the bird-sandman!" - -POPLARS - -The poplars bow forward and back; -They are like a fan waving very softly. -They tremble, -For they love the wind in their feathery branches. -They love to look down at the shallows, - At the mermaids - On the sandy shore; -They love to look into morning's face - Cool in the water. - -THE TOWER AND THE FALCON - -There was a tower, once, -In a London street. -It was the highest, widest, thickest tower, -The proudest, roundest, finest tower -Of all towers. -English men passed it by: -They could not see it all -Because it went above tree-tops and clouds. - -It was lonely up there where the trees stopped -Until one day -A blue falcon came flying. -He cried: -"Tower! Do you know you are the highest, finest, roundest, -The tallest, proudest, greatest, -Of all the towers -In all the world?" - -He went away. -That night the tower made a new song -About himself. - -THOUGHTS - -My thoughts keep going far away -Into another country under a different sky: -My thoughts are sea-foam and sand; -They are apple-petals fluttering. - - -POEM-SKETCH IN THREE PARTS - -(Made for the picture on the jacket of the -Norwegian book, The Great Hunger, by Johan Bojer) - -I - -THE ROLLING IN OF THE WAVE - -It was night when the sky was dark blue -And the water came in with a wavy look -Like a spider's web. -The point of the slope came down to the water's edge; -It was green with a fairy ring of forget-me-not and fern. -The white foam licked the side of the slope -As it came up and bent backward; -It curled up like a beautiful cinder-tree -Bending in the wind. - -II - -THE COMING OF THE GREAT BIRD - -A boy was watching the water -As it came lapping the edge of fern. -Little ships passed him -As the moon came leaning across dark blue rays of light. -The spruce trees saw the white ships sailing away, -And the moon bending up the blue sky -Where stars were twinkling like fairy lamps; -The boy was looking toward foreign lands -As the ships passed, -Their white sails glittering in the moonlight. -He was thinking how he wished to see -Foreign lands, strange people, -When suddenly a bird came flying! -It swooped down upon the slope -And spoke to him: -"Do you want to go across the deep blue sea? -Get on my back; I will take you." -"Oh," cried the little boy, "who sent you? -Who knew my thoughts of foreign lands?" - -III - -THE ISLAND - -They flew as the night-wind flowed, very softly, -They heard sweet singing that the water sang, -They came to a place where the sea was shallow -And saw treasure hidden there. -There was one poplar tree -On the lonely island, -Swaying for sadness. -The clouds went over their heads -Like a fleet of drifting ships. -And there they sank down out of the air -Into the dream. - -THE DEW-LIGHT - -The Dew-man comes over the mountains wide, -Over the deserts of sand, -With his bag of clear drops -And his brush of feathers. -He scatters brightness. -The white bunnies beg him for dew. -He sprinkles their fur, -They shake themselves. -All the time he is singing - The unknown world is beautiful! - -He polishes flowers, -Humming "Oh, beautiful!" -He sings in the soft light -That grows out of the dew, -Out of the misty dew-light that leans over him -He makes his song . . . - It is beautiful, the unknown world! - -YELLOW SUMMER-THROAT - -Yellow summer-throat sat singing -In a bending spray of willow tree. -Thin fine green-y lines on his throat, -The ruffled outside of his throat, -Trembled when he sang. -He kept saying the same thing; -The willow did not mind. - - I knew what he said, I knew, - But how can I tell you? - -I have to watch the willow bend in the wind. - -PEGASUS - -Come dear Pegasus, I said, -Let me ride on your back; -I have often seen your shadow in the glittering creek; -Pegasus, beautiful Pegasus, -Let me sit on your back! - -He was away, -But I was on his back, -So I went with him. -We had a castle in a mountain cloud. -So quickly was he away, -I had no time to look or speak! -That was the last I saw of father or mother. -We went far from the shining creek, -Farther than I know how to tell you: -It was good-by. - -VENICE BRIDGE - -For a painting - -Away back in an old city -I saw a bridge. -That bridge belonged to Venice. -It was to the rainbow clear -It traveled, -Over an old canal. -You