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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Posy Ring, by Various
+
+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: The Posy Ring
+       A Book of Verse for Children
+
+Author: Various
+
+Editor: Kate Douglas Wiggin and Nora Archibald Smith
+
+Release Date: October 8, 2007 [EBook #22922]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POSY RING ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Emmy and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE POSY RING
+
+
+        _The Posy Ring
+        is a companion volume to
+        Golden Numbers
+        A Book of Verse for Youth
+        Edited by
+        Kate Douglas Wiggin and
+        Nora Archibald Smith_
+
+
+
+
+THE POSY RING
+
+
+A BOOK OF VERSE FOR CHILDREN
+
+CHOSEN AND CLASSIFIED BY
+
+
+Kate Douglas Wiggin
+
+
+AND
+
+
+Nora Archibald Smith
+
+[Illustration]
+
+        _"A box of jewels, shop of rarities,
+          A ring whose posy was 'My pleasure'"_
+                                   GEORGE HERBERT
+
+
+        MCCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO.
+        NEW YORK
+        MCMVI
+
+        _Copyright, 1903, by_
+        McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO.
+
+        Published, February, 1903, N
+        Fifth Impression.
+
+
+
+
+A NOTE
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+_THANKS are due to the following publishers for permission to reprint
+poems on which they hold copyright:_
+
+_Charles Scribner's Sons, for permission to use the following poems
+by Robert Louis Stevenson: "Windy Nights," "Where Go the Boats?" "The
+Little Land," "The Land of Story Books" and "Bed Time"; for the
+following poems by Mary Mapes Dodge: "Nearly Ready," "Now the Noisy
+Winds are Still," "Snowflakes," "Birdies with Broken Wings," and "Night
+and Day"; for the following poems by Eugene Field: "Wynken, Blynken, and
+Nod," and "Nightfall in Dordrecht"; for "Rockaby, Lullaby," by J. G.
+Holland; and for "One, Two, Three," by H. C. Bunner. G. P. Putnam's
+Sons, for permission to use "High and Low," by Dora Goodale. D. Appleton
+& Son, publishers of Bryant's Complete Poetical Works, for permission to
+reprint "Robert of Lincoln," by W. C. Bryant. E. P. Dutton & Co., for
+permission to reprint "The Birds in Spring," by Thomas Nashe. A. C.
+McClurg & Co., for permission to reprint "Baby Seed Song" and "Bird's
+Song in Spring," by E. Nesbit. The Century Company, for permission to
+reprint the "Seal Lullaby," by Rudyard Kipling. The "Independent," for
+permission to reprint "Baby Corn," Anon. Dana, Estes & Co., for
+permission to reprint "The Blue Jay," by Susan Hartley Swett. Small,
+Maynard & Co., for permission to reprint the following poems by John B.
+Tabb: "The Fern Song," "A Bunch of Roses," "The Child at Bethlehem."
+George Routledge & Sons, for permission to reprint the following poems
+by W. B. Rands: "The Child's World," "The Wonderful World," "Love and
+the Child," "Dolladine," "Dressing the Doll," "The Pedlar's Caravan,"
+and "Little Christel"; also for "Little White Lily" and "What Would You
+See?" by George Macdonald, and "The Wind," by L. E. Landon. Houghton,
+Mifflin & Co., for the right to reprint the following poems: "Marjorie's
+Almanac," by T. B. Aldrich; "Dandelion," by Helen Grey Cone; "The
+Fairies' Shopping" and "The Christmas Silence," by Margaret Deland; "The
+Titmouse" and "Fable," by Ralph Waldo Emerson; "Hiawatha's Chickens" and
+"Hiawatha's Brothers," by Henry W. Longfellow; "The Fountain," by James
+Russell Lowell; "The Rivulet," by Lucy Larcom; "The Coming of Spring,"
+by Nora Perry; "May," "The Waterfall," "Clouds," and "Bells of
+Christmas," by Frank Dempster Sherman; "What the Winds Bring" and "The
+Singer," by E. C. Stedman; "Spring," "Wild Geese," "Chanticleer," and
+"Little Gustava," by Celia Thaxter. Little, Brown & Co., for the right
+to reprint "September," by Helen Hunt Jackson; "When the Leaves Come
+Down," by Susan Coolidge; and "Summer Days," "A Year's Windfalls," "The
+Flower Folk," "There's Nothing Like the Rose," "Milking Time," "A
+Chill," and "A Birthday Gift," by Christina G. Rossetti. St. Nicholas,
+for permission to reprint "The Little Elf," by John Kendrick Bangs. The
+Macmillan Company, for permission to reprint "O Lady Moon," by Christina
+G. Rossetti. Frederick Warne & Co., for permission to reprint "By Cool
+Siloam's Shady Rill," by Reginald Heber. Cassell & Co., Ltd., for
+permission to reprint "The Last Voyage of the Fairies," by W. H.
+Davenport Adams._
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+        PUBLIC NOTICE.--_This is to state,
+        That these are the specimens left at the gate
+        Of Pinafore Palace, exact to date,
+        In the hands of the porter, Curlypate,
+        Who sits in his plush on a chair of state,
+        By somebody who is a candidate
+        For the office of Lilliput Laureate._
+                               _William Brighty Rands._
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+[Illustration]
+
+                                                               Page
+
+  LILLIPUT NOTICE. By _William Brighty Rands_                    ix
+
+A YEAR'S WINDFALLS
+
+  Marjorie's Almanac. By _Thomas Bailey Aldrich_                  3
+  In February. By _John Addington Symonds_                        5
+  March. By _William Wordsworth_                                  6
+  Nearly Ready. By _Mary Mapes Dodge_                             7
+  Spring Song. By _George Eliot_                                  7
+  In April. By _Elizabeth Akers_                                  8
+  Spring. By _Celia Thaxter_                                      9
+  The Voice of Spring. By _Mary Howitt_                          10
+  The Coming of Spring. By _Nora Perry_                          11
+  May. By _Frank Dempster Sherman_                               13
+  Spring and Summer. By "_A._"                                   14
+  Summer Days. By _Christina G. Rossetti_                        15
+  September. By _H. H._                                          16
+  How the Leaves Came Down. By _Susan Coolidge_                  17
+  Winter Night. By _Mary F. Butts_                               19
+  A Year's Windfalls. By _Christina G. Rossetti_                 20
+
+
+THE CHILD'S WORLD
+
+  The Wonderful World. By _William Brighty Rands_                27
+  A Day. By _Emily Dickinson_                                    28
+  Good-Morning. By _Robert Browning_                             29
+  What the Winds Bring. By _Edmund Clarence Stedman_             29
+  Lady Moon. By _Lord Houghton_                                  30
+  O Lady Moon. By _Christina G. Rossetti_                        31
+  Windy Nights. By _Robert Louis Stevenson_                      31
+  Wild Winds. By _Mary F. Butts_                                 32
+  Now the Noisy Winds are Still. By _Mary Mapes Dodge_           33
+  The Wind. _Letitia E. Landon_                                  33
+  The Fountain. By _James Russell Lowell_                        34
+  The Waterfall. By _Frank Dempster Sherman_                     35
+  The Voice of the Grass. By _Sarah Roberts Boyle_               36
+  The Wind in a Frolic. By _William Howitt_                      38
+  Clouds. By _Frank Dempster Sherman_                            40
+  Signs of Rain. By _Edward Jenner_                              41
+  A Sudden Shower. By _James Whitcomb Riley_                     43
+  Strange Lands. By _Laurence Alma Tadema_                       44
+  Guessing Song. By _Henry Johnstone_                            45
+  The Rivulet. By _Lucy Larcom_                                  46
+  Jack Frost. By _Hannah F. Gould_                               47
+  Snowflakes. By _Mary Mapes Dodge_                              49
+  The Water! The Water. By _William Motherwell_                  49
+
+
+HIAWATHA'S CHICKENS
+
+  The Swallows. By _Edwin Arnold_                                53
+  The Swallow's Nest. By _Edwin Arnold_                          53
+  The Birds in Spring. By _Thomas Nashe_                         54
+  Robin Redbreast. By _William Allingham_                        54
+  The Lark and the Rook. _Unknown_                               56
+  The Snowbird. By _Hezekiah Butterworth_                        57
+  Who Stole the Bird's Nest? By _Lydia Maria Child_              59
+  Answer to a Child's Question. By _Samuel Taylor Coleridge_     62
+  The Burial of the Linnet. By _Juliana H. Ewing_                63
+  The Titmouse. By _Ralph Waldo Emerson_                         64
+  Birds in Summer. By _Mary Howitt_                              65
+  An Epitaph on a Robin Redbreast. By _Samuel Rogers_            67
+  The Bluebird. By _Emily Huntington Miller_                     68
+  Song. By _John Keats_                                          69
+  What Does Little Birdie Say? By _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_        69
+  The Owl. By _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_                            70
+  Wild Geese. By _Celia Thaxter_                                 71
+  Chanticleer. By _Celia Thaxter_                                72
+  The Singer. By _Edmund Clarence Stedman_                       73
+  The Blue Jay. By _Susan Hartley Swett_                         74
+  Robert of Lincoln. By _William Cullen Bryant_                  75
+  White Butterflies. By _Algernon C. Swinburne_                  78
+  The Ant and the Cricket. _Unknown_                             78
+
+
+THE FLOWER FOLK
+
+  Little White Lily. By _George Macdonald_                       83
+  Violets. By _Dinah Maria Mulock_                               85
+  Young Dandelion. By _Dinah Maria Mulock_                       86
+  Baby Seed Song. By _E. Nesbit_                                 88
+  A Violet Bank. By _William Shakespeare_                        88
+  There's Nothing Like the Rose. By _Christina G. Rossetti_      89
+  Snowdrops. By _Laurence Alma Tadema_                           89
+  Fern Song. By _John B. Tabb_                                   90
+  The Violet. By _Jane Taylor_                                   90
+  Daffy-Down-Dilly. By _Anna B. Warner_                          91
+  Baby Corn. _Unknown_                                           93
+  A Child's Fancy. By "_A._"                                     95
+  Little Dandelion. By _Helen B. Bostwick_                       97
+  Dandelions. By _Helen Gray Cone_                               98
+  The Flax Flower. By _Mary Howitt_                              99
+  Dear Little Violets. By _John Moultrie_                       101
+  Bird's Song in Spring. By _E. Nesbit_                         102
+  The Tree. By _Björnstjerne Björnson_                          102
+  The Daisy's Song. By _John Keats_                             103
+  Song. By _Thomas Love Peacock_                                104
+  For Good Luck. By _Juliana Horatia Ewing_                     105
+
+
+HIAWATHA'S BROTHERS
+
+  My Pony. By "_A._"                                            109
+  On a Spaniel, Called Beau, Killing a Young Bird.
+    By _William Cowper_                                         111
+  Beau's Reply. By _William Cowper_                             112
+  Seal Lullaby. By _Rudyard Kipling_                            113
+  Milking Time. By _Christina G. Rossetti_                      113
+  Thank You, Pretty Cow. By _Jane Taylor_                       114
+  The Boy and the Sheep. By _Ann Taylor_                        114
+  Lambs in the Meadow. By _Laurence Alma Tadema_                115
+  The Pet Lamb. By _William Wordsworth_                         116
+  The Kitten, and Falling Leaves. By _William Wordsworth_       121
+
+
+OTHER LITTLE CHILDREN
+
+  Where Go the Boats? By _Robert Louis Stevenson_               125
+  Cleanliness. By _Charles and Mary Lamb_                       126
+  Wishing. By _William Allingham_                               127
+  The Boy. By _William Allingham_                               128
+  Infant Joy. By _William Blake_                                129
+  A Blessing for the Blessed. By _Laurence Alma Tadema_         129
+  Piping Down the Valleys Wild. By _William Blake_              131
+  A Sleeping Child. By _Arthur Hugh Clough_                     132
+  Birdies with Broken Wings. By _Mary Mapes Dodge_              133
+  Seven Times One. By _Jean Ingelow_                            133
+  I Remember, I Remember. By _Thomas Hood_                      135
+  Good-Night and Good-Morning. By _Lord Houghton_               136
+  Little Children. By _Mary Howitt_                             137
+  The Angel's Whisper. By _Samuel Lover_                        139
+  Little Garaine. By _Sir Gilbert Parker_                       140
+  A Letter. By _Matthew Prior_                                  141
+  Love and the Child. By _William Brighty Rands_                142
+  Polly. By _William Brighty Rands_                             143
+  A Chill. By _Christina G. Rossetti_                           144
+  A Child's Laughter. By _Algernon C. Swinburne_                145
+  The World's Music. By _Gabriel Setoun_                        146
+  The Little Land. By _Robert Louis Stevenson_                  148
+  In a Garden. By _Algernon C. Swinburne_                       151
+  Little Gustava. By _Celia Thaxter_                            152
+  A Bunch of Roses. By _John B. Tabb_                           155
+  The Child at Bethlehem. By _John B. Tabb_                     155
+  After the Storm. By _W. M. Thackeray_                         156
+  Lucy Gray. By _William Wordsworth_                            156
+  Deaf and Dumb. By "_A_."                                      159
+  The Blind Boy. By _Colley Cibber_                             160
+
+
+PLAY-TIME
+
+  A Boy's Song. By _James Hogg_                                 165
+  The Lost Doll. By _Charles Kingsley_                          166
+  Dolladine. By _William Brighty Rands_                         167
+  Dressing the Doll. By _William Brighty Rands_                 167
+  The Pedlar's Caravan. By _William Brighty Rands_              170
+  A Sea-Song from the Shore. _James Whitcomb Riley_             171
+  The Land of Story-Books. By _Robert Louis Stevenson_          172
+  The City Child. By _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_                    173
+  Going into Breeches. By _Charles and Mary Lamb_               174
+  Hunting Song. By _Samuel Taylor Coleridge_                    176
+  Hie Away. By _Sir Walter Scott_                               176
+
+
+STORY TIME
+
+    The Fairy Folk. By _Robert Bird_                            181
+    A Fairy in Armor. By _Joseph Rodman Drake_                  183
+    The Last Voyage of the Fairies. By _W. H. Davenport Adams_  184
+    A New Fern. By "_A_."                                       186
+    The Child and the Fairies. By "_A_."                        187
+    The Little Elf. By _John Kendrick Bangs_                    188
+    "One, Two, Three." By _Henry C. Bunner_                     188
+    What May Happen to a Thimble. By "_B_."                     190
+    Discontent. By _Sarah Orne Jewett_                          193
+    The Nightingale and the Glowworm. By _William Cowper_       195
+    Thanksgiving Day. By _Lydia Maria Child_                    196
+    A Thanksgiving Fable. By _Oliver Herford_                   197
+    The Magpie's Nest. By _Charles and Mary Lamb_               198
+    The Owl and the Pussy-Cat. By _Edward Lear_                 201
+    A Lobster Quadrille. By _Lewis Carroll_                     202
+    The Fairies' Shopping. By _Margaret Deland_                 204
+    Fable. By _Ralph Waldo Emerson_                             206
+    A Midsummer Song. By _Richard Watson Gilder_                207
+    The Fairies of the Caldon-Low. By _Mary Howitt_             209
+    The Elf and the Dormouse. By _Oliver Herford_               213
+    Meg Merrilies. By _John Keats_                              214
+    Romance. By _Gabriel Setoun_                                215
+    The Cow-Boy's Song. By _Anna M. Wells_                      217
+
+
+BED TIME
+
+  Auld Daddy Darkness. By _James Ferguson_                      221
+  Wynken, Blynken, and Nod. By _Eugene Field_                   222
+  Rockaby, Lullaby. By _Josiah Gilbert Holland_                 224
+  Sleep, My Treasure. By _E. Nesbit_                            225
+  Lullaby of an Infant Chief. By _Sir Walter Scott_             226
+  Sweet and Low. By _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_                     227
+  Old Gaelic Lullaby. _Unknown_                                 228
+  The Sandman. By _Margaret Vandegrift_                         228
+  The Cottager to Her Infant. By _Dorothy Wordsworth_           230
+  A Charm to Call Sleep. By _Henry Johnstone_                   231
+  Night. By _Mary F. Butts_                                     232
+  Bed-Time. By _Lord Rosslyn_                                   232
+  Nightfall in Dordrecht. By _Eugene Field_                     233
+
+
+FOR SUNDAY'S CHILD
+
+  All Things Bright and Beautiful. By _Cecil F. Alexander_      237
+  The Still Small Voice. By _Alexander Smart_                   238
+  The Camel's Nose. By _Lydia H. Sigourney_                     240
+  A Child's Grace. By _Robert Burns_                            241
+  A Child's Thought of God. By _Elizabeth B. Browning_          241
+  The Lamb. By _William Blake_                                  242
+  Night and Day. By _Mary Mapes Dodge_                          243
+  High and Low. By _Dora Read Goodale_                          244
+  By Cool Siloam's Shady Rill. By _Reginald Heber_              244
+  Sheep and Lambs. By _Katharine Tynan Hinkson_                 245
+  To His Saviour, a Child; A Present by a Child.
+    By _Robert Herrick_                                         246
+  What Would You See? By _George Macdonald_                     247
+  Corn-Fields. By _Mary Howitt_                                 248
+  Little Christel. By _William Brighty Rands_                   250
+  A Child's Prayer. By _M. Betham Edwards_                      252
+
+
+BELLS OF CHRISTMAS
+
+  The Adoration of the Wise Men. By _Cecil F. Alexander_        257
+  Cradle Hymn. By _Isaac Watts_                                 258
+  The Christmas Silence. By _Margaret Deland_                   260
+  An Offertory. By _Mary Mapes Dodge_                           261
+  Christmas Song. By _Lydia Avery Coonley Ward_                 261
+  A Visit from St. Nicholas. By _Clement C. Moore_              262
+  The Christmas Trees. By _Mary F. Butts_                       265
+  A Birthday Gift. By _Christina G. Rossetti_                   267
+  A Christmas Lullaby. By _John Addington Symonds_              267
+  I Saw Three Ships. _Old Carol_                                268
+  Santa Claus. _Unknown_                                        269
+  Neighbors of the Christ Night. By _Nora Archibald Smith_      271
+  Cradle Hymn. By _Martin Luther_                               272
+  The Christmas Holly. By _Eliza Cook_                          273
+
+  LILLIPUT NOTICE. By _William Brighty Rands_          274
+
+
+
+
+THE POSY RING
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+
+
+
+A YEAR'S WINDFALLS
+
+
+        _Who comes dancing over the snow,
+          His soft little feet all bare and rosy?
+        Open the door, though the wild winds blow,
+          Take the child in and make him cosy.
+          Take him in and hold him dear,
+          He is the wonderful glad New Year._
+
+        _Dinah M. Mulock._
+
+
+
+
+A YEAR'S WINDFALLS
+
+
+
+
+_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,
+          Fringèd 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.
+
+
+
+
+_In February_
+
+
+        The birds have been singing to-day,
+          And saying: "The spring is near!
+        The sun is as warm as in May,
+          And the deep blue heavens are clear."
+
+        The little bird on the boughs
+          Of the sombre snow-laden pine
+        Thinks: "Where shall I build me my house,
+          And how shall I make it fine?
+
+        "For the season of snow is past;
+          The mild south wind is on high;
+        And the scent of the spring is cast
+          From his wing as he hurries by."
+
+        The little birds twitter and cheep
+          To their loves on the leafless larch;
+        But seven feet deep the snow-wreaths sleep,
+          And the year hath not worn to March.
+
+John Addington Symonds.
+
+
+
+
+_March_
+
+
+          The cock is crowing,
+          The stream is flowing,
+          The small birds twitter,
+          The lake doth glitter,
+        The green field sleeps in the sun;
+          The oldest and youngest
+          Are at work with the strongest;
+          The cattle are grazing,
+          Their heads never raising;
+        There are forty feeding like one.
+
+          Like an army defeated
+          The snow hath retreated,
+          And now doth fare ill
+          On the top of the bare hill;
+        The ploughboy is whooping--anon--anon!
+          There's joy on the mountains;
+          There's life in the fountains;
+          Small clouds are sailing,
+          Blue sky prevailing;
+        The rain is over and gone.
+
+William Wordsworth.
+
+
+
+
+_Nearly Ready_[A]
+
+
+        In the snowing and the blowing,
+          In the cruel sleet,
+        Little flowers begin their growing
+          Far beneath our feet.
+        Softly taps the Spring, and cheerly,
+          "Darlings, are you here?"
+        Till they answer, "We are nearly,
+          Nearly ready, dear."
+
+        "Where is Winter, with his snowing?
+          Tell us, Spring," they say.
+        Then she answers, "He is going,
+          Going on his way.
+        Poor old Winter does not love you;
+          But his time is past;
+        Soon my birds shall sing above you,--
+          Set you free at last."
+
+Mary Mapes Dodge.
+
+
+
+
+_Spring Song_
+
+
+        Spring comes hither,
+          Buds the rose;
+        Roses wither,
+          Sweet spring goes.
+
+        Summer soars,--
+          Wide-winged day;
+        White light pours,
+          Flies away.
+
+        Soft winds blow,
+          Westward born;
+        Onward go,
+          Toward the morn.
+
+George Eliot
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] _From "Rhymes and Jingles," by Mary Mapes Dodge. By permission of
+Charles Scribner's Sons._
+
+
+
+
+_In April_
+
+
+        The poplar drops beside the way
+        Its tasselled plumes of silver-gray;
+        The chestnut pouts its great brown buds
+        Impatient for the laggard May.
+
+        The honeysuckles lace the wall,
+        The hyacinths grow fair and tall;
+        And mellow sun and pleasant wind
+        And odorous bees are over all.
+
+Elizabeth Akers.
+
+
+
+
+_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 Voice of Spring_
+
+
+        I am coming, I am coming!
+        Hark! the little 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.
+
+        See, the yellow catkins cover
+        All the slender willows over!
+        And on the banks of mossy green
+        Star-like primroses are seen;
+        And, their clustering leaves below,
+        White and purple violets blow.
+
+        Hark! the 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 thee, 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 flowers and fruit.
+
+        Turn thine eyes to earth and heaven:
+        God for thee the spring has given,
+        Taught the birds their melodies,
+        Clothed the earth, and cleared the skies,
+        For thy pleasure or thy food:
+        Pour thy soul in gratitude.
+
+Mary Howitt.
+
+
+
+
+_The Coming of Spring_
+
+
+        There's something in the air
+        That's new and sweet and rare--
+        A scent of summer things,
+        A whir as if of wings.
+
+        There's something, too, that's new
+        In the color of the blue
+        That's in the morning sky,
+        Before the sun is high.
+
+        And though on plain and hill
+        'Tis winter, winter still,
+        There's something seems to say
+        That winter's had its day.
+
+        And all this changing tint,
+        This whispering stir and hint
+        Of bud and bloom and wing,
+        Is the coming of the spring.
+
+        And to-morrow or to-day
+        The brooks will break away
+        From their icy, frozen sleep,
+        And run, and laugh, and leap.
+
+        And the next thing, in the woods,
+        The catkins in their hoods
+        Of fur and silk will stand,
+        A sturdy little band.
+
+        And the tassels soft and fine
+        Of the hazel will entwine,
+        And the elder branches show
+        Their buds against the snow.
+
+        So, silently but swift,
+        Above the wintry drift,
+        The long days gain and gain,
+        Until on hill and plain,--
+
+        Once more, and yet once more,
+        Returning as before,
+        We see the bloom of birth
+        Make young again the earth.
+
+Nora Perry.
+
+
+
+
+_May_
+
+
+        May shall make the world anew;
+        Golden sun and silver dew,
+        Money minted in the sky,
+        Shall the earth's new garments buy.
+        May shall make the orchards bloom;
+        And the blossoms' fine perfume
+        Shall set all the honey-bees
+        Murmuring among the trees.
+        May shall make the bud appear
+        Like a jewel, crystal clear,
+        'Mid the leaves upon the limb
+        Where the robin lilts his hymn.
+        May shall make the wild flowers tell
+        Where the shining snowflakes fell;
+        Just as though each snow-flake's heart,
+        By some secret, magic art,
+        Were transmuted to a flower
+        In the sunlight and the shower.
+        Is there such another, pray,
+        Wonder-making month as May?
+
+Frank Dempster Sherman.
+
+
+
+
+_Spring and Summer_
+
+
+        Spring is growing up,
+          Is not it a pity?
+        She was such a little thing,
+          And so very pretty!
+        Summer is extremely grand,
+          We must pay her duty,
+        (But it is to little Spring
+          That she owes her beauty!)
+
+        All the buds are blown,
+          Trees are dark and shady,
+        (It was Spring who dress'd them, though,
+          Such a little lady!)
+        And the birds sing loud and sweet
+          Their enchanting hist'ries,
+        (It was Spring who taught them, though,
+          Such a singing mistress!)
+
+        From the glowing sky
+          Summer shines above us;
+        Spring was such a little dear,
+          But will Summer love us?
+        She is very beautiful,
+          With her grown-up blisses,
+        Summer we must bow before;
+          Spring we coaxed with kisses!
+
+        Spring is growing up,
+          Leaving us so lonely,
+        In the place of little Spring
+          We have Summer only!
+        Summer with her lofty airs,
+          And her stately faces,
+        In the place of little Spring,
+          With her childish graces!
+
+"A."
+
+
+
+
+_Summer Days_
+
+
+        Winter is cold-hearted;
+          Spring is yea and nay;
+        Autumn is a weathercock,
+          Blown every way:
+        Summer days for me,
+        When every leaf is on its tree,
+
+        When Robin's not a beggar,
+          And Jenny Wren's a bride,
+        And larks hang, singing, singing, singing,
+          Over the wheat-fields wide,
+          And anchored lilies ride,
+        And the pendulum spider
+          Swings from side to side,
+
+        And blue-black beetles transact business,
+          And gnats fly in a host,
+        And furry caterpillars hasten
+          That no time be lost,
+        And moths grow fat and thrive,
+        And ladybirds arrive.
+
+        Before green apples blush,
+          Before green nuts embrown,
+        Why, one day in the country
+          Is worth a month in town--
+          Is worth a day and a year
+        Of the dusty, musty, lag-last fashion
+        That days drone elsewhere.
+
+Christina G. Rossetti.
+
+
+
+
+_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.
+
+H. H.
+
+
+
+
+_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 you went 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, just for 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 bed-clothes 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.
+
+
+
+
+_Winter Night_
+
+
+            Blow, wind, blow!
+            Drift the flying snow!
+        Send it twirling, whirling overhead!
+            There's a bedroom in a tree
+            Where, snug as snug can be,
+        The squirrel nests in his cosey bed.
+
+            Shriek, wind, shriek!
+            Make the branches creak!
+        Battle with the boughs till break o' day!
+            In a snow-cave warm and tight,
+            Through the icy winter night
+        The rabbit sleeps the peaceful hours away.
+
+            Call, wind, call,
+            In entry and in hall,
+        Straight from off the mountain white and wild!
+            Soft purrs the pussy-cat
+            On her little fluffy mat,
+        And beside her nestles close her furry child.
+
+            Scold, wind, scold,
+            So bitter and so bold!
+        Shake the windows with your tap, tap, tap!
+            With half-shut, dreamy eyes
+            The drowsy baby lies
+        Cuddled closely in his mother's lap.
+
+Mary F. Butts.
+
+
+
+
+A Year's Windfalls
+
+
+        On the wind of January
+          Down flits the snow,
+        Travelling from the frozen North
+          As cold as it can blow.
+        Poor robin redbreast,
+          Look where he comes;
+        Let him in to feel your fire,
+          And toss him of your crumbs.
+
+        On the wind in February
+          Snowflakes float still,
+        Half inclined to turn to rain,
+          Nipping, dripping, chill.
+        Then the thaws swell the streams,
+          And swollen rivers swell the sea:--
+        If the winter ever ends
+          How pleasant it will be.
+
+        In the wind of windy March
+          The catkins drop down,
+        Curly, caterpillar-like,
+          Curious green and brown.
+        With concourse of nest-building birds
+          And leaf-buds by the way,
+        We begin to think of flowers
+          And life and nuts some day.
+
+        With the gusts of April
+          Rich fruit-tree blossoms fall,
+        On the hedged-in orchard-green,
+          From the southern wall.
+        Apple-trees and pear-trees
+          Shed petals white or pink,
+        Plum-trees and peach-trees;
+          While sharp showers sink and sink.
+
+        Little brings the May breeze
+          Beside pure scent of flowers,
+        While all things wax and nothing wanes
+          In lengthening daylight hours.
+        Across the hyacinth beds
+          The wind lags warm and sweet,
+        Across the hawthorn tops,
+          Across the blades of wheat.
+
+        In the wind of sunny June
+          Thrives the red rose crop,
+        Every day fresh blossoms blow
+          While the first leaves drop;
+        White rose and yellow rose
+          And moss rose choice to find,
+        And the cottage cabbage-rose
+          Not one whit behind.
+
+        On the blast of scorched July
+          Drives the pelting hail,
+        From thunderous lightning-clouds, that blot
+          Blue heaven grown lurid-pale.
+        Weedy waves are tossed ashore,
+          Sea-things strange to sight
+        Gasp upon the barren shore
+          And fade away in light.
+
+        In the parching August wind
+          Corn-fields bow the head,
+        Sheltered in round valley depths,
+          On low hills outspread.
+        Early leaves drop loitering down
+          Weightless on the breeze,
+        First fruits of the year's decay
+          From the withering trees.
+
+        In brisk wind of September
+          The heavy-headed fruits
+        Shake upon their bending boughs
+          And drop from the shoots;
+        Some glow golden in the sun,
+          Some show green and streaked,
+        Some set forth a purple bloom,
+          Some blush rosy-cheeked.
+
+        In strong blast of October
+          At the equinox,
+        Stirred up in his hollow bed
+          Broad ocean rocks;
+        Plunge the ships on his bosom,
+          Leaps and plunges the foam,
+        It's oh! for mothers' sons at sea,
+          That they were safe at home.
+
+        In slack wind of November
+          The fog forms and shifts;
+        All the world comes out again
+          When the fog lifts.
+        Loosened from their sapless twigs
+          Leaves drop with every gust;
+        Drifting, rustling, out of sight
+          In the damp or dust.
+
+        Last of all, December,
+          The year's sands nearly run,
+        Speeds on the shortest day,
+          Curtails the sun;
+        With its bleak raw wind
+          Lays the last leaves low,
+        Brings back the nightly frosts,
+          Brings back the snow.
+
+Christina G. Rossetti.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+THE CHILD'S 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._
+
+_William Brighty Rands._
+
+
+
+
+THE CHILD'S WORLD
+
+
+
+
+_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 top 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 hardly can think of you, World, at all;
+        And yet, when I said my prayers to-day,
+        My mother kissed me, and said, quite gay,
+
+        "If the wonderful World is great to you,
+        And great to father and mother, too,
+        You are more than the Earth, though you are such a dot!
+        You can love and think, and the Earth cannot!"
+
+William Brighty Rands.
+
+
+
+
+_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 I said 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.
+
+
+
+
+_Good-Morning_
+
+
+        The year's at the Spring,
+        And day's at the morn;
+        Morning's at seven;
+        The hill-side's dew-pearled;
+        The lark's on the wing;
+        The snail's on the thorn;
+        God's in his heaven--
+        All's right with the world.
+
+Robert Browning.
+
+
+
+
+_What the Winds Bring_
+
+
+        Which is the Wind that brings the cold?
+          The North-Wind, Freddy, and all the snow;
+        And the sheep will scamper into the fold
+          When the North begins to blow.
+
+        Which is the Wind that brings the heat?
+          The South-Wind, Katy; and corn will grow,
+        And peaches redden for you to eat,
+          When the South begins to blow.
+
+        Which is the Wind that brings the rain?
+          The East-Wind, Arty; and farmers know
+        The cows come shivering up the lane,
+          When the East begins to blow.
+
+        Which is the Wind that brings the flowers?
+          The West-Wind, Bessy; and soft and low
+        The birdies sing in the summer hours,
+          When the West begins to blow.
+
+Edmund Clarence Stedman.
+
+
+
+
+_Lady Moon_
+
+
+        Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving?
+            "Over the sea."
+        Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving?
+            "All that love me."
+
+        Are you not tired with rolling, and never
+            Resting to sleep?
+        Why look so pale and so sad, as forever
+            Wishing to weep?
+
+        "Ask me not this, little child, if you love me:
+            You are too bold:
+        I must obey my dear Father above me,
+            And do as I'm told."
+
+        Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving?
+            "Over the sea."
+        Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving?
+            "All that love me."
+
+Lord Houghton.
+
+
+
+
+_O Lady Moon_[A]
+
+
+        O Lady Moon, your horns point toward the east:
+            Shine, be increased;
+        O Lady Moon, your horns point toward the west:
+            Wane, be at rest.
+
+Christina G. Rossetti.
+
+
+
+
+_Windy Nights_[B]
+
+
+        Whenever the moon and stars are set,
+            Whenever the wind is high,
+        All night long in the dark and wet,
+            A man goes riding by,
+        Late at night when the fires are out,
+        Why does he gallop and gallop about?
+
+        Whenever the trees are crying aloud,
+            And ships are tossed at sea,
+        By, on the highway, low and loud,
+            By at the gallop goes he.
+        By at the gallop he goes, and then
+        By he comes back at the gallop again.
+
+Robert Louis Stevenson.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] _From "Sing-Song," by Christina G. Rossetti. By permission of the
+Macmillan Company._
+
+[B] _From "A Child's Garden of Verses," by Robert Louis Stevenson. By
+permission of Charles Scribner's Sons._
+
+
+
+
+_Wild Winds_
+
+
+        Oh, oh, how the wild winds blow!
+              Blow high,
+              Blow low,
+            And whirlwinds go,
+        To chase the little leaves that fly--
+            Fly low and high,
+        To hollow and to steep hill-side;
+        They shiver in the dreary weather,
+        And creep in little heaps together,
+        And nestle close and try to hide.
+
+        Oh, oh, how the wild winds blow!
+              Blow low,
+              Blow high,
+            And whirlwinds try
+        To find a crevice--to find a crack,
+        They whirl to the front; they whirl to the back.
+        But Tommy and Will and the baby together
+        Are snug and safe from the wintry weather.
+            All the winds that blow
+            Cannot touch a toe--
+            Cannot twist or twirl
+            One silken curl.
+        They may rattle the doors in a noisy pack,
+        But the blazing fires will drive them back.
+
+Mary F. Butts.
+
+
+
+
+_Now the Noisy Winds Are Still_[A]
+
+
+        Now the noisy winds are still;
+        April's coming up the hill!
+        All the spring is in her train,
+        Led by shining ranks of rain;
+            Pit, pat, patter, clatter,
+            Sudden sun, and clatter, patter!--
+        First the blue, and then the shower;
+        Bursting bud, and smiling flower;
+        Brooks set free with tinkling ring;
+        Birds too full of song to sing;
+        Crisp old leaves astir with pride,
+        Where the timid violets hide,--
+        All things ready with a will,--
+        April's coming up the hill!
+
+Mary Mapes Dodge.
+
+
+
+
+_The Wind_
+
+
+        The wind has a language, I would I could learn;
+        Sometimes 'tis soothing, and sometimes 'tis stern;
+        Sometimes it comes like a low, sweet song,
+        And all things grow calm, as the sound floats along;
+        And the forest is lulled by the dreamy strain;
+        And slumber sinks down on the wandering main;
+        And its crystal arms are folded in rest,
+        And the tall ship sleeps on its heaving breast.
+
+Letitia Elizabeth Landon.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] _From "Along the Way," by Mary Mapes Dodge. By permission of Charles
+Scribner's Sons._
+
+
+
+
+_The Fountain_
+
+
+        Into the sunshine,
+          Full of the light,
+        Leaping and flashing
+          From morn till night!
+
+        Into the moonlight,
+          Whiter than snow,
+        Waving so flower-like
+          When the winds blow!
+
+        Into the starlight,
+          Rushing in spray,
+        Happy at midnight,
+          Happy by day;
+
+        Ever in motion,
+          Blithesome and cheery,
+        Still climbing heavenward,
+          Never aweary;
+
+        Glad of all weathers;
+          Still seeming best,
+        Upward or downward;
+          Motion thy rest;
+
+        Full of a nature
+          Nothing can tame,
+        Changed every moment,
+          Ever the same;
+
+        Ceaseless aspiring,
+          Ceaseless content,
+        Darkness or sunshine
+          Thy element;
+
+        Glorious fountain!
+          Let my heart be
+        Fresh, changeful, constant,
+          Upward like thee!
+
+James Russell Lowell.
+
+
+
+
+_The Waterfall_
+
+
+        _Tinkle, tinkle!_
+        Listen well!
+        Like a fairy silver bell
+        In the distance ringing,
+        Lightly swinging
+        In the air;
+        'Tis the water in the dell
+        Where the elfin minstrels dwell,
+        Falling in a rainbow sprinkle,
+        Dropping stars that brightly twinkle,
+        Bright and fair,
+        On the darkling pool below,
+        Making music so;
+        'Tis the water elves who play
+        On their lutes of spray.
+        _Tinkle, tinkle!_
+        Like a fairy silver bell;
+        Like a pebble in a shell;
+        _Tinkle, tinkle!_
+        Listen well!
+
+Frank Dempster Sherman.
+
+
+
+
+_The Voice of the Grass_
+
+
+        Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;
+            By the dusty roadside,
+            On the sunny hill-side,
+            Close by the noisy brook,
+            In every shady nook,
+        I come creeping, creeping everywhere.
+
+        Here I come creeping, smiling everywhere;
+            All around the open door,
+            Where sit the aged poor;
+            Here where the children play,
+            In the bright and merry May,
+        I come creeping, creeping everywhere.
+
+        Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;
+            In the noisy city street
+            My pleasant face you'll meet,
+            Cheering the sick at heart
+            Toiling his busy part,--
+        Silently creeping, creeping everywhere.
+
+        Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;
+            You cannot see me coming,
+            Nor hear my low sweet humming;
+            For in the starry night,
+            And the glad morning light,
+        I come quietly creeping everywhere.
+
+        Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;
+            More welcome than the flowers
+            In summer's pleasant hours;
+            The gentle cow is glad,
+            And the merry bird not sad,
+        To see me creeping, creeping everywhere.
+
+               *       *       *       *       *
+
+        Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;
+            My humble song of praise
+            Most joyfully I raise
+            To him at whose command
+            I beautify the land,
+        Creeping, silently creeping everywhere.
+
+Sarah Roberts Boyle.
+
+
+
+
+_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
+        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 the urchins that stand with their thievish eyes
+        Forever on watch, ran off with each prize.
+
+        Then away to the field 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 the spray,
+        Or the traveller 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 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 their 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.
+
+
+
+
+_Clouds_
+
+
+        The sky is full of clouds to-day,
+          And idly to and fro,
+        Like sheep across the pasture, they
+          Across the heavens go.
+        I hear the wind with merry noise--
+          Around the housetops sweep,
+        And dream it is the shepherd boys,
+          They're driving home their sheep.
+
+        The clouds move faster now; and see!
+          The west is red and gold.
+        Each sheep seems hastening to be
+          The first within the fold.
+        I watch them hurry on until
+          The blue is clear and deep,
+        And dream that far beyond the hill
+          The shepherds fold their sheep.
+
+        Then in the sky the trembling stars
+          Like little flowers shine out,
+        While Night puts up the shadow bars,
+          And darkness falls about.
+        I hear the shepherd wind's good-night--
+          "Good-night and happy sleep!"
+        And dream that in the east, all white,
+          Slumber the clouds, the sheep.
+
+Frank Dempster Sherman.
+
+
+
+
+_Signs of Rain_
+
+
+        The hollow winds begin to blow,
+        The clouds look black, the glass is low,
+        The soot falls down, the spaniels sleep,
+        The spiders from their cobwebs peep:
+        Last night the sun went pale to bed,
+        The moon in halos hid her head;
+        The boding shepherd heaves a sigh,
+        For, see, a rainbow spans the sky:
+        The walls are damp, the ditches smell,
+        Closed is the pink-eyed pimpernel.
+        Hark how the chairs and tables crack!
+        Old Betty's joints are on the rack;
+        Loud quack the ducks, the peacocks cry,
+        The distant hills are seeming nigh.
+        How restless are the snorting swine;
+        The busy flies disturb the kine;
+        Low o'er the grass the swallow wings,
+        The cricket too, how sharp he sings;
+        Puss on the hearth, with velvet paws,
+        Sits wiping o'er her whiskered jaws.
+        Through the clear stream the fishes rise,
+        And nimbly catch the incautious flies.
+        The glow-worms, numerous and bright,
+        Illumed the dewy dell last night.
+        At dusk the squalid toad was seen,
+        Hopping and crawling o'er the green;
+        The whirling wind the dust obeys,
+        And in the rapid eddy plays;
+        The frog has changed his yellow vest,
+        And in a russet coat is dressed.
+        Though June, the air is cold and still,
+        The mellow blackbird's voice is shrill.
+        My dog, so altered in his taste,
+        Quits mutton-bones on grass to feast;
+        And see yon rooks, how odd their flight,
+        They imitate the gliding kite,
+        And seem precipitate to fall,
+        As if they felt the piercing ball.
+        'Twill surely rain, I see with sorrow,
+        Our jaunt must be put off to-morrow.
+
+Edward Jenner.
+
+
+
+
+_A Sudden Shower_
+
+
+        Barefooted boys scud up the street,
+          Or scurry under sheltering sheds;
+        And school-girl faces, pale and sweet,
+          Gleam from the shawls about their heads.
+
+        Doors bang; and mother-voices call
+          From alien homes; and rusty gates
+        Are slammed; and high above it all
+          The thunder grim reverberates.
+
+        And then abrupt,--the rain, the rain!
+          The earth lies gasping; and the eyes
+        Behind the streaming window-panes
+          Smile at the trouble of the skies.
+
+        The highway smokes, sharp echoes ring;
+          The cattle bawl and cow-bells clank;
+        And into town comes galloping
+          The farmer's horse, with steaming flank.
+
+        The swallow dips beneath the eaves,
+          And flirts his plumes and folds his wings;
+        And under the catawba leaves
+          The caterpillar curls and clings.
+
+        The bumble-bee is pelted down
+          The wet stem of the hollyhock;
+        And sullenly in spattered brown
+          The cricket leaps the garden walk.
+
+        Within, the baby claps his hands
+          And crows with rapture strange and vague;
+        Without, beneath the rosebush stands
+          A dripping rooster on one leg.
+
+James Whitcomb Riley.
+
+
+
+
+_Strange Lands_
+
+
+        Where do you come from, Mr. Jay?
+        "From the land of Play, from the land of Play."
+        And where can that be, Mr. Jay?
+            "Far away--far away."
+
+        Where do you come from, Mrs. Dove?
+        "From the land of Love, from the land of Love."
+        And how do you get there, Mrs. Dove?
+            "Look above--look above."
+
+        Where do you come from, Baby Miss?
+        "From the land of Bliss, from the land of Bliss."
+        And what is the way there, Baby Miss?
+            "Mother's kiss--mother's kiss."
+
+Laurence Alma Tadema.
+
+
+
+
+_Guessing Song_
+
+
+        Oh ho! oh ho! Pray, who can I be?
+        I sweep o'er the land, I scour o'er the sea;
+        I cuff the tall trees till they bow down their heads,
+        And I rock the wee birdies asleep in their beds.
+          Oh ho! oh ho! And who can I be,
+          That sweep o'er the land and scour o'er the sea?
+
+        I rumple the breast of the gray-headed daw,
+        I tip the rook's tail up and make him cry "caw";
+        But though I love fun, I'm so big and so strong,
+        At a puff of my breath the great ships sail along.
+          Oh ho! oh ho! And who can I be,
+          That sweep o'er the land and sail o'er the sea?
+
+        I swing all the weather-cocks this way and that,
+        I play hare-and-hounds with a runaway hat;
+        But however I wander, I never can stray,
+        For go where I will, I've a free right of way!
+          Oh ho! oh ho! And who can I be,
+          That sweep o'er the land and scour o'er the sea?
+
+        I skim o'er the heather, I dance up the street,
+        I've foes that I laugh at, and friends that I greet;
+        I'm known in the country, I'm named in the town,
+        For all the world over extends my renown.
+          Oh ho! oh ho! And who can I be,
+          That sweep o'er the land and scour o'er the sea?
+
+Henry Johnstone.
+
+
+
+
+_The Rivulet_
+
+
+            Run, little rivulet, run!
+            Summer is fairly begun.
+        Bear to the meadow the hymn of the pines,
+        And the echo that rings where the waterfall shines;
+            Run, little rivulet, run!
+
+            Run, little rivulet, run!
+            Sing to the fields of the sun
+        That wavers in emerald, shimmers in gold,
+        Where you glide from your rocky ravine, crystal-cold;
+            Run, little rivulet, run!
+
+            Run, little rivulet, run!
+            Sing of the flowers, every one,--
+        Of the delicate harebell and violet blue;
+        Of the red mountain rose-bud, all dripping with dew;
+            Run, little rivulet, run!
+
+            Run, little rivulet, run!
+            Carry the perfume you won
+        From the lily, that woke when the morning was gray,
+        To the white waiting moonbeam adrift on the bay;
+            Run, little rivulet, run!
+
+            Run, little rivulet, run!
+            Stay not till summer is done!
+        Carry the city the mountain-birds' glee;
+        Carry the joy of the hills to the sea;
+            Run, little rivulet, run!
+
+Lucy Larcom.
+
+
+
+
+_Jack Frost_
+
+
+        The Frost looked forth on a 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 dressed
+        With diamonds and pearls; and over the breast
+            Of the quivering lake, he spread
+        A coat of mail, that it need not fear
+        The glittering point of many a spear
+        Which he hung on its margin, far and near,
+            Where a rock could rear its head.
+
+        He went to the window 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 and 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.
+
+
+
+
+_Snowflakes_[A]
+
+
+        Whenever a snowflake leaves the sky,
+        It turns and turns to say "Good-by!
+        Good-by, dear clouds, so cool and gray!"
+        Then lightly travels on its way.
+
+        And when a snowflake finds a tree,
+        "Good-day!" it says--"Good-day to thee!
+        Thou art so bare and lonely, dear,
+        I'll rest and call my comrades here."
+
+        But when a snowflake, brave and meek,
+        Lights on a rosy maiden's cheek,
+        It starts--"How warm and soft the day!
+        'Tis summer!"--and it melts away.
+
+Mary Mapes Dodge.
+
+
+
+
+_The Water! the Water!_
+
+
+        The Water! the Water!
+          The joyous brook for me,
+        That tuneth through the quiet night
+          Its ever-living glee.
+        The Water! the Water!
+          That sleepless, merry heart,
+        Which gurgles on unstintedly,
+          And loveth to impart,
+        To all around it, some small measure
+        Of its own most perfect pleasure.
+
+        The Water! the Water!
+          The gentle stream for me,
+        That gushes from the old gray stone
+          Beside the alder-tree.
+        The Water! the Water!
+          That ever-bubbling spring
+        I loved and look'd on while a child,
+          In deepest wondering,--
+        And ask'd it whence it came and went,
+        And when its treasures would be spent.
+
+        The Water! the Water!
+          The merry, wanton brook
+        That bent itself to pleasure me,
+          Like mine old shepherd crook.
+        The Water! the Water!
+          That sang so sweet at noon,
+        And sweeter still all night, to win
+          Smiles from the pale proud moon,
+        And from the little fairy faces
+        That gleam in heaven's remotest places.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+William Motherwell.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] _From "Along the Way," by permission of Charles Scribner's Sons._
+
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+HIAWATHA'S CHICKENS
+
+
+            _Then the little Hiawatha
+        Learned of every bird its language,
+        Learned their names and all their secrets,
+        How they built their nests in Summer,
+        Where they hid themselves in Winter,
+        Talked with them whene'er he met them,
+        Called them "Hiawatha's Chickens."_
+
+_Henry Wadsworth Longfellow._
+
+
+
+
+HIAWATHA'S CHICKENS
+
+
+
+
+_The Swallows_
+
+
+        Gallant and gay in their doublets gray,
+          All at a flash like the darting of flame,
+        Chattering Arabic, African, Indian--
+          Certain of springtime, the swallows came!
+
+        Doublets of gray silk and surcoats of purple,
+          And ruffs of russet round each little throat,
+        Wearing such garb they had crossed the waters,
+          Mariners sailing with never a boat.
+
+Edwin Arnold.
+
+
+
+
+_The Swallow's Nest_
+
+
+        Day after day her nest she moulded,
+          Building with magic, love and mud,
+        A gray cup made by a thousand journeys,
+          And the tiny beak was trowel and hod.
+
+Edwin Arnold.
+
+
+
+
+_The Birds in Spring_
+
+
+        Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king;
+        Then blooms each thing, then Maids dance in a ring,
+        Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing--
+            Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
+
+        The Palm and May make country houses gay,
+        Lambs frisk and play, the Shepherds pipe all day,
+        And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay--
+            Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
+
+        The Fields breathe sweet, the Daisies kiss our feet,
+        Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit,
+        In every Street these Tunes our ears do greet--
+            Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
+                Spring, the sweet Spring!
+
+Thomas Nashe.
+
+
+
+
+_Robin Redbreast_
+
+(A Child's Song)
+
+
+        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,
+          With ruddy breast-knot gay.
+        Robin, Robin Redbreast,
+          O Robin dear!
+        Robin singing 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 welaway! my Robin,
+          For pinching times are near.
+
+        The fireside for the Cricket,
+          The wheatstack 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 Lark and the Rook_
+
+
+        "Good-night, Sir Rook!" said a little lark.
+        "The daylight fades; it will soon be dark;
+        I've bathed my wings in the sun's last ray;
+        I've sung my hymn to the parting day;
+        So now I haste to my quiet nook
+        In yon dewy meadow--good-night, Sir Rook!"
+
+        "Good-night, poor Lark," said his titled friend
+        With a haughty toss and a distant bend;
+        "I also go to my rest profound,
+        But not to sleep on the cold, damp ground.
+        The fittest place for a bird like me
+        Is the topmost bough of yon tall pine-tree.
+
+        "I opened my eyes at peep of day
+        And saw you taking your upward way,
+        Dreaming your fond romantic dreams,
+        An ugly speck in the sun's bright beams;
+        Soaring too high to be seen or heard;
+        And I said to myself: 'What a foolish bird!'
+
+        "I trod the park with a princely air,
+        I filled my crop with the richest fare;
+        I cawed all day 'mid a lordly crew,
+        And I made more noise in the world than you!
+        The sun shone forth on my ebon wing;
+        I looked and wondered--good-night, poor thing!"
+
+        "Good-night, once more," said the lark's sweet voice.
+        "I see no cause to repent my choice;
+        You build your nest in the lofty pine,
+        But is your slumber more sweet than mine?
+        You make more noise in the world than I,
+        But whose is the sweeter minstrelsy?"
+
+Unknown.
+
+
+
+
+_The Snowbird_
+
+
+        In the rosy light trills the gay swallow,
+        The thrush, in the roses below;
+        The meadow-lark sings in the meadow,
+        But the snowbird sings in the snow.
+              Ah me!
+              Chickadee!
+        The snowbird sings in the snow!
+
+        The blue martin trills in the gable,
+        The wren, in the gourd below;
+        In the elm flutes the golden robin,
+        But the snowbird sings in the snow.
+              Ah me!
+              Chickadee!
+        The snowbird sings in the snow!
+
+        High wheels the gray wing of the osprey,
+        The wing of the sparrow drops low;
+        In the mist dips the wing of the robin,
+        And the snowbird's wing in the snow.
+              Ah me!
+              Chickadee!
+        The snowbird sings in the snow.
+
+        I love the high heart of the osprey,
+        The meek heart of the thrush below,
+        The heart of the lark in the meadow,
+        And the snowbird's heart in the snow.
+              But dearest to me,
+              Chickadee! Chickadee!
+        Is that true little heart in the snow.
+
+Hezekiah Butterworth.
+
+
+
+
+_Who Stole the Bird's Nest?_
+
+
+        "To-whit! to-whit! to-whee!
+        Will you listen to me?
+        Who stole four eggs I laid,
+        And the nice nest I made?"
+
+        "Not I," said the cow, "Moo-oo!
+        Such a thing I'd never do.
+        I gave you a wisp of hay,
+        But didn't take your nest away.
+        Not I," said the cow, "Moo-oo!
+        Such a thing I'd never do."
+
+        "To-whit! to-whit! to-whee!
+        Will you listen to me?
+        Who stole four eggs I laid,
+        And the nice nest I made?"
+
+        "Bob-o'-link! Bob-o'-link!
+        Now what do you think?
+        Who stole a nest away
+        From the plum-tree, to-day?"
+
+        "Not I," said the dog, "Bow-wow!
+        I wouldn't be so mean, anyhow!
+        I gave hairs the nest to make,
+        But the nest I did not take.
+        Not I," said the dog, "Bow-wow!
+        I'm not so mean, anyhow."
+
+        "To-whit! to-whit! to-whee!
+        Will you listen to me?
+        Who stole four eggs I laid,
+        And the nice nest I made?"
+
+        "Bob-o'-link! Bob-o'-link!
+        Now what do you think?
+        Who stole a nest away
+        From the plum-tree, to-day?"
+
+        "Coo-coo! Coo-coo! Coo-coo!
+        Let me speak a word, too!
+        Who stole that pretty nest
+        From little yellow-breast?"
+
+        "Not I," said the sheep; "Oh, no!
+        I wouldn't treat a poor bird so.
+        I gave wool the nest to line,
+        But the nest was none of mine.
+        Baa! Baa!" said the sheep, "Oh, no
+        I wouldn't treat a poor bird so."
+
+        "To-whit! to-whit! to-whee!
+        Will you listen to me?
+        Who stole four eggs I laid,
+        And the nice nest I made?"
+
+        "Bob-o'-link! Bob-o'-link!
+        Now what do you think?
+        Who stole a nest away
+        From the plum-tree, to-day?"
+
+        "Coo-coo! Coo-coo! Coo-coo!
+        Let me speak a word, too!
+        Who stole that pretty nest
+        From little yellow-breast?"
+
+        "Caw! Caw!" cried the crow;
+        "I should like to know
+        What thief took away
+        A bird's nest, to-day?"
+
+        "Cluck! Cluck!" said the hen;
+        "Don't ask me again,
+        Why I haven't a chick
+        Would do such a trick.
+        We all gave her a feather,
+        And she wove them together.
+        I'd scorn to intrude
+        On her and her brood.
+        Cluck! Cluck!" said the hen,
+        "Don't ask me again."
+
+        "Chirr-a-whirr! Chirr-a-whirr!
+        All the birds make a stir!
+        Let us find out his name,
+        And all cry 'For shame!'"
+
+        "I would not rob a bird,"
+        Said little Mary Green;
+        "I think I never heard
+        Of anything so mean."
+
+        "It is very cruel, too,"
+        Said little Alice Neal;
+        "I wonder if he knew
+        How sad the bird would feel?"
+
+        A little boy hung down his head,
+        And went and hid behind the bed,
+        For he stole that pretty nest
+        From poor little yellow-breast;
+        And he felt so full of shame,
+        He didn't like to tell his name.
+
+Lydia Maria Child.
+
+
+
+
+_Answer to a Child's Question_
+
+
+        Do you ask what the birds say? The sparrow, the dove,
+        The linnet, and thrush say, "I love and I love!"
+        In the winter they're silent, the wind is so strong;
+        What it says I don't know, but it sings a loud song.
+        But green leaves and blossoms, and sunny warm weather,
+        And singing and loving, all come back together;
+        Then the lark is so brimful of gladness and love,
+        The green fields below him, the blue sky above,
+        That he sings, and he sings, and forever sings he,
+        "I love my Love, and my Love loves me."