had to pass a cloudy gate -To reach the color . . . -Bridges do sometimes begin on the earth -And end in the sky. - -NIGHT GOES RUSHING BY - -Night goes hurrying over -Like sweeping clouds; -The birds are nested; their song is silent. -The wind says oo--oo--oo--through the trees -For their lullaby. -The moon shines down on the sleeping birds. - -My cottage roof is like a sheet of silk -Spun like a cobweb. -My apple-trees are bare as the oaks in the forest; -When the moon shines -I see no leaves. - -I am alone and very quiet -Hoping the moon may say something -Before long. - -DANDELION - -O little soldier with the golden helmet, -What are you guarding on my lawn? -You with your green gun -And your yellow beard, -Why do you stand so stiff? -There is only the grass to fight! - -IF I COULD TELL YOU THE WAY - -Down through the forest to the river -I wander. -There are swans flying, -Swans on the water, -Duck, wild birds. -Fairies live here; -They know no sorrow. -Birds, winds, -They are the only people. -If I could tell you the way to this place, -You would sell your house and your land -For silver or a little gold, -You would sail up the river, -Tie your boat to the Black Stone, -Build a leaf-hut, make a twig-fire, -Gather mushrooms, drink spring-water, -Live alone and sing to yourself -For a year and a year and a year! - -ROSE-PETAL - -Petal with rosy cheeks, -Petal with thoughts of your own, -Petal of my crimson-white flower out of June, -Little petal of my heart! - -POEMS - -See the fur coats go by! -The morning is like the inside of a snow-apple. -I will curl myself cushion-shape -On the window-seat; -I will read poems by snow-light. -If I cannot understand them so, -I will turn them upside down -And read them by the red candles -Of garden brambles. - -SEAGARDE - -I will return to you -O stillest and dearest, -To see the pearl of light -That flashes in your golden hair; -To hear you sing your songs of starlight -And tell your stories of the wonderful land -Of stars and fleecy sky; -To say to you that Seagarde will soon be here, -Seagarde the fairy -With her seagulls of hope! - -EASTER - -On Easter morn -Up the faint cloudy sky -I hear the Easter bell, -Ding dong . . . ding dong . . . -Easter morning scatters lilies -On every doorstep; -Easter morning says a glad thing -Over and over. -Poor people, beggars, old women -Are hearing the Easter bell . . . -Ding dong . . . ding dong . . . - -BLUEBIRD - -Oh bluebird with light red breast, -And your blue back like a feathered sky, -You have to go down south -Before biting winter comes -And my flower-beds are covered with fluff out of the clouds. -Before you go, -Sing me one more song -Of tree-tops down south, -Of darkies singing their babies to sleep, -Of sand and glittering stones -Where rivers pass; -Then . . . good-by! - -GEOGRAPHY - -I can tell balsam trees -By their grayish bluish silverish look of smoke. -Pine trees fringe out. -Hemlocks look like Christmas. -The spruce tree is feathered and rough -Like the legs of the red chickens in our poultry yard. -I can study my geography from chickens -Named for Plymouth Rock and Rhode Island, -And from trees out of Canada. -No; I shall leave the chickens out. -I shall make a new geography of my own. -I shall have a hillside of spruce and hemlock -Like a separate country, -And I shall mark a walk of spires on my map, -A secret road of balsam trees -With blue buds. -Trees Fat smell like a wind out of fairy-land -Where little people live -Who need no geography -But trees. - -MARCH THOUGHT - -I am waiting for the flowers -To come back: -I am alone, -But I can wait for the birds. - -MORNING - -There is a brook I must hear -Before I go to sleep. -There is a birch tree I must visit -Every night of clearness. -I have to do some dreaming, -I have to listen a great deal, -Before light comes back -By a silver arrow of cloud, -And I rub my eyes and say -It must be morning on this hill! - -SONG - -A scarlet bird went sailing away through the wood . . . - -It was only a mist of dream -That floated by. - -Bare boughs of my apple-tree, -Beautiful gray arms stretched out to me, -Swaying to and fro like angels' wings . . . - -It was only a mist of dream -That floated by. - -SNOWFLAKE SONG - -Snowflakes come in fleets -Like ships over the