+
+Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
+
+
+
+
+_The Burial of the Linnet_
+
+
+        Found in the garden dead in his beauty--
+          Oh that a linnet should die in the spring!
+        Bury him, comrades, in pitiful duty,
+          Muffle the dinner-bell, solemnly ring.
+
+        Bury him kindly, up in the corner;
+          Bird, beast, and goldfish are sepulchred there
+        Bid the black kitten march as chief mourner,
+          Waving her tail like a plume in the air.
+
+        Bury him nobly--next to the donkey;
+          Fetch the old banner, and wave it about;
+        Bury him deeply--think of the monkey,
+          Shallow his grave, and the dogs got him out.
+
+        Bury him softly--white wool around him,
+          Kiss his poor feathers--the first kiss and last;
+        Tell his poor widow kind friends have found him:
+          Plant his poor grave with whatever grows fast.
+
+        Farewell, sweet singer! dead in thy beauty,
+          Silent through summer, though other birds sing,
+        Bury him, comrades, in pitiful duty,
+          Muffle the dinner-bell, mournfully ring.
+
+Juliana Horatia Ewing.
+
+
+
+
+_The Titmouse_
+
+
+        . . . . Piped a tiny voice hard by,
+        Gay and polite, a cheerful cry,
+        _Chic-chicadeedee!_ saucy note
+        Out of sound heart and merry throat,
+        As if it said, "Good-day, good sir!
+        Fine afternoon, old passenger!
+        Happy to meet you in these places,
+        Where January brings few faces."
+
+        This poet, though he live apart,
+        Moved by his hospitable heart,
+        Sped, when I passed his sylvan fort,
+        To do the honors of his court,
+        As fits a feathered lord of land;
+        Flew near, with soft wing grazed my hand;
+        Hopped on the bough, then, darting low,
+        Prints his small impress on the snow,
+        Shows feats of his gymnastic play,
+        Head downward, clinging to the spray,
+
+               *       *       *       *       *
+
+        Here was this atom in full breath,
+        Hurling defiance at vast death.
+        This scrap of valor, just for play,
+        Fronts the north wind in waistcoat gray.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ralph Waldo Emerson.
+
+
+
+
+_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 unto the bright blue sky,
+        And the frolicsome winds as they wander by!
+
+        They have left their nests in the forest bough;
+        Those homes of delight they need not now;
+        And the young and old they wander out,
+        And traverse the green world round about;
+        And hark at the top of this leafy hall,
+        How, one to another, they lovingly call!
+        "Come up, come up!" they seem to say,
+        "Where the topmost twigs in the breezes play!"
+
+        "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 life of the birds must be,
+        Living above 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 halls aloud:
+        To spread out the wings for a wild, free flight
+        With the upper cloud-winds,--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 gladden some fairy region old!
+        On mountain-tops, on the billowy sea,
+        On the leafy stems of the forest-tree,
+        How pleasant the life of a bird must be!
+
+Mary Howitt.
+
+
+
+
+_An Epitaph on a Robin Redbreast_
+
+
+        Tread lightly here; for here, 'tis said,
+          When piping winds are hush'd around,
+          A small note wakes from underground,
+        Where now his tiny bones are laid.
+
+        No more in lone or leafless groves,
+          With ruffled wing and faded breast,
+        His friendless, homeless spirit roves;
+          Gone to the world where birds are blest!
+
+        Where never cat glides o'er the green,
+        Or school-boy's giant form is seen;
+          But love, and joy, and smiling Spring
+          Inspire their little souls to sing!
+
+Samuel Rogers.
+
+
+
+
+_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 be 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!"
+
+Mrs. Emily Huntington Miller.
+
+
+
+
+_Song_
+
+
+        I had a dove and the sweet dove died;
+            And I have thought it died of grieving:
+        O, what could it grieve for? Its feet were tied
+            With a silken thread of my own hand's weaving;
+        Sweet little red feet! why should you die--
+            Why should 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.
+
+
+
+
+_What Does Little Birdie Say?_
+
+
+        What does little birdie say,
+        In her nest at peep of day?
+          "Let me fly," says little birdie,
+        "Mother, let me fly away."
+
+        Birdie, rest a little longer,
+        Till the little wings are stronger
+        So she rests a little longer,
+          Then she flies away.
+
+        What does little baby say,
+        In her bed at peep of day?
+          Baby says, like little birdie,
+        "Let me rise and fly away."
+
+        Baby, sleep a little longer,
+        Till the little limbs are stronger.
+        If she sleeps a little longer,
+          Baby, too, shall fly away.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+_Wild Geese_
+
+
+        The wild wind blows, the sun shines, the birds sing loud,
+        The blue, blue sky is flecked with fleecy dappled cloud,
+        Over earth's rejoicing fields the children dance and sing,
+        And the frogs pipe in chorus, "It is spring! It is spring!"
+
+        The grass comes, the flower laughs where lately lay the snow,
+        O'er the breezy hill-top hoarsely calls the crow,
+        By the flowing river the alder catkins swing,
+        And the sweet song-sparrow cries, "Spring! It is spring!"
+
+        Hark, what a clamor goes winging through the sky!
+        Look, children! Listen to the sound so wild and high!
+        Like a peal of broken bells,--kling, klang, kling,--
+        Far and high the wild geese cry, "Spring! It is spring!"
+
+        Bear the winter off with you, O wild geese dear!
+        Carry all the cold away, far away from here;
+        Chase the snow into the north, O strong of heart and wing,
+        While we share the robin's rapture, crying "Spring! It is spring!"
+
+Celia Thaxter.
+
+
+
+
+_Chanticleer_
+
+
+        I wake! I feel the day is near;
+          I hear the red cock crowing!
+        He cries "'Tis dawn!" How sweet and clear
+        His cheerful call comes to my ear,
+          While light is slowly growing.
+
+        The white snow gathers flake on flake;
+          I hear the red cock crowing!
+        Is anybody else awake
+        To see the winter morning break,
+          While thick and fast 'tis snowing?
+
+        I think the world is all asleep;
+          I hear the red cock crowing!
+        Out of the frosty pane I peep;
+        The drifts are piled so wide and deep,
+          And wild the wind is blowing!
+
+        Nothing I see has shape or form;
+          I hear the red cock crowing!
+        But that dear voice comes through the storm
+        To greet me in my nest so warm,
+          As if the sky were glowing!
+
+        A happy little child, I lie
+          And hear the red cock crowing.
+        The day is dark. I wonder why
+        His voice rings out so brave and high,
+          With gladness overflowing.
+
+Celia Thaxter.
+
+
+
+
+_The Singer_
+
+
+        O Lark! sweet lark!
+          Where learn you all your minstrelsy?
+        What realms are those to which you fly?
+        While robins feed their young from dawn till dark,
+          You soar on high--
+          Forever in the sky.
+
+        O child! dear child!
+          Above the clouds I lift my wing
+          To hear the bells of Heaven ring;
+        Some of their music, though my flights be wild,
+          To Earth I bring;
+          Then let me soar and sing!
+
+Edmund Clarence Stedman.
+
+
+
+
+_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 bluebell 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 the 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.
+
+
+
+
+_Robert of Lincoln_[A]
+
+
+        Merrily swinging on brier 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 this nest of ours,
+        Hidden among the summer flowers,
+            Chee, chee, chee.
+
+        Robert of Lincoln is gayly drest,
+          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 crone;
+          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.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] _Courtesy of D. Appleton & Co., Publishers of Bryant's Complete
+Poetical Works._
+
+
+
+
+_White Butterflies_
+
+
+        Fly, white butterflies, out to sea,
+        Frail, pale wings for the wind to try,
+        Small white wings that we scarce can see,
+            Fly!
+
+        Some fly light as a laugh of glee,
+        Some fly soft as a long, low sigh;
+        All to the haven where each would be,
+            Fly!
+
+Algernon Charles Swinburne.
+
+
+
+
+_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, 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;
+        But 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 _dance_ 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.
+
+Unknown.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+THE FLOWER FOLK
+
+
+        _Hope is like a harebell, trembling from its birth,
+        Love is like a rose, the joy of all the earth;
+        Faith is like a lily, lifted high and white,
+        Love is like a lovely rose, the world's delight;
+        Harebells and sweet lilies show a thornless growth,
+        But the rose with all its thorns excels them both._
+
+_Christina G. Rossetti._
+
+
+
+
+THE FLOWER FOLK
+
+
+
+
+_Little White Lily_
+
+
+        Little white Lily
+        Sat by a stone,
+        Drooping and waiting
+        Till the sun shone.
+        Little white Lily
+        Sunshine has fed;
+        Little white Lily
+        Is lifting her head.
+
+        Little white Lily
+        Said, "It is good--
+        Little white Lily's
+        Clothing and food."
+        Little white Lily
+        Drest like a bride!
+        Shining with whiteness,
+        And crowned beside!
+
+        Little white Lily
+        Droopeth with pain,
+        Waiting and waiting
+        For the wet rain.
+        Little white Lily
+        Holdeth her cup;
+        Rain is fast falling
+        And filling it up.
+
+        Little white Lily
+        Said, "Good again--
+        When I am thirsty
+        To have fresh rain!
+        Now I am stronger;
+        Now I am cool;
+        Heat cannot burn me,
+        My veins are so full."
+
+        Little white Lily
+        Smells very sweet:
+        On her head sunshine,
+        Rain at her feet.
+        "Thanks to the sunshine,
+        Thanks to the rain!
+        Little white Lily
+        Is happy again!"
+
+George Macdonald.
+
+
+
+
+_Violets_
+
+
+        Violets, violets, sweet March violets,
+        Sure as March comes, they'll come too,
+        First the white and then the blue--
+        Pretty violets!
+
+        White, with just a pinky dye,
+        Blue as little baby's eye,--
+        So like violets.
+
+        Though the rough wind shakes the house,
+        Knocks about the budding boughs,
+        There are violets.
+
+        Though the passing snow-storms come,
+        And the frozen birds sit dumb,
+        Up spring violets.
+
+        One by one among the grass,
+        Saying "Pluck me!" as we pass,--
+        Scented violets.
+
+        By and by there'll be so many,
+        We'll pluck dozens nor miss any:
+        Sweet, sweet violets!
+
+        Children, when you go to play,
+        Look beneath the hedge to-day:--
+        Mamma likes violets.
+
+Dinah Maria Mulock.
+
+
+
+
+_Young Dandelion_
+
+
+        Young Dandelion
+          On a hedge-side,
+        Said young Dandelion,
+          "Who'll be my bride?
+
+        "I'm a bold fellow
+          As ever was seen,
+        With my shield of yellow,
+          In the grass green.
+
+        "You may uproot me
+          From field and from lane,
+        Trample me, cut me,--
+          I spring up again.
+
+        "I never flinch, Sir,
+          Wherever I dwell;
+        Give me an inch, Sir,
+          I'll soon take an ell.
+
+        "Drive me from garden
+          In anger and pride,
+        I'll thrive and harden
+          By the road-side.
+
+        "Not a bit fearful,
+          Showing my face,
+        Always so cheerful
+          In every place."
+
+        Said young Dandelion,
+          With a sweet air,
+        "I have my eye on
+          Miss Daisy fair.
+
+        "Though we may tarry
+          Till past the cold,
+        Her I will marry
+          Ere I grow old.
+
+        "I will protect her
+          From all kinds of harm,
+        Feed her with nectar,
+          Shelter her warm.
+
+        "Whate'er the weather,
+          Let it go by;
+        We'll hold together,
+          Daisy and I.
+
+        "I'll ne'er give in,--no!
+          Nothing I fear:
+        All that I win, oh!
+          I'll keep for my dear."
+
+        Said young Dandelion
+          On his hedge-side,
+        "Who'll me rely on?
+          Who'll be my bride?"
+
+Dinah Maria Mulock.
+
+
+
+
+_Baby Seed Song_
+
+
+        Little brown brother, oh! little brown brother,
+          Are you awake in the dark?
+        Here we lie cosily, close to each other:
+          Hark to the song of the lark--
+          "Waken!" the lark says, "waken and dress you;
+          Put on your green coats and gay,
+        Blue sky will shine on you, sunshine caress you--
+          Waken! 'tis morning--'tis May!"
+
+        Little brown brother, oh! little brown brother,
+          What kind of flower will you be?
+        I'll be a poppy--all white, like my mother;
+          Do be a poppy like me.
+        What! you're a sun-flower? How I shall miss you
+          When you're grown golden and high!
+        But I shall send all the bees up to kiss you;
+          Little brown brother, good-bye.
+
+E. Nesbit.
+
+
+
+
+_A Violet Bank_
+
+
+        I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows,
+        Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows:
+        Quite over-canopied with lush woodbine,
+        With sweet musk roses and with eglantine.
+
+William Shakespeare.
+
+
+
+
+_There's Nothing Like the Rose_
+
+
+        The lily has an air,
+          And the snowdrop a grace,
+        And the sweet-pea a way,
+          And the hearts-ease a face,--
+        Yet there's nothing like the rose
+                When she blows.
+
+Christina G. Rossetti.
+
+
+
+
+_Snowdrops_
+
+
+        Little ladies, white and green,
+          With your spears about you,
+        Will you tell us where you've been
+          Since we lived without you?
+
+        You are sweet, and fresh, and clean,
+          With your pearly faces;
+        In the dark earth where you've been,
+          There are wondrous places:
+
+        Yet you come again, serene,
+          When the leaves are hidden;
+        Bringing joy from where you've been,
+          You return unbidden--
+
+        Little ladies, white and green,
+          Are you glad to cheer us?
+        Hunger not for where you've been,
+          Stay till Spring be near us!
+
+Laurence Alma Tadema.
+
+
+
+
+_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 had laboured, 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 B. Tabb.
+
+
+
+
+_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 color 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.
+
+
+
+
+_Daffy-Down-Dilly_
+
+
+        Daffy-down-dilly
+          Came up in the cold,
+          Through the brown mould,
+        Although the March breezes
+          Blew keen on her face,
+        Although the white snow
+          Lay on many a place.
+
+        Daffy-down-dilly
+          Had heard under ground,
+          The sweet rushing sound
+        Of the streams, as they broke
+          From their white winter chains,
+        Of the whistling spring winds
+          And the pattering rains.
+
+        "Now then," thought Daffy,
+          Deep down in her heart,
+          "It's time I should start."
+        So she pushed her soft leaves
+          Through the hard frozen ground,
+        Quite up to the surface,
+          And then she looked round.
+
+        There was snow all about her,
+          Gray clouds overhead;
+          The trees all looked dead:
+        Then how do you think
+          Poor Daffy-down felt,
+        When the sun would not shine,
+          And the ice would not melt?
+
+        "Cold weather!" thought Daffy,
+          Still working away;
+          "The earth's hard to-day!
+        There's but a half inch
+          Of my leaves to be seen,
+        And two thirds of that
+          Is more yellow than green.
+
+        "I can't do much yet;
+          But I'll do what I can:
+          It's well I began!
+        For, unless I can manage
+          To lift up my head,
+        The people will think
+          That the Spring herself's dead."
+
+        So, little by little,
+          She brought her leaves out,
+          All clustered about;
+        And then her bright flowers
+          Began to unfold,
+        Till Daffy stood robed
+          In her spring green and gold.
+
+        O Daffy-down-dilly,
+          So brave and so true!
+          I wish all were like you!--
+        So ready for duty
+          In all sorts of weather,
+        And loyal to courage
+          And duty together.
+
+Anna B. Warner.
+
+
+
+
+_Baby Corn_
+
+
+        A happy mother stalk of corn
+          Held close a baby ear,
+        And whispered: "Cuddle up to me,
+          I'll keep you warm, my dear.
+        I'll give you petticoats of green,
+          With many a tuck and fold
+        To let out daily as you grow;
+          For you will soon be old."
+
+        A funny little baby that,
+          For though it had no eye,
+        It had a hundred mouths; 'twas well
+          It did not want to cry.
+        The mother put in each small mouth
+          A hollow thread of silk,
+        Through which the sun and rain and air
+          Provided baby's milk.
+
+        The petticoats were gathered close
+          Where all the threadlets hung.
+        And still as summer days went on
+          To mother-stalk it clung;
+        And all the time it grew and grew--
+          Each kernel drank the milk
+        By day, by night, in shade, in sun,
+          From its own thread of silk.
+
+        And each grew strong and full and round,
+          And each was shining white;
+        The gores and seams were all let out,
+          The green skirts fitted tight.
+        The ear stood straight and large and tall,
+          And when it saw the sun,
+        Held up its emerald satin gown
+          To say: "Your work is done."
+
+        "You're large enough," said Mother Stalk,
+          "And now there's no more room
+        For you to grow." She tied the threads
+          Into a soft brown plume--
+        It floated out upon the breeze
+          To greet the dewy morn,
+        And then the baby said: "Now I'm
+          A full-grown ear of corn!"
+
+Unknown.
+
+
+
+
+_A Child's Fancy_
+
+
+        O little flowers, you love me so,
+          You could not do without me;
+        O little birds that come and go,
+          You sing sweet songs about me;
+        O little moss, observed by few,
+          That round the tree is creeping,
+        You like my head to rest on you,
+          When I am idly sleeping.
+
+        O rushes by the river side,
+          You bow when I come near you;
+        O fish, you leap about with pride,
+          Because you think I hear you;
+        O river, you shine clear and bright,
+          To tempt me to look in you;
+        O water-lilies, pure and white,
+          You hope that I shall win you.
+
+        O pretty things, you love me so,
+          I see I must not leave you;
+        You'd find it very dull, I know,
+          I should not like to grieve you.
+        Don't wrinkle up, you silly moss;
+          My flowers, you need not shiver;
+        My little buds, don't look so cross;
+          Don't talk so loud, my river.
+
+        And I will make a promise, dears,
+          That will content you, maybe;
+        I'll love you through the happy years,
+          Till I'm a nice old lady!
+        True love (like yours and mine) they say
+          Can never think of ceasing,
+        But year by year, and day by day,
+          Keeps steadily increasing.
+
+"A."
+
+
+
+
+_Little Dandelion_
+
+
+        Gay little Dandelion
+          Lights up the meads,
+        Swings on her slender foot,
+          Telleth her beads,
+        Lists to the robin's note
+          Poured from above:
+        Wise little Dandelion
+          Asks not for love.
+
+        Cold lie the daisy banks
+          Clothed but in green,
+        Where, in the days agone,
+          Bright hues were seen.
+        Wild pinks are slumbering;
+          Violets delay:
+        True little Dandelion
+          Greeteth the May.
+
+        Brave little Dandelion!
+          Fast falls the snow,
+        Bending the daffodil's
+          Haughty head low.
+        Under that fleecy tent,
+          Careless of cold,
+        Blithe little Dandelion
+          Counteth her gold.
+
+        Meek little Dandelion
+          Groweth more fair,
+        Till dies the amber dew
+          Out from her hair.
+        High rides the thirsty sun,
+          Fiercely and high;
+        Faint little Dandelion
+          Closeth her eye.
+
+        Pale 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 B. Bostwick.
+
+
+
+
+_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 vet'rans 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.
+
+
+
+
+The Flax Flower
+
+        Oh, the little flax flower!
+          It groweth on the hill,
+        And, be the breeze awake or 'sleep
+          It never standeth still.
+        It groweth, and it groweth fast;
+          One day it is a seed
+        And then a little grassy blade
+          Scarce better than a weed.
+        But then out comes the flax flower
+          As blue as is the sky;
+        And "'Tis a dainty little thing,"
+          We say as we go by.
+
+        Ah! 'tis a goodly little thing,
+          It groweth for the poor,
+        And many a peasant blesseth it
+          Beside his cottage door.
+        He thinketh how those slender stems
+          That shimmer in the sun
+        Are rich for him in web and woof
+          And shortly shall be spun.
+        He thinketh how those tender flowers
+          Of seed will yield him store,
+        And sees in thought his next year's crop
+          Blue shining round his door.
+
+        Oh, the little flax flower!
+          The mother then says she,
+        "Go, pull the thyme, the heath, the fern,
+          But let the flax flower be!
+        It groweth for the children's sake,
+          It groweth for our own;
+        There are flowers enough upon the hill,
+          But leave the flax alone!
+        The farmer hath his fields of wheat,
+          Much cometh to his share;
+        We have this little plot of flax
+          That we have tilled with care."
+
+        Oh, the goodly flax flower!
+          It groweth on the hill,
+        And, be the breeze awake or 'sleep,
+          It never standeth still.
+        It seemeth all astir with life
+          As if it loved to thrive,
+        As if it had a merry heart
+          Within its stem alive.
+        Then fair befall the flax-field,
+          And may the kindly showers
+        Give strength unto its shining stem,
+          Give seed unto its flowers!
+
+Mary Howitt.
+
+
+
+
+_Dear Little Violets_
+
+
+        Under the green hedges after the snow,
+        There do the dear little violets grow,
+        Hiding their modest and beautiful heads
+        Under the hawthorn in soft mossy beds.
+
+        Sweet as the roses, and blue as the sky,
+        Down there do the dear little violets lie;
+        Hiding their heads where they scarce may be seen,
+        By the leaves you may know where the violet hath been.
+
+John Moultrie.
+
+
+
+
+_Bird's Song in Spring_
+
+
+        The silver birch is a dainty lady,
+          She wears a satin gown;
+        The elm tree makes the old churchyard shady,
+          She will not live in town.
+
+        The English oak is a sturdy fellow,
+          He gets his green coat late;
+        The willow is smart in a suit of yellow,
+          While brown the beech trees wait.
+
+        Such a gay green gown God gives the larches--
+          As green as He is good!
+        The hazels hold up their arms for arches
+          When Spring rides through the wood.
+
+        The chestnut's proud, and the lilac's pretty,
+          The poplar's gentle and tall,
+        But the plane tree's kind to the poor dull city--
+          I love him best of all!
+
+E. Nesbit.
+
+
+
+
+_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.
+
+Björnstjerne Björnson.
+
+
+
+
+_The Daisy's Song_
+
+(A Fragment)
+
+
+        The sun, with his great eye,
+        Sees not so much as I;
+        And the moon, all silver-proud
+        Might as well be in a cloud.
+        And O the spring--the spring!
+        I lead the life of a king!
+        Couch'd in the teeming grass,
+        I spy each pretty lass.
+
+        I look where no one dares,
+        And I stare where no one stares,
+        And when the night is nigh
+        Lambs bleat my lullaby.
+
+John Keats.
+
+
+
+
+_Song_
+
+
+        For the tender beech and the sapling oak,
+          That grow by the shadowy rill,
+        You may cut down both at a single stroke,
+          You may cut down which you will.
+
+        But this you must know, that as long as they grow,
+          Whatever change may be,
+        You can never teach either oak or beech
+          To be aught but a greenwood tree.
+
+Thomas Love Peacock.
+
+
+
+
+_For Good Luck_
+
+
+        Little Kings and Queens of the May
+        If you want to be,
+        Every one of you, very good,
+        In this beautiful, beautiful, beautiful wood,
+        Where the little birds' heads get so turned with delight
+        That some of them sing all night:
+        Whatever you pluck,
+        Leave some for good luck!
+
+        Picked from the stalk or pulled by the root,
+        From overhead or under foot,
+        Water-wonders of pond or brook--
+        Wherever you look,
+        And whatever you find,
+        Leave something behind:
+        Some for the Naiads,
+        Some for the Dryads,
+        And a bit for the Nixies and Pixies!
+
+Juliana Horatia Ewing.
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+HIAWATHA'S BROTHERS
+
+
+        _Of all beasts he learned the language,
+        Learned their names and all their secrets,
+        How the beavers built their lodges,
+        Where the squirrels hid their acorns,
+        How the reindeer ran so swiftly,
+        Why the rabbit was so timid,
+        Talked with them whene'er he met them,
+        Called them "Hiawatha's Brothers."_
+
+_Henry Wadsworth Longfellow._
+
+
+
+
+HIAWATHA'S BROTHERS
+
+
+
+
+_My Pony_
+
+
+        My pony toss'd his sprightly head,
+          And would have smiled, if smile he could,
+        To thank me for the slice of bread
+          He thinks so delicate and good;
+        His eye is very bright and wild,
+          He looks as if he loved me so,
+        Although I only am a child
+          And he's a real horse, you know.
+
+        How charming it would be to rear,
+          And have hind legs to balance on;
+        Of hay and oats within the year
+          To leisurely devour a ton;
+        To stoop my head and quench my drouth
+          With water in a lovely pail;
+        To wear a snaffle in my mouth,
+          Fling back my ears, and slash my tail!
+
+        To gallop madly round a field,--
+          Who tries to catch me is a goose,
+        And then with dignity to yield
+          My stately back for rider's use;
+        To feel as only horses can,
+          When matters take their proper course,
+        And no one notices the man,
+          While loud applauses greet the horse!
+
+        He canters fast or ambles slow,
+          And either is a pretty game;
+        His duties are but pleasures--oh,
+          I wish that mine were just the same!
+        Lessons would be another thing
+          If I might turn from book and scroll,
+        And learn to gallop round a ring,
+          As he did when a little foal.
+
+        It must be charming to be shod,
+          And beautiful beyond my praise,
+        When tired of rolling on the sod,
+          To stand upon all-fours and graze!
+        Alas! my dreams are weak and wild,
+          I must not ape my betters so;
+        Alas! I only am a child,
+          And he's a real horse, you know.
+
+"A."
+
+
+
+
+_On a Spaniel, called Beau, Killing a Young Bird_
+
+(July 15, 1793)
+
+
+        A Spaniel, Beau, that fares like you,
+          Well fed, and at his ease,
+        Should wiser be than to pursue
+          Each trifle that he sees.
+
+        But you have kill'd a tiny bird,
+          Which flew not till to-day,
+        Against my orders, whom you heard
+          Forbidding you the prey.
+
+        Nor did you kill that you might eat,
+          And ease a doggish pain,
+        For him, though chas'd with furious heat
+          You left where he was slain.
+
+        Nor was he of the thievish sort,
+          Or one whom blood allures,
+        But innocent was all his sport
+          Whom you have torn for yours.
+
+        My dog! What remedy remains,
+         Since, teach you all I can,
+        I see you, after all my pains,
+          So much resemble Man?
+
+William Cowper.
+
+
+
+
+_Beau's Reply_
+
+
+        Sir, when I flew to seize the bird
+          In spite of your command,
+        A louder voice than yours I heard,
+          And harder to withstand.
+
+        You cried--forbear!--but in my breast
+          A mightier cried--proceed--
+        'Twas Nature, Sir, whose strong behest
+          Impell'd me to the deed.
+
+        Yet much as Nature I respect,
+          I ventur'd once to break,
+        (As you, perhaps, may recollect)
+          Her precept for your sake;
+
+        And when your linnet on a day,
+          Passing his prison door,
+        Had flutter'd all his strength away,
+          And panting press'd the floor,
+
+        Well knowing him a sacred thing,
+          Not destin'd to my tooth,
+        I only kiss'd his ruffled wing,
+          And lick'd the feathers smooth.
+
+        Let my obedience _then_ excuse
+          My disobedience _now_,
+        Nor some reproof yourself refuse
+          From your aggriev'd Bow-wow;
+        If killing birds be such a crime,
+          (Which I can hardly see,)
+        What think you, Sir, of killing Time
+          With verse address'd to me?
+
+William Cowper.
+
+
+
+
+_Seal Lullaby_
+
+
+        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.
+
+
+
+
+_Milking Time_
+
+
+        When the cows come home the milk is coming;
+        Honey's made while the bees are humming;
+        Duck and drake on the rushy lake,
+        And the deer live safe in the breezy brake;
+        And timid, funny, pert little bunny
+        Winks his nose, and sits all sunny.
+
+Christina G. Rossetti.
+
+
+
+
+_Thank You, Pretty Cow_
+
+
+        Thank you, pretty cow, that made
+        Pleasant milk to soak my bread,
+        Every day and every night,
+        Warm, and fresh, and sweet, and white.
+
+        Do not chew the hemlock rank,
+        Growing on the weedy bank;
+        But the yellow cowslip eat,
+        That will make it very sweet.
+
+        Where the purple violet grows,
+        Where the bubbling water flows,
+        Where the grass is fresh and fine,
+        Pretty cow, go there and dine.
+
+Jane Taylor.
+
+
+
+
+_The Boy and the Sheep_
+
+
+        "Lazy sheep, pray tell me why
+         In the pleasant field you lie,
+         Eating grass and daisies white,
+         From the morning till the night:
+         Everything can something do;
+         But what kind of use are you?"
+
+        "Nay, my little master, nay,
+         Do not serve me so, I pray!
+         Don't you see the wool that grows
+         On my back to make your clothes?
+         Cold, ah, very cold you'd be,
+         If you had not wool from me.
+
+        "True, it seems a pleasant thing
+         Nipping daisies in the spring;
+         But what chilly nights I pass
+         On the cold and dewy grass,
+         Or pick my scanty dinner where
+         All the ground is brown and bare!
+
+        "Then the farmer comes at last,
+         When the merry spring is past,
+         Cuts my woolly fleece away,
+         For your coat in wintry day.
+         Little master, this is why
+         In the pleasant fields I lie."
+
+Ann Taylor.
+
+
+
+
+_Lambs in the Meadow_
+
+
+        O little lambs! the month is cold,
+        The sky is very gray;
+        You shiver in the misty grass
+        And bleat at all the winds that pass;
+        Wait! when I'm big--some day--
+        I'll build a roof to every fold.
+
+        But now that I am small I'll pray
+        At mother's knee for you;
+        Perhaps the angels with their wings;
+        Will come and warm you, little things;
+        I'm sure that, if God knew,
+        He'd let the lambs be born in May.
+
+Laurence Alma Tadema.
+
+
+
+
+_The Pet Lamb_
+
+
+   The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink;
+   I heard a voice; it said, "Drink, pretty creature, drink!"
+   And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied
+   A snow-white mountain-lamb, with a maiden at its side.
+
+   Nor sheep nor kine were near; the lamb was all alone,
+   And by a slender cord was tethered to a stone.
+   With one knee on the grass did the little maiden kneel,
+   While to that mountain-lamb she gave its evening meal.
+
+   The lamb, while from her hand he thus his supper took,
+   Seemed to feast, with head and ears, and his tail with pleasure shook.
+   "Drink, pretty creature, drink!" she said, in such a tone
+   That I almost received her heart into my own.
+
+   'Twas little Barbara Lewthwaite, a child of beauty rare!
+   I watched them with delight; they were a lovely pair.
+   Now with her empty can the maiden turned away,
+   But ere ten yards were gone her footsteps did she stay.
+
+   Right toward the lamb she looked; and from a shady place,
+   I, unobserved, could see the workings of her face.
+   If nature to her tongue could measured numbers bring,
+   Thus, thought I, to her lamb that little maid might sing:--
+
+   "What ails thee, young one? what? Why pull so at thy cord?
+   Is it not well with thee? well both for bed and board?
+   Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be;
+   Rest, little young one, rest; what is't that aileth thee?
+
+   "What is it thou would'st seek? What is wanting to thy heart?
+   Thy limbs, are they not strong? and beautiful thou art.
+   This grass is tender grass, these flowers they have no peers,
+   And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears.
+
+   "If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy woollen chain,--
+   This beech is standing by,--its covert thou canst gain.
+   For rain and mountain storms, the like thou need'st not fear;
+   The rain and storm are things that scarcely can come here.
+
+   "Rest, little young one, rest; thou hast forgot the day
+   When my father found thee first, in places far away.
+   Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert owned by none,
+   And thy mother from thy side forevermore was gone.
+
+   "He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee home,--
+   A blessed day for thee!--Then whither would'st thou roam?
+   A faithful nurse thou hast; the dam that did thee yean
+   Upon the mountain-tops no kinder could have been.
+
+   "Thou know'st that twice a day I have brought thee in this can
+   Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran;
+   And twice in the day, when the ground was wet with dew,
+   I bring thee draughts of milk,--warm milk it is, and new.
+
+   "Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they are now;
+   Then I'll yoke thee to my cart, like a pony to the plough,
+   My playmate thou shalt be, and when the wind is cold,
+   Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be thy fold.
+
+   "It will not, will not rest! Poor creature, can it be
+   That 'tis thy mother's heart which is working so in thee?
+   Things that I know not of belike to thee are dear,
+   And dreams of things which thou canst neither see nor hear.
+
+   "Alas, the mountain-tops that look so green and fair!
+   I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come there.
+   The little brooks, that seem all pastime and all play,
+   When they are angry roar like lions for their prey.
+
+   "Here thou need'st not dread the raven in the sky;
+   Night and day thou art safe--our cottage is hard by.
+   Why bleat so after me? why pull so at thy chain?
+   Sleep,--and at break of day I will come to thee again!"
+
+   As homeward through the lane I went with lazy feet,
+   This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat;
+   And it seemed, as I retraced the ballad line by line,
+   That but half of it was hers and one half of it was mine.
+
+   Again and once again did I repeat the song:
+   "Nay," said I, "more than half to the damsel must belong;
+   For she looked with such a look, and she spake with such a tone,
+   That I almost received her heart into my own."
+
+William Wordsworth.
+
+
+
+
+_The Kitten, and Falling Leaves_
+
+
+        See the kitten on the wall,
+        Sporting with the leaves that fall,
+        Withered leaves--one--two--and three--
+        From the lofty elder tree!
+        Through the calm and frosty air
+        Of this morning bright and fair,
+        Eddying round and round they sink
+        Softly, slowly: one might think
+        From the motions that are made,
+        Every little leaf conveyed
+        Sylph or fairy hither tending,
+        To this lower world descending,
+        Each invisible and mute,
+        In his wavering parachute.
+        But the kitten, how she starts,
+        Crouches, stretches, paws and darts!
+        First at one and then its fellow,
+        Just as light and just as yellow;
+        There are many now--now one--
+        Now they stop and there are none:
+        What intenseness of desire
+        In her upward eye of fire!
+        With a tiger-leap, half-way,
+        Now she meets the coming prey;
+        Lets it go as fast and then
+        Has it in her power again.
+        Now she works with three or four,
+        Like an Indian conjuror;
+        Quick as he in feats of art,
+        Far beyond in joy of heart.
+
+               *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+William Wordsworth.
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+OTHER LITTLE CHILDREN
+
+
+        _If thou couldst know thine own sweetness,
+          O little one, perfect and sweet,
+        Thou wouldst be a child forever;
+          Completer whilst incomplete._
+
+_Francis Turner Palgrave._
+
+
+
+
+OTHER LITTLE CHILDREN
+
+
+
+
+_Where Go the Boats?_[A]
+
+
+        Dark brown is the river,
+          Golden is the sand.
+        It flows along forever
+          With trees on either hand.
+
+        Green leaves a-floating,
+          Castles of the foam,
+        Boats of mine a-boating--
+          Where will all come home?
+
+        On goes the river
+          And out past the mill,
+        Away down the valley,
+          Away down the hill.
+
+        Away down the river,
+          A hundred miles or more,
+        Other little children
+          Shall bring my boats ashore.
+
+Robert Louis Stevenson.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] _From "A Child's Garden of Verses." By permission of Charles
+Scribner's Sons._
+
+
+
+
+_Cleanliness_
+
+
+        Come, my little Robert, near--
+        Fie! what filthy hands are here!
+        Who, that e'er could understand
+        The rare structure of a hand,
+        With its branching fingers fine,
+        Work itself of hands divine,
+        Strong, yet delicately knit,
+        For ten thousand uses fit,
+        Overlaid with so clear skin
+        You may see the blood within,--
+        Who this hand would choose to cover
+        With a crust of dirt all over,
+        Till it look'd in hue and shape
+        Like the forefoot of an ape!
+        Man or boy that works or plays
+        In the fields or the highways,
+        May, without offence or hurt,
+        From the soil contract a dirt
+        Which the next clear spring or river
+        Washes out and out for ever--
+        But to cherish stains impure,
+        Soil deliberate to endure,
+        On the skin to fix a stain
+        Till it works into the grain,
+        Argues a degenerate mind,
+        Sordid, slothful, ill-inclined,
+        Wanting in that self-respect
+        Which does virtue best protect.
+        All-endearing cleanliness,
+        Virtue next to godliness,
+        Easiest, cheapest, needfull'st duty,
+        To the body health and beauty;
+        Who that's human would refuse it,
+        When a little water does it?
+
+Charles and Mary Lamb.
+
+
+
+
+_Wishing_
+
+
+        Ring-ting! I wish I were a Primrose,
+        A bright yellow Primrose, blowing in the spring!
+          The stooping bough 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,
+          And 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 sleep in the dark wood or dell?
+          Before the day was over,
+          Home must come the rover,
+        For mother's kiss,--sweeter this
+          Than any other thing.
+
+William Allingham.
+
+
+
+
+_The Boy_
+
+
+        The Boy from his bedroom window
+          Look'd over the little town,
+        And away to the bleak black upland
+          Under a clouded moon.
+
+        The moon came forth from her cavern.
+          He saw the sudden gleam
+        Of a tarn in the swarthy moorland;
+          Or perhaps the whole was a dream.
+
+        For I never could find that water
+          In all my walks and rides:
+        Far-off, in the Land of Memory,
+          That midnight pool abides.
+
+        Many fine things had I glimpse of,
+          And said, "I shall find them one day."
+        Whether within or without me
+          They were, I cannot say.
+
+William Allingham.
+
+
+
+
+_Infant Joy_
+
+
+        "I have no name,
+        I am but two days old."
+        What shall I call thee?
+         "I happy am,
+         Joy is my name."
+        Sweet joy befall thee!
+
+        Pretty joy!
+        Sweet joy but two days old!
+        Sweet joy I call thee.
+         Thou dost smile,
+         I sing the while.
+        Sweet joy befall thee!
+
+William Blake
+
+
+
+
+_A Blessing for the Blessed_
+
+
+        When the sun has left the hill-top
+         And the daisy fringe is furled,
+        When the birds from wood and meadow
+         In their hidden nests are curled,
+        Then I think of all the babies
+         That are sleeping in the world.
+
+        There are babies in the high lands
+         And babies in the low,
+        There are pale ones wrapped in furry skins
+         On the margin of the snow,
+        And brown ones naked in the isles
+         Where all the spices grow.
+
+        And some are in the palace
+         On a white and downy bed,
+        And some are in the garret
+         With a clout beneath their head,
+        And some are on the cold hard earth,
+         Whose mothers have no bread.
+
+        O little men and women,
+         Dear flowers yet unblown--
+        O little kings and beggars
+         Of the pageant yet unshown--
+        Sleep soft and dream pale dreams now,
+         To-morrow is your own.
+
+Laurence Alma Tadema.
+
+
+
+
+_Piping Down the Valleys Wild_
+
+
+        Piping down the valleys wild,
+          Piping songs of pleasant glee,
+        On a cloud I saw a child,
+          And he, laughing, said to me:
+
+        "Pipe a song about a lamb."
+          So I piped with merry cheer.
+        "Piper, pipe that song again."
+          So I piped; he wept to hear.
+
+        "Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe,
+          Sing thy songs of happy cheer."
+        So I sang the same again,
+          While he wept with joy to hear.
+
+        "Piper, sit thee down and write,
+          In a book, that all may read."--
+        So he vanished from my sight,
+          And I plucked a hollow reed,
+
+        And I made a rural pen;
+          And I stained the water clear
+        And I wrote my happy songs
+          Every child may joy to hear.
+
+William Blake.
+
+
+
+
+_A Sleeping Child_
+
+
+        Lips, lips, open!
+        Up comes a little bird that lives inside,
+        Up comes a little bird, and peeps, and out he flies.
+
+        All the day he sits inside, and sometimes he sings;
+        Up he comes and out he goes at night to spread his wings.
+
+        Little bird, little bird, whither will you go?
+        Round about the world while nobody can know.
+
+        Little bird, little bird, whither do you flee?
+        Far away round the world while nobody can see.
+
+        Little bird, little bird, how long will you roam?
+        All round the world and around again home.
+
+        Round the round world, and back through the air,
+        When the morning comes, the little bird is there.
+
+        Back comes the little bird, and looks, and in he flies.
+        Up wakes the little boy, and opens both his eyes.
+
+        Sleep, sleep, little boy, little bird's away,
+        Little bird will come again by the peep of day;
+
+        Sleep, sleep, little boy, little bird must go
+        Round about the world, while nobody can know.
+
+        Sleep, sleep sound, little bird goes round,
+        Round and round he goes,--sleep, sleep sound!
+
+Arthur Hugh Clough.
+
+
+
+
+_Birdies with Broken Wings_[A]
+
+
+        Birdies with broken wings,
+          Hide from each other;
+        But babies in trouble
+          Can run home to mother.
+
+Mary Mapes Dodge.
+
+
+
+
+_Seven Times One_
+
+_Exultation_
+
+
+
+        There's no dew left on the daisies and clover,
+          There's no rain left in heaven;
+        I've said my "seven times" over and over--
+          Seven times one are seven.
+
+        I am old! so old I can write a letter;
+          My birthday lessons are done:
+        The lambs play always, they know no better;
+          They are only one times one.
+
+        O Moon! in the night I have seen you sailing,
+          And shining so round and low;
+        You were bright! ah, bright! but your light is failing;
+          You are nothing now but a bow.
+
+        You Moon! have you done something wrong in heaven,
+          That God has hidden your face?
+        I hope, if you have, you will soon be forgiven,
+          And shine again in your place.
+
+        O velvet Bee! you're a dusty fellow,
+          You've powdered your legs with gold;
+        O brave marsh Mary-buds, rich and yellow!
+          Give me your money to hold.
+
+        O Columbine! open your folded wrapper
+          Where two twin turtle-doves dwell;
+        O Cuckoo-pint! toll me the purple clapper,
+          That hangs in your clear, green bell.
+
+        And show me your nest with the young ones in it--
+          I will not steal them away,
+        I am old! you may trust me, Linnet, Linnet,--
+          I am seven times one to-day.
+
+Jean Ingelow.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] _From "Rhymes and Jingles." By permission of Charles Scribner's
+Sons._
+
+
+
+
+_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 heav'n
+          Than when I was a boy.
+
+Thomas Hood.
+
+
+
+
+_Good-night and Good-morning_
+
+
+        A fair little girl sat under a tree
+        Sewing as long as her eyes could see;
+        Then smoothed her work and folded it right,
+        And said, "Dear work, good-night, good-night!"
+
+        Such a number of rooks came over her head
+        Crying, "Caw, caw!" on their way to bed;
+        She said, as she watched their curious flight,
+        "Little black things, good-night, good-night!"
+
+        The horses neighed, and the oxen lowed;
+        The sheep's "Bleat, bleat!" came over the road.
+        All seeming to say, with a quiet delight,
+        "Good little girl, good-night, good-night!"
+
+        She did not say to the sun, "Good-night!"
+        Though she saw him there like a ball of light;
+        For she knew he had God's own time to keep
+        All over the world, and never could sleep.
+
+        The tall, pink Fox-glove bowed his head--
+        The Violets curtsied, and went to bed;
+        And good little Lucy tied up her hair,
+        And said, on her knees, her favorite prayer.
+
+        And while on her pillow she softly lay,
+        She knew nothing more till again it was day,
+        And all things said to the beautiful sun,
+        "Good-morning, good-morning! our work is begun."
+
+
+Lord Houghton.
+
+(Richard Monckton Milnes.)
+
+
+
+
+_Little Children_
+
+
+        Sporting through the forest wide;
+        Playing by the waterside;
+        Wandering o'er the heathy fells;
+        Down within the woodland dells;
+        All among the mountains wild,
+        Dwelleth many a little child!
+        In the baron's hall of pride;
+        By the poor man's dull fireside:
+        'Mid the mighty, 'mid the mean,
+        Little children may be seen,
+        Like the flowers that spring up fair,
+        Bright and countless everywhere!
+        In the far isles of the main;
+        In the desert's lone domain;
+        In the savage mountain-glen,
+        'Mong the tribes of swarthy men;
+        Whereso'er the sun hath shone
+        On a league of people'd ground,
+        Little children may be found!
+        Blessings on them! they in me
+        Move a kindly sympathy,
+        With their wishes, hopes, and fears;
+        With their laughter and their tears;
+        With their wonder so intense,
+        And their small experience!
+        Little children, not alone
+        On the wide earth are ye known,
+        'Mid its labours and its cares,
+        'Mid its sufferings and its snares;
+        Free from sorrow, free from strife,
+        In the world of love and life,
+        Where no sinful thing hath trod--
+        In the presence of your God,
+        Spotless, blameless, glorified--
+        Little children, ye abide!
+
+Mary Howitt.
+
+
+
+
+_The Angel's Whisper_
+
+
+             A baby was sleeping;
+             Its mother was weeping;
+        For her husband was far on the wild raging sea;
+             And the tempest was swelling
+             Round the fisherman's dwelling,
+        And she cried, "Dermot, darling, Oh, come back to me!"
+
+             Her beads while she numbered
+             The baby still slumbered,
+        And smiled in her face as she bended her knee.
+             "Oh, blest be that warning,
+             Thy sweet sleep adorning,
+        For I know that the angels are whispering to thee!
+
+             "And while they are keeping
+             Bright watch o'er thy sleeping,
+        Oh, pray to them softly, my baby, with me!
+             And say thou would'st rather
+             They'd watch o'er thy father,
+        For I know that the angels are whispering to thee."
+
+             The dawn of the morning
+             Saw Dermot returning,
+        And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see;
+             And closely caressing
+             Her child with a blessing,
+        Said, "I knew that the angels were whispering to thee."
+
+Samuel Lover.
+
+
+
+
+_Little Garaine_
+
+
+        "Where do the stars grow, little Garaine?
+          The garden of moons is it far away?
+        The orchard of suns, my little Garaine,
+          Will you take us there some day?"
+
+        "If you shut your eyes," quoth little Garaine,
+          "I will show you the way to go
+        To the orchard of suns and the garden of moons
+          And the field where the stars do grow.
+
+        "But you must speak soft," quoth little Garaine
+          "And still must your footsteps be,
+        For a great bear prowls in the field of stars,
+          And the moons they have men to see.
+
+        "And the suns have the Children of Signs to guard,
+          And they have no pity at all----
+        You must not stumble, you must not speak,
+          When you come to the orchard wall.
+
+        "The gates are locked," quoth little Garaine,
+          "But the way I am going to tell!
+        The key of your heart it will open them all
+          And there's where the darlings dwell!"
+
+Sir Gilbert Parker.
+
+
+
+
+_A Letter_
+
+_(To Lady Margaret Cavendish Holles-Harley, when a Child)_
+
+
+        My noble, lovely, little Peggy,
+        Let this my First Epistle beg ye,
+        At dawn of morn, and close of even,
+        To lift your heart and hands to Heaven.
+        In double duty say your prayer:
+        _Our Father_ first, then _Notre Père_.
+
+        And, dearest child, along the day,
+        In every thing you do and say,
+        Obey and please my lord and lady,
+        So God shall love and angels aid ye.
+
+        If to these precepts you attend,
+        No second letter need I send,
+        And so I rest your constant friend.
+
+Matthew Prior.
+
+
+
+
+_Love and the Child_
+
+
+        Toys, and treats, and pleasures pass
+        Like a shadow in a glass,
+        Like the smoke that mounts on high,
+        Like a noonday's butterfly.
+
+        Quick they come and quick they end,
+        Like the money that I spend;
+        Some to-day, to-morrow more,
+        Short, like those that went before.
+
+        Mother, fold me to your knees!
+        How much should I care for these--
+        Little joys that come and go!
+        If you did not love me so?
+
+        And when things are sad or wrong,
+        Then I know that love is strong;
+        When I ache, or when I weep,
+        Then I know that love is deep.
+
+        Father, now my prayer is said,
+        Lay your hand upon my head!
+        Pleasures pass from day to day,
+        But I know that love will stay.
+
+        While I sleep it will be near;
+        I shall wake and find it here;
+        I shall feel it in the air
+        When I say my morning prayer.
+
+        Maker of this little heart!
+        Lord of love I know thou art!
+        Little heart! though thou forget,
+        Still the love is round thee set.
+
+William Brighty Rands.
+
+
+
+
+_Polly_
+
+
+        Brown eyes, straight nose;
+        Dirt pies, rumpled clothes.
+
+        Torn books, spoilt toys:
+        Arch looks, unlike a boy's;
+
+        Little rages, obvious arts;
+        (Three her age is), cakes, tarts;
+
+        Falling down off chairs;
+        Breaking crown down stairs;
+
+        Catching flies on the pane;
+        Deep sighs--cause not plain;
+
+        Bribing you with kisses
+        For a few farthing blisses.
+
+        Wide-a-wake; as you hear,
+        "Mercy's sake, quiet, dear!"
+
+        New shoes, new frock;
+        Vague views of what's o'clock
+
+        When it's time to go to bed,
+        And scorn sublime for what is said.
+
+        Folded hands, saying prayers,
+        Understands not nor cares--
+
+        Thinks it odd, smiles away;
+        Yet may God hear her pray!
+
+        Bed gown white, kiss Dolly;
+        Good night!--that's Polly,
+
+        Fast asleep, as you see,
+        Heaven keep my girl for me!
+
+William Brighty Rands.
+
+
+
+
+_A Chill_
+
+
+        What can lambkins do
+        All the keen night through?
+          Nestle by their woolly mother
+        The careful ewe.
+
+        What can nestlings do
+        In the nightly dew?
+          Sleep beneath their mother's wing
+        Till day breaks anew.
+
+        If in field or tree
+        There might only be
+        Such a warm soft sleeping-place
+        Found for me!
+
+Christina G. Rossetti.
+
+
+
+
+_A Child's Laughter_
+
+
+        All the bells of heaven may ring,
+        All the birds of heaven may sing,
+        All the wells on earth may spring,
+        All the winds on earth may bring
+             All sweet sounds together;
+        Sweeter far than all things heard,
+        Hand of harper, tone of bird,
+        Sound of woods at sundawn stirred,
+        Welling water's winsome word,
+             Wind in warm, wan weather.
+
+        One thing yet there is that none
+        Hearing, ere its chime be done
+        Knows not well the sweetest one
+        Heard of man beneath the sun,
+             Hoped in heaven hereafter;
+        Soft and strong and loud and light,
+        Very sound of very light,
+        Heard from morning's rosiest height,
+        When the soul of all delight
+             Fills a child's clear laughter.
+
+        Golden bells of welcome rolled
+        Never forth such note, nor told
+        Hours so blithe in tones so bold,
+        As the radiant month of gold
+             Here that rings forth heaven.
+        If the golden-crested wren
+        Were a nightingale--why, then
+        Something seen and heard of men
+        Might be half as sweet as when
+             Laughs a child of seven.
+
+Algernon C. Swinburne.
+
+
+
+
+_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.
+
+        And twigs that shake, and boughs that sway;
+          And tall old trees you could not climb;
+        And winds that come, but cannot stay,
+          Are singing gayly 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.
+
+        The brook that flows beside the mill,
+          As happy as a brook can be,
+        Goes singing its old song until
+          It learns the singing of the sea.
+
+        For every wave upon the sands
+          Sings songs you never tire to hear,
+        Of laden ships from sunny lands
+          Where it is summer all the year.
+
+        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.
+
+Gabriel Setoun.
+
+
+
+
+_The Little Land_[A]
+
+
+        When at home alone I sit
+        And am very tired of it,
+        I have just to shut my eyes
+        To go sailing through the skies--
+        To go sailing far away
+        To the pleasant Land of Play;
+        To the fairy land afar
+        Where the Little People are;
+        Where the clover-tops are trees,
+        And the rain-pools are the seas,
+        And the leaves like little ships
+        Sail about on tiny trips;
+        And above the daisy tree
+            Through the grasses,
+        High o'erhead the Bumble Bee
+            Hums and passes.
+
+        In that forest to and fro
+        I can wander, I can go;
+        See the spider and the fly,
+        And the ants go marching by
+        Carrying parcels with their feet
+        Down the green and grassy street.
+        I can in the sorrel sit
+        Where the ladybird alit.
+        I can climb the jointed grass;
+            And on high
+        See the greater swallows pass
+            In the sky,
+        And the round sun rolling by
+        Heeding no such thing as I.
+
+        Through the forest I can pass
+        Till, as in a looking-glass,
+        Humming fly and daisy tree
+        And my tiny self I see,
+        Painted very clear and neat
+        On the rain-pool at my feet.
+        Should a leaflet come to land
+        Drifting near to where I stand,
+        Straight I'll board that tiny boat
+        Round the rain-pool sea to float.
+
+        Little thoughtful creatures sit
+        On the grassy coasts of it;
+        Little things with lovely eyes
+        See me sailing with surprise.
+        Some are clad in armour green--
+        (These have sure to battle been!)
+        Some are pied with ev'ry hue,
+        Black and crimson, gold and blue;
+        Some have wings and swift are gone:--
+        But they all look kindly on.
+
+        When my eyes I once again
+        Open and see all things plain;
+        High bare walls, great bare floor;
+        Great big knobs on drawer and door;
+        Great big people perched on chairs,
+        Stitching tucks and mending tears,
+        Each a hill that I could climb,
+        And talking nonsense all the time--
+            O dear me,
+            That I could be
+        A sailor on the rain-pool sea,
+        A climber in the clover-tree,
+        And just come back, a sleepy-head,
+        Late at night to go to bed.
+
+Robert Louis Stevenson.
+
+
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] _From "A Child's Garden of Verses." By permission of Charles
+Scribner's Sons._
+
+
+
+
+_In a Garden_
+
+
+        Baby, see the flowers!
+                  Baby sees
+        Fairer things than these,
+        Fairer though they be than dreams of ours.
+        Baby, hear the birds!
+                  Baby knows
+        Better songs than those,
+        Sweeter though they sound than sweetest words.
+
+        Baby, see the moon!
+                  Baby's eyes
+        Laugh to watch it rise,
+        Answering light with love and night with noon.
+
+        Baby, hear the sea!
+                  Baby's face
+        Takes a graver grace,
+        Touched with wonder what the sound may be.
+
+        Baby, see the star!
+                  Baby's hand
+        Opens, warm and bland,
+        Calm in claim of all things fair that are.
+
+        Baby, hear the bells!
+                  Baby's head
+        Bows as ripe for bed,
+        Now the flowers curl round and close their cells.
+
+        Baby, flower of light,
+                  Sleep and see
+        Brighter dreams than we,
+        Till good day shall smile away good night.
+
+Algernon Charles Swinburne
+
+
+
+
+_Little Gustava_
+
+
+I
+
+        Little Gustava sits in the sun,
+        Safe in the porch, and the little drops run
+        From the icicles under the eaves so fast,
+        For the bright spring sun shines warm at last,
+            And glad is little Gustava.
+
+
+II
+
+        She wears a quaint little scarlet cap,
+        And a little green bowl she holds in her lap,
+        Filled with bread and milk to the brim,
+        And a wreath of marigolds round the rim.
+            "Ha! ha!" laughs little Gustava.
+
+
+III
+
+        Up comes her little gray coaxing cat
+        With her little pink nose, and she mews, "What's that?"
+        Gustava feeds her,--she begs for more;
+        And a little brown hen walks in at the door
+           "Good day!" cries little Gustava.
+
+
+IV
+
+        She scatters crumbs for the little brown hen.
+        There comes a rush and a flutter, and then
+        Down fly her little white doves so sweet,
+        With their snowy wings and crimson feet:
+            "Welcome!" cries little Gustava.
+
+
+V
+
+        So dainty and eager they pick up the crumbs.
+        But who is this through the doorway comes?
+        Little Scotch terrier, little dog Rags,
+        Looks in her face, and his funny tail wags:
+            "Ha, ha!" laughs little Gustava.