sea. -The moon shines down on the crusty snow: -The stars make the sky sparkle like gold-fish -In a glassy bowl. -Bluebirds are gone now, -But they left their song behind them. -The moon seems to say: -It is time for summer when the birds come back -To pick up their lonesome songs. - -SNOWSTORM - -Snowflakes are dancing. -They run down out of heaven. -Coming home from somewhere down the long tired road -They flake us sometimes -The way they do the grass, -And the stretch of the world. -The grass-blades are crowned with snowflakes. -They make me think of daisies -With white frills around their necks -With golden faces and green gowns; -Poor little daisies, -Tip-toe and shivering -In the cold! - -POPPY - -Oh big red poppy, -You look stern and sturdy, -Yet you bow to the wind -And sing a lullaby . . . - "Sleep, little ones under my breast - In the moonshine . . ." -You make this lullaby, -Sweet, short, -Slow, beautiful, -And you thank the dew for giving you a drink. - -BUTTERFLY - -As I walked through my garden -I saw a butterfly light on a flower. -His wings were pink and purple: -He spoke a small word . . . -It was Follow! -"I cannot follow" -I told him, -"I have to go the opposite way." - -CLOUDS - -The clouds were gray all day. -At last they departed -And the blue diamonds shone again. -I watched clouds float past and flow back -Like waves across the sea, -Waves that are foamy and soft, -When they hear clouds calling -Mother Sea, send us up your song -Of hushaby! - -NARCISSUS - -Narcissus, I like to watch you grow -When snow is shining -Beyond the crystal glass. -A coat of snow covers the hills far. -The sun is setting; -And you stretch out flowers of palest white -In the pink of the sun. - -LITTLE SNAIL - -I saw a little snail -Come down the garden walk. -He wagged his head this way . . . that way . . . -Like a clown in a circus. -He looked from side to side -As though he were from a different country. -I have always said he carries his house on his back . . . -To-day in the rain -I saw that it was his umbrella! - -CHERRIES ARE RIPE - -The cherry tree is red now; -Cherry tree nods his red head -And calls to the sun: -Let down the birds out of the sky; -Send home the birds to build nests in my arms, -For I am ready to feed them. -There is a little girl coming for cherries too . . . -(I am that little girl, I who am singing . . .) -She is coming with hair flying! -The butterflies will be going (says the cherry) -For it is getting dusk. -When it is dawn, -They will be up and out with the dew, -And sparkle as the dew does -On the tips of tall slender green grasses -Around my feet, -Or on the cheeks of fruit I have ripened, -Red cherries for birds -And children. - -A THING FORGOTTEN - -White owl is not gloomy; -Black bat is not sad. -It is only that each has forgotten -Something he used to remember: -Black bat goes searching . . . searching . . . -White owl says over and over -Who? What? Where? - -LITTLE PAPOOSE: - -Little papoose -swung high in the branches -Hears a song of birds, stars, clouds, -Small nests of birds, -Small buds of flowers. -But he is thinking of his mother with dark hair -Like her horse's mane. - -Fair clouds nod to him -Where he swings in the tree, -But he is thinking of his father -Dark and glistening and wonderful, -Of his father with a voice like ice and velvet, -And tones of falling water, -Of his father who shouts -Like a storm. - -FAIRIES AGAIN - -Fairies dancing in the woods at night -Make me think of foreign places, -Of places unknown. -Fairies with sparkling crowns and dewy hands, -Sprinkle flowers and mosses to keep them fresh, -Talk to the birds to keep them cheery. -Once a bird came home -And found a fairy asleep in his nest, -Upon his baby eggs, -To keep them warm! - -OH, MY HAZEL-EYED MOTHER - -Oh, my hazel-eyed mother, -I looked behind the mulberry bush -And saw you standing there. -You were all in white -With a star on your forehead. - -Oh, my hazel-eyed mother, -I do not remember what you said to me, -But the light floating above you -Was your love for your little girl. - -THE GREEN PALM TREE - -I sat under a delicate palm tree -On a shore of sounding waves. -I felt sure I was alone, -Listening. - A sea-gull flew by from France, - A sea-gull flew by from Spain, - A sea-gull flew by from