+
+
+VI
+
+        "You want some breakfast too?" and down
+        She sets her bowl on brick floor brown;
+        And little dog Rags drinks up her milk,
+        While she strokes his shaggy locks like silk:
+            "Dear Rags!" says little Gustava.
+
+
+VII
+
+        Waiting without stood sparrow and crow,
+        Cooling their feet in the melting snow:
+        "Won't you come in, good folk?" she cried.
+        But they were too bashful, and stood outside
+            Though "Pray come in!" cried Gustava.
+
+
+VIII
+
+        So the last she threw them, and knelt on the mat
+        With doves and biddy and dog and cat.
+        And her mother came to the open house-door
+        "Dear little daughter, I bring you some more.
+            My merry little Gustava!"
+
+
+IX
+
+        Kitty and terrier, biddy and doves,
+        All things harmless Gustava loves.
+        The shy, kind creatures 'tis joy to feed,
+        And oh her breakfast is sweet indeed
+            To happy little Gustava!
+
+Celia Thaxter.
+
+
+
+
+_A Bunch of Roses_
+
+
+        The rosy mouth and rosy toe
+         Of little baby brother,
+        Until about a month ago
+         Had never met each other;
+        But nowadays the neighbours sweet,
+         In every sort of weather,
+        Half way with rosy fingers meet,
+         To kiss and play together.
+
+John B. Tabb.
+
+
+
+
+_The Child_
+
+_At Bethlehem_
+
+
+        Long, long before the Babe could speak,
+        When he would kiss his mother's cheek
+           And to her bosom press,
+        The brightest angels standing near
+        Would turn away to hide a tear--
+           For they are motherless.
+
+John B. Tabb
+
+
+
+
+_After the Storm_
+
+
+        And when,--its force expended,
+        The harmless storm was ended,
+        And as the sunrise splendid
+         Came blushing o'er the sea--
+        I thought, as day was breaking,
+        My little girls were waking,
+        And smiling and making
+         A prayer at home for me.
+
+William Makepeace Thackeray.
+
+
+
+
+_Lucy Gray_
+
+
+        Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray;
+          And, when I crossed the wild,
+        I chanced to see at break of day
+          The solitary child.
+
+        No mate, no comrade, Lucy knew;
+          She dwelt on a wide moor,--
+        The sweetest thing that ever grew
+          Beside a human door!
+
+        You yet may spy the fawn at play,
+          The hare upon the green;
+        But the sweet face of Lucy Gray
+          Will never more be seen.
+
+        "To-night will be a stormy night--
+          You to the town must go:
+        And take a lantern, child, to light
+          Your mother through the snow."
+
+        "That, father, will I gladly do:
+          'Tis scarcely afternoon--
+        The minster-clock has just struck two;
+          And yonder is the moon."
+
+        At this the father raised his hook,
+          And snapped a faggot-band;
+        He plied his work;--and Lucy took
+          The lantern in her hand.
+
+        Not blither is the mountain roe:
+          With many a wanton stroke
+        Her feet disperse the powdery snow,
+          That rises up like smoke.
+
+        The storm came on before its time
+          She wandered up and down;
+        And many a hill did Lucy climb,
+          But never reached the town.
+
+        The wretched parents all that night
+          Went shouting far and wide;
+        But there was neither sound nor sight
+          To serve them for a guide.
+
+        At daybreak on a hill they stood
+          That overlooked the moor;
+        And thence they saw the bridge of wood,
+          A furlong from their door.
+
+        They wept--and, turning homeward, cried,
+          "In heaven we all shall meet!"
+        When in the snow the mother spied
+          The print of Lucy's feet.
+
+        Then downwards from the steep hill's edge
+          They tracked the footmarks small;
+        And through the broken hawthorn hedge,
+          And by the low stone wall:
+
+        And then an open field they crossed;
+          The marks were still the same;
+        They tracked them on, nor ever lost;
+          And to the bridge they came.
+
+        They follow from the snowy bank
+          Those footmarks, one by one,
+        Into the middle of the plank;
+          And further there were none!
+
+        --Yet some maintain that to this day
+          She is a living child;
+        That you may see sweet Lucy Gray
+          Upon the lonesome wild.
+
+        O'er rough and smooth she trips along,
+          And never looks behind;
+        And sings a solitary song
+          That whistles in the wind.
+
+William Wordsworth
+
+
+
+
+_Deaf and Dumb_
+
+
+        He lies on the grass, looking up to the sky;
+        Blue butterflies pass like a breath or a sigh,
+        The shy little hare runs confidingly near,
+        And wise rabbits stare with inquiry, not fear:
+        Gay squirrels have found him and made him their choice;
+        All creatures flock round him, and seem to rejoice.
+
+        Wild ladybirds leap on his cheek fresh and fair,
+        Young partridges creep, nestling under his hair,
+        Brown honey-bees drop something sweet on his lips,
+        Rash grasshoppers hop on his round finger-tips,
+        Birds hover above him with musical call;
+        All things seem to love him, and he loves them all.
+
+        Is nothing afraid of the boy lying there?
+        Would all nature aid if he wanted its care?
+        Things timid and wild with soft eagerness come.
+        Ah, poor little child!--he is deaf--he is dumb.
+        But what can have brought them? but how can they know?
+        What instinct has taught them to cherish him so?
+
+        Since first he could walk they have served him like this.
+        His lips could not talk, but they found they could kiss.
+        They made him a court, and they crowned him a king;
+        Ah, who could have thought of so lovely a thing?
+        They found him so pretty, they gave him their hearts,
+        And some divine pity has taught them their parts!
+
+"A."
+
+
+
+
+_The Blind Boy_
+
+
+        O, say, what is that thing called Light,
+          Which I must ne'er enjoy?
+        What are the blessings of the sight?
+          O tell your poor blind boy!
+
+        You talk of wondrous things you see;
+          You say the sun shines bright;
+        I feel him warm, but how can he
+          Make either day or night?
+
+        My day and night myself I make,
+          Whene'er I sleep or play,
+        And could I always keep awake,
+          With me 'twere always day.
+
+        With heavy sighs I often hear
+          You mourn my hapless woe;
+        But sure with patience I can bear
+          A loss I ne'er can know.
+
+        Then let not what I cannot have
+          My peace of mind destroy;
+        Whilst thus I sing, I am a king,
+          Although a poor blind boy!
+
+Colley Cibber.
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+PLAY-TIME
+
+
+        _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._
+
+_Gabriel Setoun._
+
+
+
+
+PLAY-TIME
+
+
+
+
+_A Boy's Song_
+
+
+        Where the pools are bright and deep,
+        Where the gray trout lies asleep,
+        Up the river and o'er the lea,
+        That's the way for Billy and me.
+
+        Where the blackbird sings the latest,
+        Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest,
+        Where the nestlings chirp and flee,
+        That's the way for Billy and me.
+
+        Where the mowers mow the cleanest,
+        Where the hay lies thick and greenest,
+        There to trace the homeward bee,
+        That's the way for Billy and me.
+
+        Where the hazel bank is steepest,
+        Where the shadow falls the deepest,
+        Where the clustering nuts fall free,
+        That's the way for Billy and me.
+
+        Why the boys should drive away
+        Little sweet maidens from the play,
+        Or love to banter and fight so well,
+        That's the thing I never could tell.
+
+        But this I know, I love to play,
+        Through the meadow, among the hay,
+        Up the water and o'er the lea,
+        That's the way for Billy and me.
+
+James Hogg (The Ettrick Shepherd).
+
+
+
+
+_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 on 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 on 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 sake's sake, she is still, dears,
+          The prettiest doll in the world.
+
+Charles Kingsley
+
+
+
+
+_Dolladine_
+
+
+        This is her picture--Dolladine--
+        The beautifullest doll that ever was seen!
+        Oh, what nosegays! Oh, what sashes!
+        Oh, what beautiful eyes and lashes!
+
+        Oh, what a precious perfect pet!
+        On each instep a pink rosette;
+        Little blue shoes for her little blue tots;
+        Elegant ribbons in bows and knots.
+
+        Her hair is powdered; her arms are straight,
+        Only feel, she is quite a weight!
+        Her legs are limp, though;--stand up, miss!--
+        What a beautiful buttoned-up mouth to kiss!
+
+William Brighty Rands.
+
+
+
+
+_Dressing the Doll_
+
+
+        This is the way we dress the Doll:--
+        You may make her a shepherdess, the Doll,
+        If you give her a crook with a pastoral hook,
+        But this is the way we dress the Doll.
+
+CHORUS.
+
+        Bless the Doll, you may press the Doll,
+        But do not crumple and mess the Doll!
+        This is the way we dress the Doll.
+        First, you observe her little chemise,
+        As white as milk, with ruches of silk;
+        And the little drawers that cover her knees.
+        As she sits or stands, with golden bands,
+        And lace in beautiful filagrees.
+
+CHORUS.
+
+        Bless the Doll, you may press the Doll,
+        But do not crumple or mess the Doll!
+        This is the way we dress the Doll.
+
+        Now these are the bodies: she has two,
+        One of pink, with ruches of blue,
+        And sweet white lace; be careful, do!
+        And one of green, with buttons of sheen,
+        Buttons and bands of gold, I mean,
+        With lace on the border in lovely order,
+        The most expensive we can afford her!
+
+CHORUS.
+
+        Bless the Doll, you may press the Doll,
+        But do not crumple or mess the Doll!
+        This is the way we dress the Doll.
+
+        Then, with black at the border, jacket
+        And this--and this--she will not lack it;
+        Skirts? Why, there are skirts, of course,
+        And shoes and stockings we shall enforce,
+        With a proper bodice, in the proper place
+        (Stays that lace have had their days
+        And made their martyrs); likewise garters,
+        All entire. But our desire
+        Is to show you her night attire,
+        At least a part of it. Pray admire
+        This sweet white thing that she goes to bed in!
+        It's not the one that's made for her wedding;
+        _That_ is special, a new design,
+        Made with a charm and a countersign,
+        Three times three and nine times nine:
+        These are only her usual clothes:
+        Look, _there's_ a wardrobe! gracious knows
+        It's pretty enough, as far as it goes!
+
+        So you see the way we dress the Doll:
+        You might make her a shepherdess, the Doll,
+        If you gave her a crook with a pastoral hook,
+        With sheep, and a shed, and a shallow brook,
+        And all that, out of the poetry-book.
+
+CHORUS.
+
+        Bless the Doll, you may press the Doll,
+        But do not crumple and mess the Doll!
+        This is the way we dress the Doll;
+        If you had not seen, could you guess the Doll?
+
+William Brighty Rands.
+
+
+
+
+_The Pedlar's Caravan_
+
+
+        I wish I lived in a caravan,
+        With a horse to drive, like a pedlar-man!
+        Where he comes from nobody knows,
+        Or where he goes to, but on he goes!
+
+        His caravan has windows two,
+        And a chimney of tin, that the smoke comes through;
+        He has a wife, with a baby brown,
+        And they go riding from town to town.
+
+        Chairs to mend, and delf to sell!
+        He clashes the basins like a bell;
+        Tea-trays, baskets ranged in order,
+        Plates with the alphabet round the border!
+
+        The roads are brown, and the sea is green,
+        But his house is just like a bathing-machine;
+        The world is round, and he can ride,
+        Rumble and splash, to the other side!
+
+        With the pedlar-man I should like to roam,
+        And write a book when I came home;
+        All the people would read my book,
+        Just like the Travels of Captain Cook!
+
+William Brighty Rands.
+
+
+
+
+_A Sea-Song from the Shore_
+
+
+           Hail! Ho!
+           Sail! Ho!
+        Ahoy! Ahoy! Ahoy!
+           Who calls to me,
+           So far at sea?
+        Only a little boy!
+
+           Sail! Ho!
+           Hail! Ho!
+        The sailor he sails the sea:
+           I wish he would capture a little sea-horse
+        And send him home to me.
+
+           I wish, as he sails
+           Through the tropical gales,
+        He would catch me a sea-bird, too,
+           With its silver wings
+           And the song it sings,
+        And its breast of down and dew!
+
+           I wish he would catch me a
+           Little mermaid,
+        Some island where he lands,
+           With her dripping curls,
+           And her crown of pearls,
+        And the looking-glass in her hands!
+           Hail! Ho!
+           Sail! Ho!
+        Sail far o'er the fabulous main!
+           And if I were a sailor,
+           I'd sail with you,
+        Though I never sailed back again.
+
+James Whitcomb Riley.
+
+
+
+
+_The Land of Story-Books_[A]
+
+
+        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.
+
+Robert Louis Stevenson.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] _From "A Child's Garden of Verses," by Robert Louis Stevenson. By
+permission of Charles Scribner's Sons._
+
+
+
+
+_The City Child_
+
+
+        Dainty little maiden, whither would you wander?
+        Whither from this pretty home, the home where mother dwells?
+        "Far and far away," said the dainty little maiden,
+        "All among the gardens, auriculas, anemones,
+        Roses and lilies and Canterbury bells."
+
+        Dainty little maiden, whither would you wander?
+        Whither from this pretty house, this city-house of ours?
+        "Far and far away," said the dainty little maiden,
+        "All among the meadows, the clover and the clematis,
+        Daisies and kingcups and honeysuckle-flowers."
+
+Alfred, Lord Tennyson.
+
+
+
+
+_Going into Breeches_
+
+
+        Joy to Philip! he this day
+        Has his long coats cast away,
+        And (the childish season gone)
+        Put the manly breeches on.
+        Officer on gay parade,
+        Red-coat in his first cockade,
+        Bridegroom in his wedding-trim,
+        Birthday beau surpassing him,
+        Never did with conscious gait
+        Strut about in half the state
+        Or the pride (yet free from sin)
+        Of my little MANIKIN:
+        Never was there pride or bliss
+        Half so rational as his.
+        Sashes, frocks, to those that need 'em,
+        Philip's limbs have got their freedom--
+        He can run, or he can ride,
+        And do twenty things beside,
+        Which his petticoats forbade;
+        Is he not a happy lad?
+        Now he's under other banners
+        He must leave his former manners;
+        Bid adieu to female games
+        And forget their very names;
+        Puss-in-corners, hide-and-seek,
+        Sports for girls and punies weak!
+        Baste-the-bear he now may play at;
+        Leap-frog, foot-ball sport away at;
+        Show his skill and strength at cricket,
+        Mark his distance, pitch his wicket;
+        Run about in winter's snow
+        Till his cheeks and fingers glow;
+        Climb a tree or scale a wall
+        Without any fear to fall.
+        If he get a hurt or bruise,
+        To complain he must refuse,
+        Though the anguish and the smart
+        Go unto his little heart;
+        He must have his courage ready,
+        Keep his voice and visage steady;
+        Brace his eyeballs stiff as drum,
+        That a tear may never come;
+        And his grief must only speak
+        From the colour in his cheek.
+        This and more he must endure,
+        Hero he in miniature.
+        This and more must now be done,
+        Now the breeches are put on.
+
+Charles and Mary Lamb.
+
+
+
+
+_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 Taylor Coleridge.
+
+
+
+
+_Hie Away_
+
+
+        Hie away, hie away!
+        Over bank and over brae,
+        Where the copsewood is the greenest,
+        Where the fountains glisten sheenest,
+        Where the lady fern grows strongest,
+        Where the morning dew lies longest,
+        Where the blackcock sweetest sips it,
+        Where the fairy latest trips it:
+        Hie to haunts right seldom seen,
+        Lovely, lonesome, cool, and green,
+        Over bank and over brae,
+        Hie away, hie away!
+
+Sir Walter Scott.
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+STORY TIME
+
+
+        _And I made a rural pen;
+          And I stained the water clear
+        And I wrote my happy songs
+          Every child may joy to hear._
+
+_William Blake._
+
+
+
+
+STORY TIME
+
+
+
+
+_The Fairy Folk_
+
+
+        Come cuddle close in daddy's coat
+          Beside the fire so bright,
+        And hear about the fairy folk
+          That wander in the night.
+        For when the stars are shining clear
+          And all the world is still,
+        They float across the silver moon
+          From hill to cloudy hill.
+
+        Their caps of red, their cloaks of green,
+          Are hung with silver bells,
+        And when they're shaken with the wind
+          Their merry ringing swells.
+        And riding on the crimson moth,
+          With black spots on his wings,
+        They guide them down the purple sky
+          With golden bridle rings.
+
+        They love to visit girls and boys
+          To see how sweet they sleep,
+        To stand beside their cosy cots
+          And at their faces peep.
+        For in the whole of fairy land
+          They have no finer sight
+        Than little children sleeping sound
+          With faces rosy bright.
+
+        On tip-toe crowding round their heads,
+          When bright the moonlight beams,
+        They whisper little tender words
+          That fill their minds with dreams;
+        And when they see a sunny smile,
+          With lightest finger tips
+        They lay a hundred kisses sweet
+          Upon the ruddy lips.
+
+        And then the little spotted moths
+          Spread out their crimson wings,
+        And bear away the fairy crowd
+          With shaking bridle rings.
+        Come bairnies, hide in daddy's coat,
+          Beside the fire so bright--
+        Perhaps the little fairy folk
+          Will visit you to-night.
+
+Robert Bird.
+
+
+
+
+_A Fairy in Armor_
+
+
+        He put his acorn helmet on;
+        It was plumed of the silk of the thistle down;
+        The corslet plate that guarded his breast
+        Was once the wild bee's golden vest;
+        His cloak, of a thousand mingled dyes,
+        Was formed of the wings of butterflies;
+        His shield was the shell of a lady-bug green,
+        Studs of gold on a ground of green;
+        And the quivering lance which he brandished bright,
+        Was the sting of a wasp he had slain in fight.
+        Swift he bestrode his fire-fly steed;
+          He bared his blade of the bent-grass blue;
+        He drove his spurs of the cockle-seed,
+          And away like a glance of thought he flew,
+        To skim the heavens, and follow far
+        The fiery trail of the rocket-star.
+
+Joseph Rodman Drake.
+
+
+
+
+_The Last Voyage of the Fairies_
+
+
+        Down the bright stream the Fairies float,--
+        A water-lily is their boat.
+
+        Long rushes they for paddles take,
+        Their mainsail of a bat's wing make;
+
+        The tackle is of cobwebs neat,--
+        With glow-worm lantern all's complete.
+
+        So down the broad'ning stream they float,
+        With Puck as pilot of the boat.
+
+        The Queen on speckled moth-wings lies,
+        And lifts at times her languid eyes
+
+        To mark the green and mossy spots
+        Where bloom the blue forget-me-nots:
+
+        Oberon, on his rose-bud throne,
+        Claims the fair valley as his own:
+
+        And elves and fairies, with a shout
+        Which may be heard a yard about,
+
+        Hail him as Elfland's mighty King;
+        And hazel-nuts in homage bring,
+
+        And bend the unreluctant knee,
+        And wave their wands in loyalty.
+
+        Down the broad stream the Fairies float,
+        An unseen power impels their boat;
+
+        The banks fly past--each wooded scene--
+        The elder copse--the poplars green--
+
+        And soon they feel the briny breeze
+        With salt and savour of the seas--
+
+        Still down the stream the Fairies float,
+        An unseen power impels their boat;
+
+        Until they mark the rushing tide
+        Within the estuary wide.
+
+        And now they're tossing on the sea,
+        Where waves roll high, and winds blow free,--
+
+        Ah, mortal vision nevermore
+        Shall see the Fairies on the shore,
+
+        Or watch upon a summer night
+        Their mazy dances of delight!
+
+        Far, far away upon the sea,
+        The waves roll high, the breeze blows free!
+
+        The Queen on speckled moth-wings lies,
+        Slow gazing with a strange surprise
+
+        Where swim the sea-nymphs on the tide
+        Or on the backs of dolphins ride:
+
+        The King, upon his rose-bud throne,
+        Pales as he hears the waters moan;
+
+        The elves have ceased their sportive play,
+        Hushed by the slowly sinking day:
+
+        And still afar, afar they float,
+        The Fairies in their fragile boat,--
+
+        Further and further from the shore,
+        And lost to mortals evermore!
+
+W. H. Davenport Adams.
+
+
+
+
+_A New Fern_
+
+
+        A Fairy has found a new fern!
+          A lovely surprise of the May!
+        She stamps her wee foot, looks uncommonly stern,
+          And keeps other fairies at bay.
+
+        She watches it flourish and grow--
+          What exquisite pleasure is hers!
+        She kisses it, strokes it and fondles it so--
+          I almost believe that she purrs!
+
+        Of all the most beautiful things,
+          None brighter than this I discern,
+        To be a young fairy, with glittering wings,
+          And then--to discover a fern!
+
+"A."
+
+
+
+
+_The Child and the Fairies_
+
+
+        The woods are full of fairies!
+          The trees are all alive:
+        The river overflows with them,
+          See how they dip and dive!
+        What funny little fellows!
+          What dainty little dears!
+        They dance and leap, and prance and peep,
+          And utter fairy cheers!
+
+               *       *       *       *       *
+
+        I'd like to tame a fairy,
+          To keep it on a shelf,
+        To see it wash its little face,
+          And dress its little self.
+        I'd teach it pretty manners,
+          It always should say "Please;"
+        And then you know I'd make it sew,
+          And curtsey with its knees!
+
+"A."
+
+
+
+
+_The Little Elf_
+
+
+        I met a little Elf-man, once,
+          Down where the lilies blow.
+        I asked him why he was so small
+          And why he didn't grow.
+
+        He slightly frowned, and with his eye
+          He looked me through and through.
+        "I'm quite as big for me," said he,
+          "As you are big for you."
+
+John Kendrick Bangs.
+
+
+
+
+_"One, Two, Three"_[A]
+
+
+        It was an old, old, old, old lady
+          And a boy that was half-past three,
+        And the way that they played together
+          Was beautiful to see.
+
+        She couldn't go romping and jumping,
+          And the boy, no more could he;
+        For he was a thin little fellow,
+          With a thin little twisted knee.
+
+        They sat in the yellow sunlight,
+          Out under the maple tree,
+        And the game that they played I'll tell you,
+          Just as it was told to me.
+
+        It was Hide-and-Go-Seek they were playing.
+          Though you'd never have known it to be--
+        With an old, old, old, old lady
+          And a boy with a twisted knee.
+
+        The boy would bend his face down
+          On his little sound right knee.
+        And he guessed where she was hiding
+          In guesses One, Two, Three.
+
+        "You are in the china closet!"
+          He would cry and laugh with glee--
+        It wasn't the china closet,
+          But he still had Two and Three.
+
+        "You are up in papa's big bedroom,
+          In the chest with the queer old key,"
+        And she said: "You are warm and warmer;
+          But you are not quite right," said she.
+
+        "It can't be the little cupboard
+          Where mamma's things used to be--
+        So it must be in the clothes press, Gran'ma,"
+          And he found her with his Three.
+
+        Then she covered her face with her fingers,
+          That were wrinkled and white and wee,
+        And she guessed where the boy was hiding,
+          With a One and a Two and a Three.
+
+        And they never had stirred from their places
+          Right under the maple tree--
+        This old, old, old, old lady
+          And the boy with the lame little knee--
+        This dear, dear, dear old lady
+          And the boy who was half-past three.
+
+Henry C. Bunner.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] _From "The Poems of H. C. Bunner." Copyright, 1889, by Charles
+Scribner's Sons._
+
+
+
+
+_What May Happen to a Thimble_
+
+
+        Come about the meadow,
+          Hunt here and there,
+        Where's mother's thimble?
+          Can you tell where?
+        Jane saw her wearing it,
+          Fan saw it fall,
+        Ned isn't sure
+          That she dropp'd it at all.
+
+        Has a mouse carried it
+          Down to her hole--
+        Home full of twilight,
+          Shady, small soul?
+        Can she be darning there,
+          Ere the light fails,
+        Small ragged stockings--
+          Tiny torn tails?
+
+
+        Did a finch fly with it
+          Into the hedge,
+        Or a reed-warbler
+          Down in the sedge?
+        Are they carousing there,
+          All the night through?
+        Such a great goblet,
+          Brimful of dew!
+
+        Have beetles crept with it
+          Where oak roots hide?
+        There have they settled it
+          Down on its side?
+        Neat little kennel,
+          So cosy and dark,
+        Has one crept into it,
+          Trying to bark?
+
+        Have the ants cover'd it
+          With straw and sand?
+        Roomy bell-tent for them,
+          So tall and grand;
+        Where the red soldier-ants
+          Lie, loll, and lean--
+        While the blacks steadily
+          Build for their queen.
+
+        Has a huge dragon-fly
+          Borne it (how cool!)
+        To his snug dressing-room,
+          By the clear pool?
+        There will he try it on,
+          For a new hat--
+        Nobody watching
+          But one water-rat?
+
+        Did the flowers fight for it,
+          While, undecried,
+        One selfish daisy
+          Slipp'd it aside;
+        Now has she plunged it in
+          Close to her feet--
+        Nice private water-tank
+          For summer heat?
+
+        Did spiders snatch at it
+          Wanting to look
+        At the bright pebbles
+          Which lie in the brook?
+        Now are they using it
+          (Nobody knows!)
+        Safe little diving-bell,
+          Shutting so close?
+
+        Hunt for it, hope for it,
+          All through the moss;
+        Dip for it, grope for it--
+          'Tis such a loss!
+        Jane finds a drop of dew,
+          Fan finds a stone;
+        I find the thimble,
+          Which is mother's own!
+
+        Run with it, fly with it--
+          Don't let it fall;
+        All did their best for it--
+          Mother thanks all.
+        Just as we give it her,--
+          Think what a shame!--
+        Ned says he's sure
+          That it isn't the same!
+
+"B."
+
+
+
+
+_Discontent_
+
+
+        Down in a field, one day in June,
+          The flowers all bloomed together,
+        Save one, who tried to hide herself,
+          And drooped that pleasant weather.
+
+        A robin, who had flown too high,
+          And felt a little lazy,
+        Was resting near a buttercup
+          Who wished she were a daisy.
+
+        For daisies grew so trig and tall!
+          She always had a passion
+        For wearing frills around her neck,
+          In just the daisies' fashion.
+
+        And buttercups must always be
+          The same old tiresome color;
+        While daisies dress in gold and white,
+          Although their gold is duller.
+
+        "Dear robin," said the sad young flower,
+          "Perhaps you'd not mind trying
+        To find a nice white frill for me,
+          Some day when you are flying?"
+
+        "You silly thing!" the robin said,
+          "I think you must be crazy:
+        I'd rather be my honest self,
+          Than any made-up daisy.
+
+        "You're nicer in your own bright gown;
+          The little children love you:
+        Be the best buttercup you can,
+          And think no flower above you.
+
+        "Though swallows leave me out of sight,
+          We'd better keep our places:
+        Perhaps the world would all go wrong
+          With one too many daisies.
+
+        "Look bravely up into the sky,
+          And be content with knowing
+        That God wished for a buttercup
+          Just here, where you are growing."
+
+Sarah Orne Jewett.
+
+
+
+
+_The Nightingale and the Glowworm_
+
+
+        A nightingale that all day long
+        Had cheered the village with his song,
+        Nor yet at eve his note suspended,
+        Nor yet when eventide was ended,
+        Began to feel, as well he might,
+        The keen demands of appetite;
+        When looking eagerly around,
+        He spied far off, upon the ground,
+        A something shining in the dark,
+        And knew the glowworm by his spark;
+        So, stooping down from hawthorn top,
+        He thought to put him in his crop.
+
+        The worm, aware of his intent,
+        Harangued him thus, right eloquent:
+        "Did you admire my lamp," quoth he,
+        "As much as I your minstrelsy,
+        You would abhor to do me wrong,
+        As much as I to spoil your song:
+        For 'twas the self-same Power Divine
+        Taught you to sing, and me to shine;
+        That you with music, I with light,
+        Might beautify and cheer the night."
+        The songster heard this short oration,
+        And warbling out his approbation,
+        Released him, as my story tells,
+        And found a supper somewhere else.
+
+William Cowper.
+
+
+
+
+_Thanksgiving Day_
+
+
+        Over the river and through the wood,
+          To grandfather's house we go;
+            The horse knows the way
+            To carry the sleigh
+          Through the white and drifted snow.