Mexico! -I laughed softly -When they saw me: -It was those travelers -From foreign countries -Changed my thoughts -To laughter! - -TREASURE - -Robbers carry a treasure -Into a field of wheat. -With a great bag of silk -They go on careful feet. -They dig a hole, deep, deep, -They bury it under a stone, -Cover it up with turf, -Leave it alone. -What is there in the bag? -Stones that shine, gold? -_I_ cannot rob the robbers! -THEY have not told. -To-night I'd like to know -If they will go -Softly to find the treasure? -I'd like to know -How much yellow gold -A bag like that can hold? - - -TWO PICTURES - -I - -Gorgeous Blue Mountain - -I see a great mountain -Stand among clouds; -You would never know -Where it ended. . . . -Oh, gorgeous blue mountain of my heart -And of my love for you! - -II - -Sea-Gull - -From a yellow strip of sand -I watch a gull go by. -He is bright-eyed -To see the world of waves. -All his dream is of the sea. -All his love is for his mate. - -TELL ME - -Tell me quiet things -When it is shadowy: -It is at morningbreak you must tell me tales -Like those about Odysseus, -Morning is the time for ships -And strangers! - -SILVERHORN - -It is out in the mountains -I find him, -My snowy deer -With silver horns like dew, -Horns that sparkle. -I think I see him in the hollow, -He is on the high hill! -I think I see him on the hill, -He is leaping through the air! -I think I can ride upon his back, -He is like moonlight I cannot hold, -He is like thoughts I lose. -He flows by -All white . . . -He makes me think of the brook -Out of the hills -With its little foamy points -Like his twitching ears, -Like his horns of silver -Sparkling. - -The brook is his only friend -When he travels . . . -Silverhorn, Silverhorn! - -SPARKLING DROP OF WATER - -The sun shone, - -All was still. -The sun made one sparkle in one drop -Before it fell -Down into the mossy green -That was the grass. -It lay there silent -A long time. -The sun went, the moon came, -Again one sparkle in the grass! -Day then night, sun then moon, -Year in, year out, -So it went on with its life -For several years -Until at last it was never heard of -Any more. - -HAY-COCK - -This is another kind of sweetness -Shaped like a bee-hive: -This is the hive the bees have lefts -It is from this clover-heap -They took away the honey -For the other hive! - -ONLY MORNING-GLORY THAT FLOWERED - -Under the vine I saw one morning-glory -A tight unfolding bud -Half out. -He looked hard down into my lettuce-bed. -He was thinking hard. -He said I want a friend! -I was standing there: -I said, Well, I am here! Don't you see me? -But he thought and thought. - -The next day I found him happy, -Quite out, -Looking about the world. -The wind blew sweet airs, -Carried away his perfume in the sun; -And near by swung a new flower -Uncurling its hands . . . -He was not thoughtful -Any more! - -WEATHER - -Weather is the answer -When I can't go out into flowery places; -Weather is my wonder -About the kind of morning -Hidden behind the hills of sky. - -SUMMER-DAY SONG - -Wild birds fly over me. -I am not the blue curtain overhead, -I am the one who lives under the sky. -I swing to the tree-tops, -I pick strawberries, -I sing and play, -And happiness makes me like a great god -On the earth. -It makes me think of great things -A little girl like me -Could not know of. - -PINK ROSE-PETALS - -Pink rose-petals -Fluttering down in hosts, -I know what you mean -Sometimes, in Spring. -It is love you mean. - -Love has a gray bird -That flutters down; -A dove that comes flying -Saying the same thing. - -How happy it makes me to think of it, -Rose-petals . . . the gray dove . . . - -THE LONESOME GREEN APPLE - -There was a little green apple -That had lasted over winter. -He had one leaf . . . -In spite of that he was lonesome. -He wondered what he could do -When the blossoms were all around him, -But one day he saw something! -Petals were falling, faces were looking out, -Shapes like his were coming in the buds; -Then he said: -"If I hold on -There will be a tree-full, -and I shall know more than any of them!" - -I AM - -I am willowy boughs -For coolness; -I am gold-finch wings -For darkness; -I am a little grape -Thinking of September, -I am a very small violet -Thinking of May. - -MUSHROOM SONG - -Oh little mushrooms with brown faces underneath -And bare white heads, -You think of summer and you think of song . . . -Why don't you think of me -In my little white bed -In the night? -You think only of your singsong and your dances, -Following your leader round and round, -You think only of the grass -And the green apples and leaves -Dropping out of the blue . . . -Why don't you think of me asleep -In my little white bed? -The wind thinks of me, -Brown-white dancers! -You forget, -But the wind remembers. - -THE APPLE-JELLY-FISH-TREE - -Down in the depths of the sea -Grew the Apple-Jelly-Fish-Tree. -It was named by a queer old robber -And his mates three. - -I watched it for a second, -I watched it for a day. -It did not change color -For its colors stay. - -It was as red, as yellow, as white, as blue -As gold and stones with the light through! - -I watched it long and long -Till a flying sunfish -Swam through its branches. -He had opal wings -And a sapphire tail. - -No wonder robbers like to stay -Where fish so shining come to play! - -THREE LOVES - -Angel-love, -Fairy-love, -Wave-love, -Which will you choose? -Angel-love . . . golden-yellow and far white . . . -Fairy-love . . . golden yellow and green . . . -Wave-love . . . scarlet and azure blue . . . -Which will you choose? - -I will keep them in a box -Locked with a twisted key. -I will give them to people who need love, -I will let them choose. -Fairy-love blows away like leaves. -Angels I know little about. -For myself I choose wave-love -Because of the wind and the sea and my heart. - -THE FIELD OF WONDER - -What could be more wonderful -Than the place where I walk sometimes? -Swaying like trees in rain . . . -Swaying like trees in sunshine -When breezes stir nothing but happiness . . . -What could be more lovely? -I walk in the Field of Wonder -Where colors come to be; -I stare at the sky . . . -I feel myself lifting on the wind -As the swallows lift and blow upward . . . -I see colors fade out, they die away . . . -I blow across a cloud . . . I am lifted . . . -How can I change again into a little girl -When wings are in my feeling of gladness? -This is strange to know -On a summer day at noon, -This is a wild new joy -When summer is over. -The scarlet of three maple trees -Will guide me home, -Oh mother my dear! -Fear nothing: I will come home -Before snow falls! - -MOON DOVES - -The moon has a dove-cote safe and small, -Hid in the velvet sky: -The doves are her companions sweet; -She has no others. -Moon doves on the wing are white -As a valley of stars, -When they fly, there is shining -Like a golden river. -I see so many whirling away and away, -How can they get home again? -The moon is calm and never wears an anxious look, -She goes on smiling. -I hear so many doves along the sky -How will her dove-cote hold them? -The moon says not one word to me; -She lets me wonder. - -I WENT TO SEA - -I WENT to sea in a glass-bottomed boat -And found that the loveliest shells of all -Are hidden below in valleys of sand. -I saw coral and sponge and weed -And bubbles like jewels dangling. -I saw a creature with eyes of mist -Go by slowly. -Star-fish fingers held the water . . . -Let it go again . . . -I saw little fish, the children of the sea; -They were gay and busy. -I wanted the sea-weed purple; I wanted the shells; -I wanted a little fish to hold in my hands; -I wanted the big fish to stop wandering about, -And tell me all they knew . . . -I have come back safe and dry -And know no more secrets -Than yesterday! - -THREE THOUGHTS OF MY HEART - -As I was straying by the forest brook -I heard my heart speak to me: -Listen; said my heart, -I have three thoughts for you . . . -a thought of clouds, -A thought of birds, -A thought of flowers. - -I sat upon a cushion of moss, -Listening, -Where the light played, and the green shadows: -What would you do . . . I asked my heart . . . -If you were a floating ship of the sky . . . -If you were a peering bird . . . -If you were a wild geranium? - -And my heart made answer: -That is what I wonder and wonder! -After all it is life I love, -After all l am a living thing, -After all I am the heart of you . . . -I am content! - -SNOW-CAPPED MOUNTAIN - -Snow-capped mountain, so white, so tall, -The whole sea -Must stand