+        Over the river and through the wood--
+          Oh, how the wind does blow!
+            It stings the toes
+            And bites the nose,
+          As over the ground we go.
+
+        Over the river and through the wood,
+          To have a first-rate play.
+            Hear the bells ring,
+            "Ting-a-ling-ding!"
+          Hurrah for Thanksgiving Day!
+
+        Over the river and through the wood
+          Trot fast, my dapple-gray!
+            Spring over the ground,
+            Like a hunting-hound!
+          For this is Thanksgiving Day.
+
+        Over the river and through the wood,
+          And straight through the barn-yard gate.
+            We seem to go
+            Extremely slow,--
+          It is so hard to wait!
+
+        Over the river and through the wood--
+          Now grandmother's cap I spy!
+            Hurrah for the fun!
+            Is the pudding done?
+          Hurrah for the pumpkin-pie!
+
+Lydia Maria Child.
+
+
+
+
+_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 Magpie's Nest_
+
+A Fable
+
+
+        When the Arts in their infancy were,
+         In a fable of old 'tis express'd
+        A wise magpie constructed that rare
+         Little house for young birds, call'd a nest.
+
+        This was talk'd of the whole country round;
+         You might hear it on every bough sung,
+        "Now no longer upon the rough ground
+         Will fond mothers brood over their young:
+
+        "For the magpie with exquisite skill
+         Has invented a moss-cover'd cell
+        Within which a whole family will
+         In the utmost security dwell."
+
+        To her mate did each female bird say,
+          "Let us fly to the magpie, my dear;
+        If she will but teach us the way,
+          A nest we will build us up here.
+
+        "It's a thing that's close arch'd overhead,
+          With a hole made to creep out and in;
+        We, my bird, might make just a bed
+          If we only knew how to begin."
+
+               *       *       *       *       *
+
+        To the magpie soon every bird went
+          And in modest terms made their request,
+        That she would be pleased to consent
+          To teach them to build up a nest.
+
+        She replied, "I will show you the way,
+          So observe everything that I do:
+        First two sticks 'cross each other I lay--"
+          "To be sure," said the crow, "why I knew
+
+        "It must be begun with two sticks,
+          And I thought that they crossed should be."
+        Said the pie, "Then some straw and moss mix
+          In the way you now see done by me."
+
+        "O yes, certainly," said the jackdaw,
+          "That must follow, of course, I have thought;
+        Though I never before building saw,
+          I guess'd that, without being taught."
+
+        "More moss, straw, and feathers, I place
+          In this manner," continued the pie.
+        "Yes, no doubt, madam, that is the case;
+          Though no builder myself, so thought I."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+        Whatever she taught them beside,
+          In his turn every bird of them said,
+        Though the nest-making art he ne'er tried
+          He had just such a thought in his head.
+
+        Still the pie went on showing her art,
+          Till a nest she had built up half-way;
+        She no more of her skill would impart,
+         But in her anger went fluttering away.
+
+        And this speech in their hearing she made,
+          As she perch'd o'er their heads on a tree:
+        "If ye all were well skill'd in my trade,
+          Pray, why came ye to learn it of me?"
+
+        When a scholar is willing to learn,
+          He with silent submission should hear;
+        Too late they their folly discern,
+          The effect to this day does appear.
+
+        For whenever a pie's nest you see,
+          Her charming warm canopy view,
+        All birds' nests but hers seem to be
+          A magpie's nest just cut in two.
+
+Charles and Mary Lamb.
+
+
+
+
+_The Owl and the Pussy-Cat_
+
+
+        The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea
+          In a beautiful pea-green boat;
+        They took some honey, and plenty of money
+          Wrapped up in a five-pound note.
+        The Owl looked up to the moon above,
+          And sang to a small guitar,
+        "O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,
+          What a beautiful Pussy you are,--
+                      You are,
+        What a beautiful Pussy you are!"
+
+        Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl!
+          How wonderful sweet you sing!
+        O let us be married,--too long we have tarried,--
+          But what shall we do for a ring?"
+        They sailed away for a year and a day
+          To the land where the Bong tree grows
+        And there in a wood, a piggy-wig stood
+        With a ring at the end of his nose,--
+                    His nose,
+        With a ring at the end of his nose.
+
+        "Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
+          Your ring?" Said the piggy, "I will."
+        So they took it away, and were married next day
+          By the turkey who lives on the hill.
+        They dined upon mince and slices of quince,
+          Which they ate with a runcible spoon,
+        And hand in hand on the edge of the sand
+          They danced by the light of the moon,--
+                     The moon,
+        They danced by the light of the moon.
+
+Edward Lear.
+
+
+
+
+_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.
+
+
+
+
+_The Fairies' Shopping_
+
+
+        Where do you think the Fairies go
+        To buy their blankets ere the snow?
+
+        When Autumn comes, with frosty days
+        The sorry shivering little Fays
+
+        Begin to think it's time to creep
+        Down to their caves for Winter sleep.
+
+        But first they come from far and near
+        To buy, where shops are not too dear.
+
+        (The wind and frost bring prices down,
+        So Fall's their time to come to town!)
+
+        Where on the hill-side rough and steep
+        Browse all day long the cows and sheep,
+
+        The mullein's yellow candles burn
+        Over the heads of dry sweet fern:
+
+        All summer long the mullein weaves
+        His soft and thick and woolly leaves.
+
+        Warmer blankets were never seen
+        Than these broad leaves of fuzzy green--
+
+        (The cost of each is but a shekel
+        Made from the gold of honeysuckle!)
+
+          To buy their sheets and fine white lace
+          (With which to trim a pillow-case),
+
+          They only have to go next door,
+          Where stands a sleek brown spider's store,
+
+          And there they find the misty threads
+          Ready to cut into sheets and spreads;
+
+          Then for a pillow, pluck with care
+          Some soft-winged seeds as light as air;
+
+          Just what they want the thistle brings,
+          But thistles are such surly things--
+
+          And so, though it is somewhat high,
+          The clematis the Fairies buy.
+
+          The only bedsteads that they need
+          Are silky pods of ripe milk-weed,
+
+          With hangings of the dearest things--
+          Autumn leaves, or butterflies' wings!
+
+          And dandelions' fuzzy heads
+          They use to stuff their feather beds;
+
+          And yellow snapdragons supply
+          The nightcaps that the Fairies buy,
+
+          To which some blades of grass they pin,
+          And tie them 'neath each little chin.
+
+        Then, shopping done, the Fairies cry,
+        "Our Summer's gone! oh sweet, good-bye!"
+
+          And sadly to their caves they go,
+          To hide away from Winter's snow--
+
+          And then, though winds and storms may beat,
+          The Fairies' sleep is warm and sweet!
+
+Margaret Deland.
+
+
+
+
+_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.
+
+
+
+
+_A Midsummer Song_
+
+
+        Oh, father's gone to market-town: he was up before the day,
+        And Jamie's after robins, and the man is making hay,
+        And whistling down the hollow goes the boy that minds the mill,
+        While mother from the kitchen-door is calling with a will,
+          "Polly!--Polly!--The cows are in the corn!
+                Oh, where's Polly?"
+
+        From all the misty morning air there comes a summer sound,
+        A murmur as of waters, from skies and trees and ground.
+        The birds they sing upon the wing, the pigeons bill and coo;
+        And over hill and hollow rings again the loud halloo:
+            "Polly!--Polly!--The cows are in the corn!
+                  Oh, where's Polly?"
+
+        Above the trees, the honey-bees swarm by with buzz and boom,
+        And in the field and garden a thousand blossoms bloom.
+        Within the farmer's meadow a brown-eyed daisy blows,
+        And down at the edge of the hollow a red and thorny rose.
+            But Polly!--Polly!--The cows are in the corn!
+                Oh, where's Polly?
+
+        How strange at such a time of day the mill should stop its clatter!
+        The farmer's wife is listening now, and wonders what's the matter.
+        Oh, wild the birds are singing in the wood and on the hill,
+        While whistling up the hollow goes the boy that minds the mill.
+            But Polly!--Polly!--The cows are in the corn!
+                Oh, where's Polly!
+
+Richard Watson Gilder.
+
+
+
+
+_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 blithe 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 water made,
+          And I heard the corn-ears 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 merry was the glee of the harp-strings,
+          And their dancing feet so small;
+        But oh! the sound of their talking
+          Was merrier far than all!"
+
+        "And what were the words, my Mary,
+          That you did hear them say?"
+        "I'll tell you all, my mother,
+          But let me have my way.
+
+        "And some they played with the water
+          And rolled 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 shall the miller be
+          By the 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 into his mouth,
+          And blew so sharp and shrill!
+
+        "'And there,' said they, 'the merry winds go,
+          Away from every horn;
+        And those 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 merry enough when the mildew's gone,
+          And the corn stands stiff and strong!'
+
+        "And some they brought the brown linseed,
+          And flung it down from the Low:
+        'And this,' said they, 'by the sunrise,
+          In the weaver's croft shall grow!
+
+        "'Oh, the poor lame weaver!
+          How will he laugh outright
+        When he sees his dwindling flax-field
+          All full of flowers by night!'
+
+        "And then upspoke 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.'
+
+        "And with that I could not help but laugh,
+          And I laughed 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, as I came down from the hill-top,
+          I heard, afar below,
+        How busy the jolly old miller was,
+          And how merry the wheel did go!
+
+        "And I peeped into the widow's field,
+          And, sure enough, was seen
+        The yellow ears of the mildewed corn
+          All standing stiff and green!
+
+        "And down by the weaver's croft I stole,
+          To see if the flax were high;
+        But I saw the weaver at his gate
+          With the good news in his eye!
+
+        "Now, this is all that I heard, mother,
+          And all that I did see;
+        So, prithee, make my bed, mother,
+          For I'm tired as I can be!"
+
+Mary Howitt.
+
+
+
+
+_The Elf and the Dormouse_
+
+
+        Under a toadstool
+         Crept a wee Elf,
+        Out of the rain,
+         To shelter himself.
+
+        Under the toadstool
+         Sound asleep,
+        Sat a big Dormouse
+         All in a heap.
+
+        Trembled the wee Elf,
+         Frightened, and yet
+        Fearing to fly away
+         Lest he get wet.
+
+        To the next shelter--
+         Maybe a mile!
+        Sudden the wee Elf
+         Smiled a wee smile,
+
+        Tugged till the toadstool
+         Toppled in two.
+        Holding it over him,
+         Gayly he flew.
+
+        Soon he was safe home,
+         Dry as could be.
+        Soon woke the Dormouse--
+         "Good gracious me!
+
+        "Where is my toadstool?"
+         Loud he lamented.
+        --And that's how umbrellas
+         First were invented.
+
+Oliver Herford.
+
+
+
+
+_Meg Merrilies_
+
+
+        Old Meg she was a gipsy,
+          And lived upon the moors;
+        Her bed it was the brown heath turf,
+          And her house was out of doors.
+        Her apples were swart blackberries,
+          Her currants pods o' broom;
+        Her wine was dew of the wild white rose,
+          Her book a churchyard tomb.
+
+        Her brothers were the craggy hills,
+          Her sisters larchen-trees;
+        Alone with her great family
+          She lived as she did please.
+        No breakfast had she many a morn,
+          No dinner many a noon,
+        And 'stead of supper she would stare
+          Full hard against the moon.
+
+        But every morn of woodbine fresh
+          She made her garlanding,
+        And every night the dark glen yew
+          She wore; and she would sing,
+        And with her fingers old and brown
+          She plaited mats of rushes,
+        And gave them to the cottagers
+          She met among the bushes.
+
+        Old Meg was brave as Margaret Queen,
+          And tall as Amazon;
+        An old red blanket cloak she wore,
+          A ship-hat had she on;
+        God rest her aged bones somewhere!
+          She died full long agone!
+
+John Keats.
+
+
+
+
+_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 silvern 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.
+
+Gabriel Setoun.
+
+
+
+
+_The Cow-Boy's Song_
+
+
+        "Mooly cow, mooly cow, home from the wood
+        They sent me to fetch you as fast as I could.
+        The sun has gone down: it is time to go home.
+        Mooly cow, mooly cow, why don't you come?
+        Your udders are full, and the milkmaid is there,
+        And the children are waiting their supper to share.
+        I have let the long bars down,--why don't you pass through?"
+          The mooly cow only said, "Moo-o-o!"
+
+        "Mooly cow, mooly cow, have you not been
+        Regaling all day where the pastures are green?
+        No doubt it was pleasant, dear mooly, to see
+        The clear running brook and the wide-spreading tree,
+        The clover to crop and the streamlet to wade,
+        To drink the cool water and lie in the shade;
+        But now it is night: they are waiting for you."
+          The mooly cow only said, "Moo-o-o!"
+
+        "Mooly cow, mooly cow, where do you go,
+        When all the green pastures are covered with snow?
+        You go to the barn and we feed you with hay,
+        And the maid goes to milk you there, every day;
+        She speaks to you kindly and sits by your side,
+        She pats you, she loves you, she strokes your sleek hide:
+        Then come along home, pretty mooly cow, do."
+          But the mooly cow only said, "Moo-o-o!"
+
+        "Mooly cow, mooly cow, whisking your tail,
+        The milkmaid is waiting, I say, with her pail;
+        She tucks up her petticoats, tidy and neat,
+        And places the three-leggéd stool for her seat:--
+        What can you be staring at, mooly? You know
+        That we ought to have gone home an hour ago.
+        How dark it is growing! O, what shall I do?"
+          The mooly cow only said, "Moo-o-o!"
+
+Anna M. Wells.
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+BED TIME[A]
+
+
+        _When the golden day is done,
+          Through the closing portal,
+        Child and garden, flower and sun,
+          Vanish all things mortal._
+
+_Robert Louis Stevenson._
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] _From "A Child's Garden of Verses," by Robert Louis Stevenson. By
+permission of Charles Scribner's Sons._
+
+
+
+
+BED-TIME
+
+
+
+
+_Auld Daddy Darkness_
+
+
+        Auld Daddy Darkness creeps frae his hole,
+        Black as a blackamoor, blin' as a mole:
+        Stir the fire till it lowes, let the bairnie sit,
+        Auld Daddy Darkness is no wantit yet.
+
+        See him in the corners hidin' frae the licht,
+        See him at the window gloomin' at the nicht;
+        Turn up the gas licht, close the shutters a',
+        An' Auld Daddy Darkness will flee far awa'.
+
+        Awa' to hide the birdie within its cosy nest,
+        Awa' to lap the wee flooers on their mither's breast,
+        Awa' to loosen Gaffer Toil frae his daily ca',
+        For Auld Daddy Darkness is kindly to a'.
+
+        He comes when we're weary to wean's frae oor waes,
+        He comes when the bairnies are getting aff their claes;
+        To cover them sae cosy, an' bring bonnie dreams,
+        So Auld Daddy Darkness is better than he seems.
+
+        Steek yer een, my wee tot, ye'll see Daddy then;
+        He's in below the bed claes, to cuddle ye he's fain;
+        Noo nestle in his bosie, sleep and dream yer fill,
+        Till Wee Davie Daylicht comes keekin' owre the hill.
+
+James Ferguson.
+
+
+
+
+_Wynken, Blynken, and Nod_[A]
+
+
+        Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night
+          Sailed off in a wooden shoe--
+        Sailed on a river of crystal light,
+          Into a sea of dew.
+        "Where are you going, and what do you wish?"
+          The old moon asked the three.
+        "We have come to fish for the herring fish
+          That live in this beautiful sea;
+          Nets of silver and gold have we!"
+                        Said Wynken,
+                        Blynken,
+                        And Nod.
+
+        The old moon laughed and sang a song,
+          As they rocked in the wooden shoe,
+        And the wind that sped them all night long
+          Ruffled the waves of dew.
+
+        The little stars were the herring fish
+          That lived in that beautiful sea--
+        "Now cast your nets wherever you wish--
+          Never afeard are we";
+          So cried the stars to the fishermen three:
+                        Wynken,
+                        Blynken,
+                        And Nod.
+
+        All night long their nets they threw
+          To the stars in the twinkling foam--
+        Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe,
+          Bringing the fishermen home;
+        'Twas all so pretty a sail it seemed
+          As if it could not be,
+        And some folks thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed
+          Of sailing that beautiful sea--
+          But I shall name you the fishermen three:
+                        Wynken,
+                        Blynken,
+                        And Nod.
+
+        Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,
+          And Nod is a little head,
+        And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
+          Is a wee one's trundle-bed.
+
+        So shut your eyes while mother sings
+          Of wonderful sights that be,
+        And you shall see the beautiful things
+          As you rock in the misty sea,
+          Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three,
+                      Wynken,
+                      Blynken,
+                      And Nod.
+
+Eugene Field.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] _From "With Trumpet and Drum," by Eugene Field. Copyright, 1892, by
+Charles Scribner's Sons._
+
+
+
+
+_Rockaby, Lullaby_[A]
+
+
+        Rockaby, lullaby, bees on the clover!--
+        Crooning so drowsily, crying so low--
+        Rockaby, lullaby, dear little rover!
+           Down into wonderland--
+           Down to the under-land--
+                Go, oh go!
+        Down into wonderland go!
+
+        Rockaby, lullaby, rain on the clover!
+        Tears on the eyelids that struggle and weep!
+        Rockaby, lullaby--bending it over!
+           Down on the mother world,
+           Down on the other world!
+                Sleep, oh sleep!
+        Down on the mother-world sleep!
+
+        Rockaby, lullaby, dew on the clover!
+        Dew on the eyes that will sparkle at dawn!
+        Rockaby, lullaby, dear little rover!
+           Into the stilly world!
+           Into the lily world,
+                Gone! oh gone!
+        Into the lily world, gone!
+
+Josiah Gilbert Holland.
+
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] _From "The Poetical Works of J. G. Holland." Copyright, 1881, by
+Charles Scribner's Sons._
+
+
+
+
+_Sleep, My Treasure_
+
+
+            Sleep, sleep, my treasure,
+            The long day's pleasure
+        Has tired the birds, to their nests they creep;
+            The garden still is
+            Alight with lilies,
+        But all the daisies are fast asleep.
+
+            Sleep, sleep, my darling,
+            Dawn wakes the starling,
+        The sparrow stirs when he sees day break;
+            But all the meadow
+            Is wrapped in shadow,
+        And you must sleep till the daisies wake!
+
+E. Nesbit.
+
+
+
+
+_Lullaby of an Infant Chief_
+
+
+        Oh, hush thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight,
+        Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright;
+        The woods and the glens from the tower which we see,
+        They all are belonging, dear babie, to thee.
+
+        Oh, 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 draws near to thy bed.
+
+        Oh, hush thee, my babie, the time will soon 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.
+
+
+
+
+_Sweet and Low_
+
+
+        Sweet and low, sweet and low,
+          Wind of the western sea,
+        Low, low, breathe and blow,
+          Wind of the western sea!
+        Over the rolling waters go,
+        Come from the dying moon, and blow,
+          Blow him again to me:
+        While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.
+
+        Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,
+          Father will come to thee soon;
+        Rest, rest, on mother's breast,
+          Father will come to thee soon;
+        Father will come to his babe in the nest,
+        Silver sails all out of the west
+          Under the silver moon:
+        Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.
+
+Alfred, Lord Tennyson.
+
+
+
+
+_Old Gaelic Lullaby_
+
+
+        Hush! the waves are rolling in,
+          White with foam, white with foam;
+        Father toils amid the din;
+          But baby sleeps at home.
+
+        Hush! the winds roar hoarse and deep,--
+          On they come, on they come!
+        Brother seeks the wandering sheep:
+          But baby sleeps at home.
+
+        Hush! the rain sweeps o'er the knowes,
+          Where they roam, where they roam;
+        Sister goes to seek the cows;
+          But baby sleeps at home.
+
+Unknown.
+
+
+
+
+_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.
+
+
+
+
+_The Cottager to Her Infant_
+
+
+        The days are cold, the nights are long,
+        The north-wind sings a doleful song;
+        Then hush again upon my breast;
+        All merry things are now at rest,
+          Save thee, my pretty Love!
+
+        The kitten sleeps upon the hearth,
+        The crickets long have ceased their mirth;
+        There's nothing stirring in the house
+        Save one wee, hungry nibbling mouse,
+          Then why so busy thou?
+
+        Nay! start not at that sparkling light,
+        'Tis but the moon that shines so bright
+        On the window-pane bedropped with rain;
+        There, little darling! sleep again,
+          And wake when it is day.
+
+Dorothy Wordsworth.
+
+
+
+
+_A Charm to Call Sleep_
+
+
+        Sleep, Sleep, come to me, Sleep,
+          Come to my blankets and come to my bed,
+          Come to my legs and my arms and my head,
+        Over me, under me, into me creep.
+
+        Sleep, Sleep, come to me, Sleep,
+          Blow on my face like a soft breath of air,
+          Lay your cool hand on my forehead and hair,
+        Carry me down through the dream-waters deep.
+
+        Sleep, Sleep, come to me, Sleep,
+          Tell me the secrets that you alone know,
+          Show me the wonders none other can show,
+        Open the box where your treasures you keep.
+
+        Sleep, Sleep, come to me, Sleep:
+          Softly I call you; as soft and as slow
+          Come to me, cuddle me, stay with me so,
+        Stay till the dawn is beginning to peep.
+
+Henry Johnstone.
+
+
+
+
+_Night_
+
+
+        The snow is white, the wind is cold--
+        The king has sent for my three-year-old.
+        Bring the pony and shoe him fast
+        With silver shoes that were made to last.
+        Bring the saddle trimmed with gold;
+        Put foot in stirrup, my three-year-old;
+        Jump in the saddle, away, away!
+        And hurry back by the break of day;
+        By break of day, through dale and down,
+        And bring me the news from Slumbertown.
+
+Mary F. Butts.
+
+
+
+
+_Bed-Time_
+
+
+        'Tis bed-time; say your hymn, and bid "Good night,
+        "God bless mamma, papa, and dear ones all."
+        Your half-shut eyes beneath your eye-lids fall;
+        Another minute you will shut them quite.
+        Yes, I will carry you, put out the light,
+        And tuck you up, although you are so tall.
+        What will you give me, Sleepy One, and call
+        My wages, if I settle you all right?
+        I laid her golden curls upon my arm,
+        I drew her little feet within my hand;
+        Her rosy palms were joined in trustful bliss,
+        Her heart next mine, beat gently, soft and warm;
+        She nestled to me, and, by Love's command,
+        Paid me my precious wages,--Baby's kiss.
+
+Lord Rosslyn.
+
+
+
+
+_Nightfall in Dordrecht_[A]
+
+
+        The mill goes toiling slowly around
+          With steady and solemn creak,
+        And my little one hears in the kindly sound
+          The voice of the old mill speak.
+        While round and round those big white wings
+          Grimly and ghostlike creep,
+        My little one hears that the old mill sings:
+          "Sleep, little tulip, sleep!"
+
+        The sails are reefed and the nets are drawn,
+          And, over his pot of beer,
+        The fisher, against the morrow's dawn,
+          Lustily maketh cheer;
+        He mocks at the winds that caper along
+          From the far-off clamorous deep--
+        But we--we love their lullaby song
+          Of "Sleep, little tulip, sleep!"
+
+        Old dog Fritz in slumber sound
+          Groans of the stony mart--
+        To-morrow how proudly he'll trot you round,
+          Hitched to our new milk-cart!
+        And you shall help me blanket the kine
+          And fold the gentle sheep
+        And set the herring a-soak in brine--
+          But now, little tulip, sleep!
+
+        A Dream-One comes to button the eyes
+          That wearily droop and blink,
+        While the old mill buffets the frowning skies
+          And scolds at the stars that wink;
+        Over your face the misty wings
+          Of that beautiful Dream-One sweep,
+        And rocking your cradle she softly sings:
+          "Sleep, little tulip, sleep!"
+
+Eugene Field.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] _From "With Trumpet and Drum," by Eugene Field. Copyright, 1892, by
+Charles Scribner's Sons._
+
+
+
+
+X
+
+FOR SUNDAY'S CHILD
+
+
+        _Sunday's child is full of grace._
+
+_Old Proverb._
+
+
+
+
+FOR SUNDAY'S CHILD
+
+
+
+
+_All Things Bright and Beautiful_
+
+
+        All things bright and beautiful,
+          All creatures great and small,
+        All things wise and wonderful,
+          The Lord God made them all.
+
+        Each little flower that opens,
+          Each little bird that sings,
+        He made their glowing colours,
+          He made their tiny wings.
+
+        The rich man in his castle,
+          The poor man at his gate,
+        God made them, high or lowly,
+          And order'd their estate.
+
+        The purple-headed mountain,
+          The river running by,
+        The sunset and the morning,
+          That brightens up the sky;--
+
+        The cold wind in the winter,
+          The pleasant summer sun,
+        The ripe fruits in the garden,--
+          He made them every one;
+
+        The tall trees in the greenwood,
+          The meadows where we play,
+        The rushes by the water
+          We gather every day;--
+
+        He gave us eyes to see them,
+          And lips that we might tell,
+        How great is God Almighty,
+          Who has made all things well.
+
+Cecil Frances Alexander.
+
+
+
+
+_The Still Small Voice_
+
+
+        Wee Sandy in the corner
+          Sits greeting on a stool,
+        And sair the laddie rues
+          Playing truant frae the school;
+        Then ye'll learn frae silly Sandy,
+          Wha's gotten sic a fright,
+        To do naething through the day
+          That may gar ye greet at night.
+
+        He durstna venture hame now,
+          Nor play, though e'er so fine,
+        And ilka ane he met wi'
+          He thought them sure to ken,
+        And started at ilk whin bush,
+          Though it was braid daylight--
+        Sae do nothing through the day
+          That may gar ye greet at night.
+
+        Wha winna be advised
+          Are sure to rue ere lang;
+        And muckle pains it costs them
+          To do the thing that's wrang,
+        When they wi' half the fash o't
+          Might aye be in the right,
+        And do naething through the day
+          That would gar them greet at night.
+
+        What fools are wilfu' bairns,
+          Who misbehave frae hame!
+        There's something in the breast aye
+          That tells them they're to blame;
+        And then when comes the gloamin',
+          They're in a waefu' plight!
+        Sae do naething through the day
+          That may gar ye greet at night.
+
+Alexander Smart.
+
+
+
+
+_The Camel's Nose_
+
+
+        Once in his shop a workman wrought,
+        With languid head and listless thought,
+        When, through the open window's space,
+        Behold, a camel thrust his face!
+        "My nose is cold," he meekly cried;
+        "Oh, let me warm it by thy side!"
+
+        Since no denial word was said,
+        In came the nose, in came the head:
+        As sure as sermon follows text,
+        The long and scraggy neck came next;
+        And then, as falls the threatening storm,
+        In leaped the whole ungainly form.
+
+        Aghast the owner gazed around,
+        And on the rude invader frowned,
+        Convinced, as closer still he pressed,
+        There was no room for such a guest;
+        Yet more astonished, heard him say,
+        "If thou art troubled, go away,
+        For in this place I choose to stay."
+
+        O youthful hearts to gladness born,
+        Treat not this Arab lore with scorn!
+        To evil habits' earliest wile
+        Lend neither ear, nor glance, nor smile.
+        Choke the dark fountain ere it flows,
+        Nor e'en admit the camel's nose!
+
+Lydia H. Sigourney.
+
+
+
+
+_A Child's Grace_
+
+
+        Some hae meat and canna eat,
+          And some wad eat that want it;
+        But we hae meat and we can eat,
+          And sae the Lord be thankit.
+
+Robert Burns.
+
+
+
+
+_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.
+
+
+
+
+_The Lamb_
+
+
+        Little lamb, who made thee?
+        Dost thou know who made thee,
+        Gave thee life and bade thee feed
+        By the stream and o'er the mead;
+        Gave thee clothing of delight,
+        Softest clothing, woolly, bright;
+        Gave thee such a tender voice,
+        Making all the vales rejoice?
+        Little lamb, who made thee?
+        Dost thou know who made thee?
+
+        Little lamb, I'll tell thee;
+        Little lamb, I'll tell thee.
+        He is callèd by thy name,
+        For He calls himself a Lamb.
+        He is meek and He is mild,
+        He became a little child.
+        I a child and thou a lamb,
+        We are called by His name.
+        Little lamb, God bless thee!
+        Little lamb, God bless thee!
+
+William Blake.
+
+
+
+
+_Night and Day_[A]
+
+
+        When I run about all day,
+        When I kneel at night to pray,
+             God sees.
+
+        When I'm dreaming in the dark,
+        When I lie awake and hark,
+             God sees.
+
+        Need I ever know a fear?
+        Night and day my Father's near:--
+             God sees.
+
+Mary Mapes Dodge.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] _From "Rhymes and Jingles," by Mary Mapes Dodge. By permission of
+Charles Scribner's Sons._
+
+
+
+
+_High and Low_[A]
+
+
+        The showers fall as softly
+         Upon the lowly grass
+        As on the stately roses
+         That tremble as they pass.
+
+        The sunlight shines as brightly
+         On fern-leaves bent and torn
+        As on the golden harvest,
+         The fields of waving corn.
+
+        The wild birds sing as sweetly
+         To rugged, jagged pines,
+        As to the blossomed orchards,
+         And to the cultured vines.
+
+               *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+Dora Read Goodale.
+
+
+
+
+_By Cool Siloam's Shady Rill_
+
+
+        By cool Siloam's shady rill
+          How sweet the lily grows!
+        How sweet the breath beneath the hill
+          Of Sharon's dewy rose!
+
+        Lo, such the child whose early feet
+          The paths of peace have trod;
+        Whose secret heart, with influence sweet,
+          Is upward drawn to God.
+
+Reginald Heber.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] _From "Apple Blossoms," by Dora Read Goodale. By permission of G. P.
+Putnam's Sons._
+
+
+
+
+_Sheep and Lambs_
+
+
+        All in the April morning,
+          April airs were abroad;
+        The sheep with their little lambs
+          Pass'd me by on the road.
+
+        The sheep with their little lambs
+          Pass'd me by on the road;
+        All in an April evening
+          I thought on the Lamb of God.
+
+        The lambs were weary, and crying
+          With a weak human cry,
+        I thought on the Lamb of God
+          Going meekly to die.
+
+        Up in the blue, blue mountains
+          Dewy pastures are sweet:
+        Rest for the little bodies,
+          Rest for the little feet.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+        All in the April evening,
+          April airs were abroad;
+        I saw the sheep with their lambs,
+          And thought on the Lamb of God.
+
+Katharine Tynan Hinkson.
+
+
+
+
+_To His Saviour, a Child; A Present by a Child_
+
+
+        Go, pretty child, and bear this flower
+        Unto thy little Saviour;
+        And tell him, by that bud now blown,
+        He is the Rose of Sharon known.
+        When thou hast said so, stick it there
+        Upon his bib or stomacher;
+        And tell him, for good hansel too,
+        That thou hast brought a whistle new,
+        Made of a clean strait oaten reed,
+        To charm his cries at time of need.
+        Tell him, for coral thou hast none,
+        But if thou hadst, he should have one;
+        But poor thou art, and known to be
+        Even as moneyless as he.
+        Lastly, if thou canst win a kiss
+        From those mellifluous lips of his;
+        Then never take a second on,
+        To spoil the first impression.
+
+Robert Herrick.
+
+
+
+
+_What Would You See?_
+
+
+        What would you see if I took you up
+          To my little nest in the air?
+        You would see the sky like a clear blue cup
+          Turned upside downwards there.
+
+        What would you do if I took you there
+          To my little nest in the tree?
+        My child with cries would trouble the air,
+          To get what she could but see.
+
+        What would you get in the top of the tree
+          For all your crying and grief?
+        Not a star would you clutch of all you see--
+          You could only gather a leaf.
+
+        But when you had lost your greedy grief,
+          Content to see from afar,
+        You would find in your hand a withering leaf,
+          In your heart a shining star.
+
+George Macdonald.
+
+
+
+
+_Corn-Fields_
+
+
+        When on the breath of Autumn's breeze,
+          From pastures dry and brown,
+        Goes floating, like an idle thought,
+          The fair, white thistle-down,--
+        Oh, then what joy to walk at will
+        Upon the golden harvest-hill!
+
+        What joy in dreaming ease to lie
+          Amid a field new shorn;
+        And see all round, on sunlit slopes,
+          The piled-up shocks of corn;
+        And send the fancy wandering o'er
+        All pleasant harvest-fields of yore!
+
+        I feel the day; I see the field;
+          The quivering of the leaves;
+        And good old Jacob, and his horse,--
+          Binding the yellow sheaves!
+        And at this very hour I seem
+        To be with Joseph in his dream!
+
+        I see the fields of Bethlehem,
+          And reapers many a one
+        Bending unto their sickles' stroke,
+          And Boaz looking on;
+        And Ruth, the Moabitess fair,
+        Among the gleaners stooping there!
+
+        Again, I see a little child,
+          His mother's sole delight,--
+        God's living gift of love unto
+          The kind, good Shunamite;
+        To mortal pangs I see him yield,
+        And the lad bear him from the field.
+
+        The sun-bathed quiet of the hills,
+          The fields of Galilee,
+        That eighteen hundred years ago
+          Were full of corn, I see;
+        And the dear Saviour take his way
+        'Mid ripe ears on the Sabbath-day.
+
+        Oh golden fields of bending corn,
+          How beautiful they seem!
+        The reaper-folk, the piled-up sheaves,
+          To me are like a dream;
+        The sunshine, and the very air
+        Seem of old time, and take me there!
+
+Mary Howitt.
+
+
+
+
+_Little Christel_
+
+
+I
+
+        Slowly forth from the village church,--
+          The voice of the choristers hushed overhead,--
+        Came little Christel. She paused in the porch,
+          Pondering what the preacher had said.
+
+        _Even the youngest, humblest child
+          Something may do to please the Lord;_
+        "Now, what," thought she, and half-sadly smiled,
+          "Can I, so little and poor, afford?--
+
+        _"Never, never a day should pass,
+          Without some kindness, kindly shown,_
+        The preacher said"--Then down to the grass
+          A skylark dropped, like a brown-winged stone.
+
+        "Well, a day is before me now;
+          Yet, what," thought she, "can I do, if I try?
+        If an angel of God would show me how!
+          But silly am I, and the hours they fly."
+
+        Then the lark sprang singing up from the sod,
+          And the maiden thought, as he rose to the blue,
+        "He says he will carry my prayer to God;
+          But who would have thought the little lark knew?"
+
+
+II
+
+        Now she entered the village street,
+          With book in hand and face demure,
+        And soon she came, with sober feet,
+          To a crying babe at a cottage door.
+
+        It wept at a windmill that would not move,
+          It puffed with round red cheeks in vain,
+        One sail stuck fast in a puzzling groove,
+          And baby's breath could not stir it again.
+
+        So baby beat the sail and cried,
+          While no one came from the cottage door;
+        But little Christel knelt down by its side,
+          And set the windmill going once more.
+
+        Then babe was pleased, and the little girl
+          Was glad when she heard it laugh and crow;
+        Thinking, "Happy windmill, that has but to whirl,
+          To please the pretty young creature so."
+
+
+III
+
+        No thought of herself was in her head,
+          As she passed out at the end of the street,
+        And came to a rose-tree tall and red,
+          Drooping and faint with the summer heat.
+
+        She ran to a brook that was flowing by,
+          She made of her two hands a nice round cup,
+        And washed the roots of the rose-tree high,
+          Till it lifted its languid blossoms up.
+
+        "O happy brook!" thought little Christel,
+          "You have done some good this summer's day,
+        You have made the flowers look fresh and well!"
+          Then she rose and went on her way.
+
+               *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+William Brighty Rands.
+
+
+
+
+_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 bringeth 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.
+
+M. Betham Edwards
+
+
+
+
+XI
+
+BELLS OF CHRISTMAS
+
+
+        _Then let the holly red be hung,_
+        _And all the sweetest carols sung,_
+        _While we with joy remember them--_
+        _The journeyers to Bethlehem._
+
+_Frank Dempster Sherman._
+
+
+
+
+BELLS OF CHRISTMAS
+
+
+
+
+_The Adoration of the Wise Men_
+
+
+        Saw you never in the twilight,
+          When the sun had left the skies,
+        Up in heaven the clear stars shining,
+          Through the gloom like silver eyes?
+        So of old the wise men watching,
+          Saw a little stranger star,
+        And they knew the King was given,
+          And they follow'd it from far.
+
+        Heard you never of the story,
+          How they cross'd the desert wild,
+        Journey'd on by plain and mountain,
+          Till they found the Holy Child?
+        How they open'd all their treasure,
+          Kneeling to that Infant King,
+        Gave the gold and fragrant incense,
+          Gave the myrrh in offering?
+
+        Know ye not that lowly Baby
+          Was the bright and morning star,
+        He who came to light the Gentiles,
+          And the darken'd isles afar?
+
+        And we too may seek his cradle,
+          There our heart's best treasures bring,
+        Love, and Faith, and true devotion,
+          For our Saviour, God, and King.
+
+Cecil Frances Alexander.
+
+
+
+
+_Cradle Hymn_
+
+
+        Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber;
+          Holy angels guard thy bed;
+        Heavenly blessings without number
+          Gently falling on thy head.
+
+        Sleep, my babe, thy food and raiment,
+          House and home, thy friends provide;
+        All without thy care, or payment,
+          All thy wants are well supplied.
+
+        How much better thou'rt attended
+          Than the Son of God could be,
+        When from heaven He descended,
+          And became a child like thee!
+
+        Soft and easy is thy cradle;
+          Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay,
+        When His birthplace was a stable,
+          And His softest bed was hay.
+
+        See the kindly shepherds round him,
+          Telling wonders from the sky!
+        When they sought Him, there they found Him,
+          With his Virgin-Mother by.
+
+        See the lovely babe a-dressing;
+          Lovely infant, how He smiled!
+        When He wept, the mother's blessing
+          Soothed and hushed the holy child.
+
+        Lo, He slumbers in His manger,
+          Where the honest oxen fed;
+        --Peace, my darling! here's no danger!
+          Here's no ox a-near thy bed!
+
+        Mayst thou live to know and fear Him,
+          Trust and love Him all thy days;
+        Then go dwell forever near Him,
+          See His face, and sing His praise!
+
+        I could give thee thousand kisses,
+          Hoping what I most desire;
+        Not a mother's fondest wishes
+          Can to greater joys aspire.
+
+Isaac Watts.
+
+
+
+
+_The Christmas Silence_
+
+
+        Hushed are the pigeons cooing low
+          On dusty rafters of the loft;
+          And mild-eyed oxen, breathing soft,
+        Sleep on the fragrant hay below.
+
+        Dim shadows in the corner hide;
+          The glimmering lantern's rays are shed
+          Where one young lamb just lifts his head,
+        Then huddles 'gainst his mother's side.
+
+        Strange silence tingles in the air;
+          Through the half-open door a bar
+          Of light from one low-hanging star
+        Touches a baby's radiant hair.
+
+        No sound: the mother, kneeling, lays
+          Her cheek against the little face.
+          Oh human love! Oh heavenly grace!
+        'Tis yet in silence that she prays!
+
+        Ages of silence end to-night;
+          Then to the long-expectant earth
+          Glad angels come to greet His birth
+        In burst of music, love, and light!
+
+Margaret Deland.
+
+
+
+
+An Offertory
+
+        Oh, the beauty of the Christ Child,
+            The gentleness, the grace,
+            The smiling, loving tenderness,
+            The infantile embrace!
+              All babyhood he holdeth,
+              All motherhood enfoldeth--
+            Yet who hath seen his face?
+
+        Oh, the nearness of the Christ Child,
+            When, for a sacred space,
+            He nestles in our very homes--
+            Light of the human race!
+              We know him and we love him,
+              No man to us need prove him--
+            Yet who hath seen his face?
+
+Mary Mapes Dodge.
+
+
+
+
+_Christmas Song_
+
+
+        Why do bells for Christmas ring?
+        Why do little children sing?
+
+        Once a lovely, shining star,
+        Seen by shepherds from afar,
+        Gently moved until its light
+        Made a manger-cradle bright.
+
+        There a darling baby lay
+        Pillowed soft upon the hay.
+        And his mother sang and smiled,
+        "This is Christ, the holy child."
+
+        So the bells for Christmas ring,
+        So the little children sing.
+
+Lydia Avery Coonley Ward.
+
+
+
+
+_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 shutter, and threw up the sash.
+        The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
+        Gave a lustre of midday 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 a 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 pedler 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 good-night!"
+
+Clement C. Moore.
+
+
+
+
+_The Christmas Trees_
+
+
+        There's a stir among the trees,
+        There's a whisper in the breeze,
+        Little ice-points clash and clink,
+        Little needles nod and wink,
+        Sturdy fir-trees sway and sigh--
+        "Here am I! Here am I!"
+
+        "All the summer long I stood
+        In the silence of the woods.
+        Tall and tapering I grew;
+        What might happen well I knew;
+        For one day a little bird
+        Sang, and in the song I heard
+        Many things quite strange to me
+        Of Christmas and the Christmas tree.
+
+        "When the sun was hid from sight
+        In the darkness of the night,
+        When the wind with sudden fret
+        Pulled at my green coronet,
+        Staunch I stood, and hid my fears,
+        Weeping silent fragrant tears,
+        Praying still that I might be
+        Fitted for a Christmas tree.
+
+        "Now here we stand
+        On every hand!
+        In us a hoard of summer stored,
+        Birds have flown over us,
+        Blue sky has covered us,
+        Soft winds have sung to us,
+        Blossoms have flung to us
+        Measureless sweetness,
+        Now in completeness
+        We wait."
+
+Mary F. Butts.
+
+
+
+
+_A Birthday Gift_
+
+
+
+               *       *       *       *       *
+
+        What can I give him,
+        Poor as I am?
+        If I were a shepherd
+        I would bring a lamb,
+        If I were a wise man
+        I would do my part,--
+        Yet what I can I give him,
+             Give my heart.
+
+Christina Rossetti.
+
+
+
+
+_A Christmas Lullaby_
+
+
+        Sleep, baby, sleep! The Mother sings:
+        Heaven's angels kneel and fold their wings.
+                            Sleep, baby, sleep!
+
+        With swathes of scented hay Thy bed
+        By Mary's hand at eve was spread.
+                            Sleep, baby, sleep!
+
+        At midnight came the shepherds, they
+        Whom seraphs wakened by the way.
+                            Sleep, baby, sleep!
+
+        And three kings from the East afar,
+        Ere dawn came, guided by the star.
+                            Sleep, baby, sleep!
+
+        They brought Thee gifts of gold and gems,
+        Pure orient pearls, rich diadems.
+                            Sleep, baby, sleep!
+
+        But Thou who liest slumbering there,
+        Art King of Kings, earth, ocean, air.
+                            Sleep, baby, sleep!
+
+        Sleep, baby, sleep! The shepherds sing:
+        Through heaven, through earth, hosannas ring.
+                            Sleep, baby, sleep!
+
+John Addington Symonds.
+
+
+
+
+_I Saw Three Ships_
+
+
+        I saw three ships come sailing in,
+          On Christmas day, on Christmas day;
+        I saw three ships come sailing in,
+          On Christmas day in the morning.
+
+               *       *       *       *       *
+
+        Pray whither sailed those ships all three
+          On Christmas day, on Christmas day?
+        Pray whither sailed those ships all three
+          On Christmas day in the morning?
+
+        Oh, they sailed into Bethlehem
+          On Christmas day, on Christmas day;
+        Oh, they sailed into Bethlehem
+          On Christmas day in the morning.
+
+        And all the bells on earth shall ring
+          On Christmas day, on Christmas day;
+        And all the bells on earth shall ring
+          On Christmas day in the morning.
+
+        And all the angels in heaven shall sing
+          On Christmas day, on Christmas day;
+        And all the angels in heaven shall sing
+          On Christmas day in the morning.
+
+        And all the souls on earth shall sing
+          On Christmas day, on Christmas day;
+        And all the souls on earth shall sing
+          On Christmas day in the morning.
+
+Old Carol.
+
+
+
+
+_Santa Claus_
+
+
+        He comes in the night! He comes in the night!
+          He softly, silently comes;
+        While the little brown heads on the pillows so white
+          Are dreaming of bugles and drums.
+
+        He cuts through the snow like a ship through the foam,
+           While the white flakes around him whirl;
+        Who tells him I know not, but he findeth the home
+           Of each good little boy and girl.
+
+        His sleigh it is long, and deep, and wide;
+           It will carry a host of things,
+        While dozens of drums hang over the side,
+           With the sticks sticking under the strings.
+        And yet not the sound of a drum is heard,
+           Not a bugle blast is blown,
+        As he mounts to the chimney-top like a bird,
+           And drops to the hearth like a stone.
+
+        The little red stockings he silently fills,
+           Till the stockings will hold no more;
+        The bright little sleds for the great snow hills
+           Are quickly set down on the floor.
+        Then Santa Claus mounts to the roof like a bird,
+           And glides to his seat in the sleigh;
+        Not the sound of a bugle or drum is heard
+           As he noiselessly gallops away.
+
+        He rides to the East, and he rides to the West,
+           Of his goodies he touches not one;
+        He eateth the crumbs of the Christmas feast
+           When the dear little folks are done.
+        Old Santa Claus doeth all that he can;
+           This beautiful mission is his;
+        Then, children, be good to the little old man,
+           When you find who the little man is.
+
+Unknown.
+
+
+
+
+_Neighbors of the Christ Night_
+
+
+        Deep in the shelter of the cave,
+          The ass with drooping head
+        Stood weary in the shadow, where
+          His master's hand had led.
+        About the manger oxen lay,
+          Bending a wide-eyed gaze
+        Upon the little new-born Babe,
+          Half worship, half amaze.
+        High in the roof the doves were set,
+          And cooed there, soft and mild,
+        Yet not so sweet as, in the hay,
+          The Mother to her Child.
+        The gentle cows breathed fragrant breath
+          To keep Babe Jesus warm,
+        While loud and clear, o'er hill and dale,
+          The cocks crowed, "Christ is born!"
+        Out in the fields, beneath the stars,
+          The young lambs sleeping lay,
+        And dreamed that in the manger slept
+          Another, white as they.
+
+               *       *       *       *       *
+
+        These were Thy neighbors, Christmas Child;
+          To Thee their love was given,
+        For in Thy baby face there shone
+          The wonder-light of Heaven.
+
+Nora Archibald Smith.
+
+
+
+
+_Cradle Hymn_
+
+
+        Away in a manger, no crib for a bed,
+        The little Lord Jesus laid down his sweet head.
+        The stars in the bright sky looked down where he lay--
+        The little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay.
+
+        The cattle are lowing, the baby awakes,
+        But little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes.
+        I love thee, Lord Jesus! look down from the sky,
+        And stay by my cradle till morning is nigh.
+
+Martin Luther.
+
+
+
+
+_The Christmas Holly_
+
+
+        The holly! the holly! oh, twine it with bay--
+          Come give the holly a song;
+        For it helps to drive stern winter away,
+          With his garment so sombre and long;
+        It peeps through the trees with its berries of red,
+          And its leaves of burnished green,
+        When the flowers and fruits have long been dead,
+          And not even the daisy is seen.
+        Then sing to the holly, the Christmas holly,
+          That hangs over peasant and king;
+        While we laugh and carouse 'neath its glittering boughs,
+          To the Christmas holly we'll sing.
+
+               *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+Eliza Cook.
+
+
+
+
+        Said I to myself, here's a chance for me
+        The Lilliput Laureate for to be!
+        And these are the Specimens I sent in
+        To Pinafore Palace. Shall I win?
+
+William Brighty Rands.
+
+
+
+
+INDEX
+
+        Adoration of the Wise Men, The, 257
+
+        All Things Bright and Beautiful, 237
+
+        Angel's Whisper, The, 139
+
+        Answer to a Child's Question, 62
+
+        Ant and the Cricket, The, 78
+
+        April, In, 8
+
+        Auld Daddy Darkness, 221
+
+
+        Baby Corn, 93
+
+        Baby Seed Song, 88
+
+        Beau's Reply, 112
+
+        Bed-Time, 232
+
+        Bells of Christmas, 255
+
+        Birdies with Broken Wings, 133
+
+        Birds in Spring, The, 54
+
+        Birds in Summer, 65
+
+        Bird's Song in Spring, 102
+
+        Birthday Gift, A, 267
+
+        Blessing for the Blessed, A, 129
+
+        Blind Boy, The, 160
+
+        Bluebird, The, 68
+
+        Blue Jay, The, 74
+
+        Boy and the Sheep, The, 114
+
+        Boy, The, 128
+
+        Boy's Song, A, 165
+
+        Breeches, Going Into, 174
+
+        Bunch of Roses, A, 155
+
+        Butterflies, White, 78
+
+        By Cool Siloam's Shady Rill, 244
+
+
+        Camel's Nose, The, 240
+
+        Chanticleer, 72
+
+        Child, A Sleeping, 132
+
+        Child at Bethlehem, The, 155
+
+        Child's Fancy, A, 95
+
+        Child's Grace, A, 241
+
+        Child's Laughter, A, 145
+
+        Child's Prayer, A, 252
+
+        Child's Thought of God, A, 241
+
+        Children, Little, 137
+
+        Children, Other Little, 123
+
+        Chill, A, 144
+
+        Christmas Holly, The, 273
+
+        Christmas Lullaby, A, 267
+
+        Christmas Silence, The, 260
+
+        Christmas Song, 261
+
+        Christmas Trees, The, 265
+
+        City Child, The, 173
+
+        Cleanliness, 126
+
+        Clouds, 40
+
+        Corn-Fields, 248
+
+        Cottager to Her Infant, 230
+
+        Cow-Boy's Song, The, 217
+
+        Cradle Hymn (Watts), 258
+
+        Cradle Hymn (Luther), 272
+
+
+        Daffy-Down-Dilly, 91
+
+        Daisy's Song, The, 103
+
+        Dandelions, 98
+
+        Day, A, 28
+
+        Deaf and Dumb, 159
+
+        Dear Little Violets, 101
+
+        Discontent, 193
+
+        Doll, Dressing the, 167
+
+        Doll, The Lost, 166
+
+        Dolladine, 167
+
+
+        Elf and the Dormouse, The, 213
+
+        Elf, The Little, 188
+
+
+        Fable, 206
+
+        Fairies of the Caldon-Low, The, 209
+
+        Fairies' Shopping, The, 204
+
+        Fairies, The Child and the, 187
+
+        Fairies, The Last Voyage of The, 184
+
+        Fairy Folk, The, 181
+
+        Fairy in Armor, A, 183
+
+        February, In, 5
+
+        Fern, A New, 186
+
+        Fern Song, 90
+
+        Flax Flower, The, 99
+
+        Flower Folk, The, 81
+
+        Fountain, The, 34
+
+
+        Garaine, Little, 140
+
+        Garden, In a, 151
+
+        Good Luck, For, 105
+
+        Good-Morning, 29
+
+        Good-Night and Good-Morning, 136
+
+        Grass, The Voice of the, 36
+
+        Guessing Song, 45
+
+
+        Hie Away, 176
+
+        High and Low, 244
+
+        How the Leaves Came Down, 17
+
+        Hunting Song, 176
+
+
+        Infant Joy, 129
+
+        I Remember, I Remember, 135
+
+        I Saw Three Ships, 268
+
+
+        Jack Frost, 47
+
+
+        Kitten and Falling Leaves, The, 121
+
+
+        Lady Moon, 30
+
+        Lamb, The, 242
+
+        Lamb, The Pet, 116
+
+        Lambs in the Meadow, 115
+
+        Land of Story-Books, The, 172
+
+        Lark and the Rook, The, 56
+
+        Letter, A, to Lady Margaret Cavendish Holles-Harley,
+          when a Child, 141
+
+        Little Christel, 250
+
+        Little Dandelion, 97
+
+        Little Gustava, 152
+
+        Little Land, The, 148
+
+        Little White Lily, 83
+
+        Lobster Quadrille, A, 202
+
+        Love and the Child, 142
+
+        Lucy Gray, 156
+
+        Lullaby of an Infant Chief, 226
+
+        Lullaby, Old Gaelic, 228
+
+
+        Magpie's Nest, The, 198
+
+        March, 6
+
+        Marjorie's Almanac, 3
+
+        May, 13
+
+        Meg Merrilies, 214
+
+        Midsummer Song, A, 207
+
+        Milking Time, 113
+
+        My Pony, 109
+
+
+        Nearly Ready, 7
+
+        Neighbors of the Christ Night, 271
+
+        Night, 232
+
+        Night and Day, 243
+
+        Nightfall in Dordrecht, 233
+
+        Nightingale and the Glowworm, The, 195
+
+        Now the Noisy Winds Are Still, 33
+
+
+        Offertory, An, 261
+
+        O Lady Moon, 31
+
+        Old Gaelic Lullaby, 228
+
+        "One, Two, Three," 188
+
+        Owl, The, 70
+
+        Owl and the Pussy-Cat, The, 201
+
+
+        Pedlar's Caravan, The, 170
+
+        Piping Down the Valleys Wild, 131
+
+        Play-Time, 163
+
+        Polly, 143
+
+
+        Rain, Signs of, 41
+
+        Rivulet, The, 46
+
+        Robert of Lincoln, 75
+
+        Robin Redbreast, 54
+
+        Robin Redbreast, An Epitaph on a, 67
+
+        Rockaby, Lullaby, 224
+
+        Romance, 215
+
+
+        St. Nicholas, A Visit from, 262
+
+        Sandman, The, 228
+
+        Santa Claus, 269
+
+        Sea-Song from the Shore, A, 171
+
+        Seal Lullaby, 113
+
+        September, 16
+
+        Seven Times One, 133
+
+        Sheep and Lambs, 245
+
+        Shower, A Sudden, 43
+
+        Singer, The, 73
+
+        Sleep, A Charm to Call, 231
+
+        Sleep, My Treasure, 225
+
+        Snowbird, The, 57
+
+        Snowdrops, 89
+
+        Snowflakes, 49
+
+        Song (Keats), 69
+
+        Song (Peacock), 104
+
+        Spaniel, On a, Called Beau, Killing a Young Bird, 111
+
+        Spring, 9
+
+        Spring and Summer, 14
+
+        Spring Song, 7
+
+        Spring, The Coming of, 11
+
+        Spring, The Voice of, 10
+
+        Storm, After the, 156
+
+        Strange Lands, 44
+
+        Summer Days, 15
+
+        Swallows, The, 53
+
+        Sweet and Low, 227
+
+
+        Thank You, Pretty Cow, 114
+
+        Thanksgiving Day, 196
+
+        Thanksgiving Fable, A, 197
+
+        The Water! the Water! 49
+
+        There's Nothing Like the Rose, 89
+
+        Thimble, What May Happen to a, 190
+
+        Titmouse, The, 64
+
+        To His Saviour, a Child; A Present by a Child, 246
+
+        Tree, The, 102
+
+
+        Violet Bank, A, 88
+
+        Violet, The, 90
+
+        Violets, 85
+
+        Voice, The Still Small, 238
+
+
+        Waterfall, The, 35
+
+        What Does Little Birdie Say? 69
+
+        What the Winds Bring, 29
+
+        What Would You See? 247
+
+        Where Go the Boats? 125
+
+        Who Stole the Bird's Nest? 59
+
+        Wild Geese, 71
+
+        Wild Winds, 32
+
+        Wind in a Frolic, The, 38
+
+        Wind, The, 33
+
+        Windy Nights, 31
+
+        Winter Night, 19
+
+        Wishing, 127
+
+        Wonderful World, The, 27
+
+        World's Music, The, 146
+
+        Wynken, Blynken, and Nod, 222
+
+
+        Year's Windfalls, A (Rossetti), 20
+
+        Young Dandelion, 86
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Transcriber's Notes:
+
+Page xi, "v" changed to "ix" for actual location of poem entitled
+"Lilliput Notice."