behind you! - -Snow-capped mountain, with the wind on your forehead, -Do you hold the eagles' nests? - -Proud thing, -You shine like a lily, -Yet with a different whiteness; -I should not dare to venture -Up your slippery towers, -For I am thinking you lean too far -Over the Edge of the World! - -THE BROOK AND ITS CHILDREN - -O brook, running down your mossy way, -I hear only your voice -And the murmuring fir-trees; -Where are your children? -Where are the magic stones, your children?" - -The brook answered me sweetly, -"I left them on the Alp, -In steep fields. -They were trying to hold me back, -To keep me from this shady path of happiness; -But I went onward day by day -Until they got used to seeing me pass. -Now, they stand there in an enchantment -On the mountain-side, -While I travel fields of elm and poplar." - -BIRD OF PARADISE - -I was walking in a meadow of Paradise -When I heard a singing -Far away and sweet -Like a Roman harp, -Sweet and murmurous -Like the wind, -Far and soft -Like the fir trees. - -It will not change a song -If the bird has a golden crest; -No feathers of blue and rose-red -Could make a song. -I have known in my dreaming -A gray bird that sang -While all the fields listened! -The Bird of Paradise is like flowers of many trees -Blooming on one: -I saw him in the meadow, -But it was the gray bird I heard singing -Beyond and far. - -SHINY BROOK - -Oh, shiny brook, -I watch you on your way to the sea, -And see little faces peering up -Out of the water . . . -Water-fairies -Strange smiles and questions. -They are your pebbles sweet, -Golden with foam of the sun, -Blue with foam of the sky. -I know their way of speaking, -Of talking to each other: -I hear them telling secrets -About green moss, about fish that get lost. -And how I am sitting on a big stone -Getting my feet wet in Shiny Brook -To watch their surprising ways! - -HILLS - -The hills are going somewhere; -They have been on the way a long time. -They are like camels in a line -But they move more slowly. -Sometimes at sunset they carry silks, -But most of the time silver birch trees, -Heavy rocks, heavy trees, gold leaves -On heavy branches till they are aching . . . -Birches like silver bars they can hardly lift -With grass so thick about their feet to hinder . . . -They have not gone far -In the time I've watched them . . . - -ADVENTURE - -I went slowly through the wood of shadows, -Thinking always I should meet some one: -There was no one. - -I found a hollow -Sweet to rest in all night long: -I did not stay. - -I came out beyond the trees -To the moaning sea. -Over the sea swam a cloud the outline of a ship: -What if that ship held my adventure -Under its sails? - -Come quickly to me, come quickly, -I am waiting. -I am here on the sand; -Sail close! -I want to go over the waves . . . -The sand holds me back. -Oh adventure, if you belong to me, -Don't blow away down the sky! - -FAIRIES - -I cannot see fairies. -I dream them. -There is no fairy can hide from me; -I keep on dreaming till I find him: -There you are, Primrose! I see you, Black Wing! - -HUMMING-BIRD - -Why do you stand on the air -And no sun shining? -How can you hold yourself so still -On raindrops sliding? -They change and fall, they are not steady, -But you do not know they are gone. -Is there a silver wire -I cannot see? -Is the wind your perch? -Raindrops slide down your little shoulders . . . -They do not wet you: -I think you are not real -In your green feathers! -You are not a humming-bird at all -Standing on air above the garden! -I dreamed you the way I dream fairies, -Or the flower I lost yesterday! - -BLUE GRASS - -Blue grass flowering in the field, -You are my heart's content. -It is not only through the day I see you, -But in dreams at night -When you trudge up the hill -Along the forest, -As I do! -You are small to shine so, -Nobody speaks of you much, -Because of daisies and such summer blooms. -When you wonder why I like you -It makes me wonder too! -Maybe I remember when you grew high -Like a tree above my head, -Because I was a fairy. - -ENVOY - -If I am happy, and you, -And there are things to do, -It seems to be the reason -Of this world! - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg Etext Poems By a Little Girl, by Hilda Conkling - |