+
+Page xiii, "Child's" changed to "Bird's" to conform to text (Bird's Song
+in Spring)
+
+Page xiv, "Bjoörnson" changed to "Björnson" (Björnstjerne Björnson)
+
+Page 151, a break was inserted between the lines:
+
+        Fairer though they be than dreams of ours.
+        Baby, hear the birds!
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Posy Ring, by Various
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POSY RING ***
+
+***** This file should be named 22922-8.txt or 22922-8.zip *****
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+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Posy Ring, edited by Kate Douglas Wiggin and Nora Archibald Smith.
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Posy Ring, by Various
+
+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: The Posy Ring
+       A Book of Verse for Children
+
+Author: Various
+
+Editor: Kate Douglas Wiggin and Nora Archibald Smith
+
+Release Date: October 8, 2007 [EBook #22922]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POSY RING ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Emmy and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 251px;">
+<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="251" height="400" alt="Cover" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[i]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<h1>THE POSY RING</h1>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[ii]</a></span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<div class='center'>
+<i>The Posy Ring<br />
+is a companion volume to<br />
+Golden Numbers<br />
+A Book of Verse for Youth<br />
+Edited by<br />
+Kate Douglas Wiggin and<br />
+Nora Archibald Smith</i><br /></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p>
+<div class='bbox'><div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;">
+<img src="images/divider.png" width="300" height="62" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+</div><div class='bbox'>
+<h1>THE POSY RING</h1>
+
+
+<h3>A BOOK OF VERSE FOR CHILDREN</h3>
+
+<h3>CHOSEN AND CLASSIFIED BY</h3>
+
+
+<h2>Kate Douglas Wiggin</h2>
+
+
+<h3>AND</h3>
+
+
+<h2>Nora Archibald Smith</h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 119px;">
+<img src="images/emblem.png" width="119" height="150" alt="Emblem" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="A box of jewels poem">
+<tr><td align='left'><i>"A box of jewels, shop of rarities,</i></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;"><i>A ring whose posy was 'My pleasure'"</i></span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 13.5em;"><span class="smcap">George Herbert</span></span></td></tr>
+</table></div>
+<div class='center'><br /><br />
+MCCLURE, PHILLIPS &amp; CO.<br />
+NEW YORK<br />
+MCMVI<br /></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='center'><small>
+<i>Copyright, 1903, by</i><br />
+<span class="smcap">McCLURE, PHILLIPS &amp; CO.</span><br />
+<br /><br />
+Published, February, 1903, N<br />
+Fifth Impression.<br /></small></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>A NOTE</h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;">
+<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='unindent'><i><big>T</big>HANKS are due to the following publishers for permission
+to reprint poems on which they hold copyright:</i></div>
+
+<p><i>Charles Scribner's Sons, for permission to use the
+following poems by Robert Louis Stevenson: "Windy
+Nights," "Where Go the Boats?" "The Little Land,"
+"The Land of Story Books" and "Bed Time"; for
+the following poems by Mary Mapes Dodge: "Nearly
+Ready," "Now the Noisy Winds are Still," "Snowflakes,"
+"Birdies with Broken Wings," and "Night
+and Day"; for the following poems by Eugene Field:
+"Wynken, Blynken, and Nod," and "Nightfall in Dordrecht";
+for "Rockaby, Lullaby," by J. G. Holland;
+and for "One, Two, Three," by H. C. Bunner. G. P.
+Putnam's Sons, for permission to use "High and Low,"
+by Dora Goodale. D. Appleton &amp; Son, publishers of
+Bryant's Complete Poetical Works, for permission to
+reprint "Robert of Lincoln," by W. C. Bryant. E. P.
+Dutton &amp; Co., for permission to reprint "The Birds in
+Spring," by Thomas Nashe. A. C. McClurg &amp; Co., for
+permission to reprint "Baby Seed Song" and "Bird's
+Song in Spring," by E. Nesbit. The Century Company,
+for permission to reprint the "Seal Lullaby,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span>
+by Rudyard Kipling. The "Independent," for permission
+to reprint "Baby Corn," Anon. Dana, Estes &amp;
+Co., for permission to reprint "The Blue Jay," by
+Susan Hartley Swett. Small, Maynard &amp; Co., for permission
+to reprint the following poems by John B. Tabb:
+"The Fern Song," "A Bunch of Roses," "The Child
+at Bethlehem." George Routledge &amp; Sons, for permission
+to reprint the following poems by W. B. Rands:
+"The Child's World," "The Wonderful World,"
+"Love and the Child," "Dolladine," "Dressing the
+Doll," "The Pedlar's Caravan," and "Little Christel";
+also for "Little White Lily" and "What
+Would You See?" by George Macdonald, and "The
+Wind," by L. E. Landon. Houghton, Mifflin &amp; Co.,
+for the right to reprint the following poems: "Marjorie's
+Almanac," by T. B. Aldrich; "Dandelion," by
+Helen Grey Cone; "The Fairies' Shopping" and
+"The Christmas Silence," by Margaret Deland; "The
+Titmouse" and "Fable," by Ralph Waldo Emerson;
+"Hiawatha's Chickens" and "Hiawatha's Brothers,"
+by Henry W. Longfellow; "The Fountain," by James
+Russell Lowell; "The Rivulet," by Lucy Larcom;
+"The Coming of Spring," by Nora Perry; "May,"
+"The Waterfall," "Clouds," and "Bells of Christmas,"
+by Frank Dempster Sherman; "What the Winds
+Bring" and "The Singer," by E. C. Stedman;
+"Spring," "Wild Geese," "Chanticleer," and "Little
+Gustava," by Celia Thaxter. Little, Brown &amp; Co., for
+the right to reprint "September," by Helen Hunt
+Jackson; "When the Leaves Come Down," by Susan<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span>
+Coolidge; and "Summer Days," "A Year's Windfalls,"
+"The Flower Folk," "There's Nothing Like the Rose,"
+"Milking Time," "A Chill," and "A Birthday Gift,"
+by Christina G. Rossetti. St. Nicholas, for permission
+to reprint "The Little Elf," by John Kendrick Bangs.
+The Macmillan Company, for permission to reprint "O
+Lady Moon," by Christina G. Rossetti. Frederick
+Warne &amp; Co., for permission to reprint "By Cool
+Siloam's Shady Rill," by Reginald Heber. Cassell &amp;
+Co., Ltd., for permission to reprint "The Last Voyage
+of the Fairies," by W. H. Davenport Adams.</i></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+PUBLIC NOTICE.&mdash;<i>This is to state,<br />
+That these are the specimens left at the gate<br />
+Of Pinafore Palace, exact to date,<br />
+In the hands of the porter, Curlypate,<br />
+Who sits in his plush on a chair of state,<br />
+By somebody who is a candidate<br />
+For the office of Lilliput Laureate.</i><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 11.5em;"><i>William Brighty Rands.</i></span><br /><br /><br /></div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[xi]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;">
+<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<div class='center'>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents">
+<tr><td align='left'>&nbsp;</td><td align='center'>Page</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Lilliput Notice.</span> By <i>William Brighty Rands</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_ix"><ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'v'">ix</ins></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><br />A YEAR'S WINDFALLS</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Marjorie's Almanac. By <i>Thomas Bailey Aldrich</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">In February. By <i>John Addington Symonds</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_5">5</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">March. By <i>William Wordsworth</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_6">6</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Nearly Ready. By <i>Mary Mapes Dodge</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_7">7</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Spring Song. By <i>George Eliot</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_7">7</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">In April. By <i>Elizabeth Akers</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_8">8</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Spring. By <i>Celia Thaxter</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Voice of Spring. By <i>Mary Howitt</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_10">10</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Coming of Spring. By <i>Nora Perry</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">May. By <i>Frank Dempster Sherman</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_13">13</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Spring and Summer. By "<i>A.</i></span>"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_14">14</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Summer Days. By <i>Christina G. Rossetti</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">September. By <i>H. H.</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_16">16</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">How the Leaves Came Down. By <i>Susan Coolidge</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_17">17</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Winter Night. By <i>Mary F. Butts</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_19">19</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Year's Windfalls. By <i>Christina G. Rossetti</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[xii]</a></span><br />THE CHILD'S WORLD</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Wonderful World. By <i>William Brighty Rands</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_27">27</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Day. By <i>Emily Dickinson</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_28">28</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Good-Morning. By <i>Robert Browning</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_29">29</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">What the Winds Bring. By <i>Edmund Clarence Stedman</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_29">29</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Lady Moon. By <i>Lord Houghton</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">O Lady Moon. By <i>Christina G. Rossetti</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Windy Nights. By <i>Robert Louis Stevenson</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Wild Winds. By <i>Mary F. Butts</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Now the Noisy Winds are Still. By <i>Mary Mapes Dodge</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Wind. <i>Letitia E. Landon</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Fountain. By <i>James Russell Lowell</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Waterfall. By <i>Frank Dempster Sherman</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_35">35</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Voice of the Grass. By <i>Sarah Roberts Boyle</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Wind in a Frolic. By <i>William Howitt</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_38">38</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Clouds. By <i>Frank Dempster Sherman</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_40">40</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Signs of Rain. By <i>Edward Jenner</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_41">41</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Sudden Shower. By <i>James Whitcomb Riley</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Strange Lands. By <i>Laurence Alma Tadema</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_44">44</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Guessing Song. By <i>Henry Johnstone</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_45">45</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Rivulet. By <i>Lucy Larcom</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Jack Frost. By <i>Hannah F. Gould</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_47">47</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Snowflakes. By <i>Mary Mapes Dodge</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Water! The Water. By <i>William Motherwell</i></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[xiii]</a></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><br />HIAWATHA'S CHICKENS</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Swallows. By <i>Edwin Arnold</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Swallow's Nest. By <i>Edwin Arnold</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Birds in Spring. By <i>Thomas Nashe</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_54">54</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Robin Redbreast. By <i>William Allingham</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_54">54</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Lark and the Rook. <i>Unknown</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Snowbird. By <i>Hezekiah Butterworth</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Who Stole the Bird's Nest? By <i>Lydia Maria Child</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_59">59</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Answer to a Child's Question. By <i>Samuel Taylor Coleridge</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Burial of the Linnet. By <i>Juliana H. Ewing</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Titmouse. By <i>Ralph Waldo Emerson</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_64">64</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Birds in Summer. By <i>Mary Howitt</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">An Epitaph on a Robin Redbreast. By <i>Samuel Rogers</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Bluebird. By <i>Emily Huntington Miller</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Song. By <i>John Keats</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_69">69</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">What Does Little Birdie Say? By <i>Alfred, Lord Tennyson</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_69">69</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Owl. By <i>Alfred, Lord Tennyson</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_70">70</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Wild Geese. By <i>Celia Thaxter</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Chanticleer. By <i>Celia Thaxter</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_72">72</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Singer. By <i>Edmund Clarence Stedman</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Blue Jay. By <i>Susan Hartley Swett</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_74">74</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[xiv]</a></span>Robert of Lincoln. By <i>William Cullen Bryant</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">White Butterflies. By <i>Algernon C. Swinburne</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_78">78</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Ant and the Cricket. <i>Unknown</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_78">78</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><br />THE FLOWER FOLK</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little White Lily. By <i>George Macdonald</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Violets. By <i>Dinah Maria Mulock</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_85">85</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Young Dandelion. By <i>Dinah Maria Mulock</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_86">86</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Baby Seed Song. By <i>E. Nesbit</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Violet Bank. By <i>William Shakespeare</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">There's Nothing Like the Rose. By <i>Christina G. Rossetti</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_89">89</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Snowdrops. By <i>Laurence Alma Tadema</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_89">89</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Fern Song. By <i>John B. Tabb</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Violet. By <i>Jane Taylor</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Daffy-Down-Dilly. By <i>Anna B. Warner</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Baby Corn. <i>Unknown</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_93">93</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Child's Fancy. By "<i>A.</i></span>"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little Dandelion. By <i>Helen B. Bostwick</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_97">97</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Dandelions. By <i>Helen Gray Cone</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_98">98</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Flax Flower. By <i>Mary Howitt</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_99">99</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Dear Little Violets. By <i>John Moultrie</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_101">101</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;"><ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Child's'">Bird's</ins> Song in Spring. By <i>E. Nesbit</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_102">102</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Tree. By <i>Bj&ouml;rnstjerne <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Bjo&ouml;rnson'">Bj&ouml;rnson</ins></i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_102">102</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Daisy's Song. By <i>John Keats</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Song. By <i>Thomas Love Peacock</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_104">104</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">For Good Luck. By <i>Juliana Horatia Ewing</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><br />HIAWATHA'S BROTHERS<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv">[xv]</a></span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">My Pony. By "<i>A.</i></span>"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">On a Spaniel, Called Beau, Killing a Young Bird. By <i>William Cowper</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_111">111</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Beau's Reply. By <i>William Cowper</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_112">112</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Seal Lullaby. By <i>Rudyard Kipling</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_113">113</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Milking Time. By <i>Christina G. Rossetti</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_113">113</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Thank You, Pretty Cow. By <i>Jane Taylor</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_114">114</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Boy and the Sheep. By <i>Ann Taylor</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_114">114</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Lambs in the Meadow. By <i>Laurence Alma Tadema</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_115">115</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Pet Lamb. By <i>William Wordsworth</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_116">116</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Kitten, and Falling Leaves. By <i>William Wordsworth</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_121">121</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><br />OTHER LITTLE CHILDREN</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Where Go the Boats? By <i>Robert Louis Stevenson</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_125">125</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Cleanliness. By <i>Charles and Mary Lamb</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Wishing. By <i>William Allingham</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_127">127</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Boy. By <i>William Allingham</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_128">128</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Infant Joy. By <i>William Blake</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_129">129</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Blessing for the Blessed. By <i>Laurence Alma Tadema</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_129">129</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Piping Down the Valleys Wild. By <i>William Blake</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_131">131</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Sleeping Child. By <i>Arthur Hugh Clough</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_132">132</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xvi" id="Page_xvi">[xvi]</a></span>Birdies with Broken Wings. By <i>Mary Mapes Dodge</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_133">133</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Seven Times One. By <i>Jean Ingelow</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_133">133</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">I Remember, I Remember. By <i>Thomas Hood</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_135">135</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Good-Night and Good-Morning. By <i>Lord Houghton</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_136">136</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little Children. By <i>Mary Howitt</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Angel's Whisper. By <i>Samuel Lover</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_139">139</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little Garaine. By <i>Sir Gilbert Parker</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_140">140</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Letter. By <i>Matthew Prior</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_141">141</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Love and the Child. By <i>William Brighty Rands</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_142">142</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Polly. By <i>William Brighty Rands</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_143">143</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Chill. By <i>Christina G. Rossetti</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_144">144</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Child's Laughter. By <i>Algernon C. Swinburne</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_145">145</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The World's Music. By <i>Gabriel Setoun</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_146">146</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Little Land. By <i>Robert Louis Stevenson</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_148">148</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">In a Garden. By <i>Algernon C. Swinburne</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_151">151</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little Gustava. By <i>Celia Thaxter</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_152">152</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Bunch of Roses. By <i>John B. Tabb</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_155">155</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Child at Bethlehem. By <i>John B. Tabb</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_155">155</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">After the Storm. By <i>W. M. Thackeray</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Lucy Gray. By <i>William Wordsworth</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Deaf and Dumb. By "<i>A</i></span>."</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_159">159</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Blind Boy. By <i>Colley Cibber</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_160">160</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><br />PLAY-TIME</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Boy's Song. By <i>James Hogg</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_165">165</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xvii" id="Page_xvii">[xvii]</a></span>The Lost Doll. By <i>Charles Kingsley</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_166">166</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Dolladine. By <i>William Brighty Rands</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_167">167</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Dressing the Doll. By <i>William Brighty Rands</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_167">167</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Pedlar's Caravan. By <i>William Brighty Rands</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_170">170</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Sea-Song from the Shore. <i>James Whitcomb Riley</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_171">171</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Land of Story-Books. By <i>Robert Louis Stevenson</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_172">172</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The City Child. By <i>Alfred, Lord Tennyson</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_173">173</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Going into Breeches. By <i>Charles and Mary Lamb</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_174">174</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Hunting Song. By <i>Samuel Taylor Coleridge</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_176">176</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Hie Away. By <i>Sir Walter Scott</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_176">176</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><br />STORY TIME</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Fairy Folk. By <i>Robert Bird</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_181">181</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Fairy in Armor. By <i>Joseph Rodman Drake</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_183">183</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Last Voyage of the Fairies. By <i>W. H. Davenport Adams</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_184">184</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A New Fern. By "<i>A</i></span>."</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_186">186</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Child and the Fairies. By "<i>A</i></span>."</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_187">187</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Little Elf. By <i>John Kendrick Bangs</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_188">188</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">"One, Two, Three." By <i>Henry C. Bunner</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_188">188</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">What May Happen to a Thimble. By "<i>B</i></span>."</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_190">190</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Discontent. By <i>Sarah Orne Jewett</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_193">193</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Nightingale and the Glowworm. By <i>William Cowper</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_195">195</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xviii" id="Page_xviii">[xviii]</a></span>Thanksgiving Day. By <i>Lydia Maria Child</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_196">196</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Thanksgiving Fable. By <i>Oliver Herford</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_197">197</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Magpie's Nest. By <i>Charles and Mary Lamb</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_198">198</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Owl and the Pussy-Cat. By <i>Edward Lear</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_201">201</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Lobster Quadrille. By <i>Lewis Carroll</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_202">202</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Fairies' Shopping. By <i>Margaret Deland</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_204">204</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Fable. By <i>Ralph Waldo Emerson</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_206">206</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Midsummer Song. By <i>Richard Watson Gilder</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_207">207</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Fairies of the Caldon-Low. By <i>Mary Howitt</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_209">209</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Elf and the Dormouse. By <i>Oliver Herford</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_213">213</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Meg Merrilies. By <i>John Keats</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_214">214</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Romance. By <i>Gabriel Setoun</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_215">215</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Cow-Boy's Song. By <i>Anna M. Wells</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_217">217</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><br />BED TIME</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Auld Daddy Darkness. By <i>James Ferguson</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_221">221</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Wynken, Blynken, and Nod. By <i>Eugene Field</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_222">222</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Rockaby, Lullaby. By <i>Josiah Gilbert Holland</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_224">224</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sleep, My Treasure. By <i>E. Nesbit</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_225">225</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Lullaby of an Infant Chief. By <i>Sir Walter Scott</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_226">226</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sweet and Low. By <i>Alfred, Lord Tennyson</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_227">227</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Old Gaelic Lullaby. <i>Unknown</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_228">228</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Sandman. By <i>Margaret Vandegrift</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_228">228</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Cottager to Her Infant. By <i>Dorothy Wordsworth</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_230">230</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Charm to Call Sleep. By <i>Henry Johnstone</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_231">231</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xix" id="Page_xix">[xix]</a></span>Night. By <i>Mary F. Butts</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_232">232</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Bed-Time. By <i>Lord Rosslyn</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_232">232</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Nightfall in Dordrecht. By <i>Eugene Field</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_233">233</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><br />FOR SUNDAY'S CHILD</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">All Things Bright and Beautiful. By <i>Cecil F. Alexander</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_237">237</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Still Small Voice. By <i>Alexander Smart</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_238">238</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Camel's Nose. By <i>Lydia H. Sigourney</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_240">240</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Child's Grace. By <i>Robert Burns</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_241">241</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Child's Thought of God. By <i>Elizabeth B. Browning</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_241">241</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Lamb. By <i>William Blake</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_242">242</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Night and Day. By <i>Mary Mapes Dodge</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_243">243</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">High and Low. By <i>Dora Read Goodale</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_244">244</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">By Cool Siloam's Shady Rill. By <i>Reginald Heber</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_244">244</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sheep and Lambs. By <i>Katharine Tynan Hinkson</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_245">245</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">To His Saviour, a Child; A Present by a Child. By <i>Robert Herrick</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_246">246</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">What Would You See? By <i>George Macdonald</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_247">247</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Corn-Fields. By <i>Mary Howitt</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_248">248</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little Christel. By <i>William Brighty Rands</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_250">250</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Child's Prayer. By <i>M. Betham Edwards</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_252">252</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><br />BELLS OF CHRISTMAS</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Adoration of the Wise Men. By <i>Cecil F. Alexander</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_257">257</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xx" id="Page_xx">[xx]</a></span>Cradle Hymn. By <i>Isaac Watts</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_258">258</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Christmas Silence. By <i>Margaret Deland</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_260">260</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">An Offertory. By <i>Mary Mapes Dodge</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_261">261</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Christmas Song. By <i>Lydia Avery Coonley Ward</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_261">261</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Visit from St. Nicholas. By <i>Clement C. Moore</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_262">262</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Christmas Trees. By <i>Mary F. Butts</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_265">265</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Birthday Gift. By <i>Christina G. Rossetti</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_267">267</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Christmas Lullaby. By <i>John Addington Symonds</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_267">267</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">I Saw Three Ships. <i>Old Carol</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_268">268</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Santa Claus. <i>Unknown</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_269">269</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Neighbors of the Christ Night. By <i>Nora Archibald Smith</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_271">271</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Cradle Hymn. By <i>Martin Luther</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_272">272</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Christmas Holly. By <i>Eliza Cook</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_273">273</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Lilliput Notice</span>. By <i>William Brighty Rands</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_274">274</a></td></tr>
+</table></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE POSY RING</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>I</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>A YEAR'S WINDFALLS</h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;">
+<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+<i>Who comes dancing over the snow,</i><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>His soft little feet all bare and rosy?</i></span><br />
+<i>Open the door, though the wild winds blow,</i><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Take the child in and make him cosy.</i></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Take him in and hold him dear,</i></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>He is the wonderful glad New Year.</i></span><br />
+</div>
+<div class='signature'><i>Dinah M. Mulock.</i></div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>A YEAR'S WINDFALLS</h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;">
+<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Marjorie's Almanac</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Robins in the tree-top,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blossoms in the grass,</span><br />
+Green things a-growing<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Everywhere you pass;</span><br />
+Sudden little breezes,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Showers of silver dew,</span><br />
+Black bough and bent twig<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Budding out anew;</span><br />
+Pine-tree and willow-tree,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fring&egrave;d elm and larch,&mdash;</span><br />
+Don't you think that May-time's<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pleasanter than March?</span><br />
+<br />
+Apples in the orchard<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mellowing one by one;</span><br />
+Strawberries upturning<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Soft cheeks to the sun;</span><br />
+Roses faint with sweetness,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lilies fair of face,</span><br />
+Drowsy scents and murmurs<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Haunting every place;</span><br />
+Lengths of golden sunshine,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Moonlight bright as day,&mdash;</span><br />
+Don't you think that summer's<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pleasanter than May?</span><br />
+<br />
+Roger in the corn-patch<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whistling negro songs;</span><br />
+Pussy by the hearth-side<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Romping with the tongs;</span><br />
+Chestnuts in the ashes<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bursting through the rind;</span><br />
+Red leaf and gold leaf<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rustling down the wind;</span><br />
+Mother "doin' peaches"<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All the afternoon,&mdash;</span><br />
+Don't you think that autumn's<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pleasanter than June?</span><br />
+<br />
+Little fairy snow-flakes<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dancing in the flue;</span><br />
+Old Mr. Santa Claus,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What is keeping you?</span><br />
+Twilight and firelight<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shadows come and go;</span><br />
+Merry chime of sleigh-bells<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tinkling through the snow;</span><br />
+Mother knitting stockings<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Pussy's got the ball),&mdash;</span><br />
+Don't you think that winter's<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pleasanter than all?</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Thomas Bailey Aldrich.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>In February</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+The birds have been singing to-day,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And saying: "The spring is near!</span><br />
+The sun is as warm as in May,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the deep blue heavens are clear."</span><br />
+<br />
+The little bird on the boughs<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the sombre snow-laden pine</span><br />
+Thinks: "Where shall I build me my house,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And how shall I make it fine?</span><br />
+<br />
+"For the season of snow is past;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The mild south wind is on high;</span><br />
+And the scent of the spring is cast<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From his wing as he hurries by."</span><br />
+<br />
+The little birds twitter and cheep<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To their loves on the leafless larch;</span><br />
+But seven feet deep the snow-wreaths sleep,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the year hath not worn to March.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>John Addington Symonds.</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></p>
+<div class='center'><br /><i>March</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The cock is crowing,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The stream is flowing,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The small birds twitter,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The lake doth glitter,</span><br />
+The green field sleeps in the sun;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The oldest and youngest</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are at work with the strongest;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The cattle are grazing,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their heads never raising;</span><br />
+There are forty feeding like one.<br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like an army defeated</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The snow hath retreated,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And now doth fare ill</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the top of the bare hill;</span><br />
+The ploughboy is whooping&mdash;anon&mdash;anon!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There's joy on the mountains;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There's life in the fountains;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Small clouds are sailing,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blue sky prevailing;</span><br />
+The rain is over and gone.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>William Wordsworth.</div>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<div class='center'><i>Nearly Ready</i><a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a><br /><br /></div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+In the snowing and the blowing,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the cruel sleet,</span><br />
+Little flowers begin their growing<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far beneath our feet.</span><br />
+Softly taps the Spring, and cheerly,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Darlings, are you here?"</span><br />
+Till they answer, "We are nearly,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nearly ready, dear."</span><br />
+<br />
+"Where is Winter, with his snowing?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tell us, Spring," they say.</span><br />
+Then she answers, "He is going,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Going on his way.</span><br />
+Poor old Winter does not love you;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But his time is past;</span><br />
+Soon my birds shall sing above you,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Set you free at last."</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Mary Mapes Dodge.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Spring Song</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Spring comes hither,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Buds the rose;</span><br />
+Roses wither,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweet spring goes.</span><br />
+<br />
+Summer soars,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wide-winged day;</span><br />
+White light pours,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Flies away.</span><br />
+<br />
+Soft winds blow,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Westward born;</span><br />
+Onward go,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Toward the morn.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>George Eliot</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>In April</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+The poplar drops beside the way<br />
+Its tasselled plumes of silver-gray;<br />
+The chestnut pouts its great brown buds<br />
+Impatient for the laggard May.<br />
+<br />
+The honeysuckles lace the wall,<br />
+The hyacinths grow fair and tall;<br />
+And mellow sun and pleasant wind<br />
+And odorous bees are over all.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Elizabeth Akers.</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Spring</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+The alder by the river<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shakes out her powdery curls;</span><br />
+The willow buds in silver<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For little boys and girls.</span><br />
+<br />
+The little birds fly over,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And oh, how sweet they sing!</span><br />
+To tell the happy children<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That once again 'tis spring.</span><br />
+<br />
+The gay green grass comes creeping<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So soft beneath their feet;</span><br />
+The frogs begin to ripple<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A music clear and sweet.</span><br />
+<br />
+And buttercups are coming,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And scarlet columbine;</span><br />
+And in the sunny meadows<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The dandelions shine.</span><br />
+<br />
+And just as many daisies<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As their soft hands can hold</span><br />
+The little ones may gather,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All fair in white and gold.</span><br />
+<br />
+Here blows the warm red clover,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There peeps the violet blue;</span><br />
+O happy little children,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">God made them all for you!</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Celia Thaxter.</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Voice of Spring</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+I am coming, I am coming!<br />
+Hark! the little bee is humming;<br />
+See, the lark is soaring high<br />
+In the blue and sunny sky;<br />
+And the gnats are on the wing,<br />
+Wheeling round in airy ring.<br />
+<br />
+See, the yellow catkins cover<br />
+All the slender willows over!<br />
+And on the banks of mossy green<br />
+Star-like primroses are seen;<br />
+And, their clustering leaves below,<br />
+White and purple violets blow.<br />
+<br />
+Hark! the new-born lambs are bleating,<br />
+And the cawing rooks are meeting<br />
+In the elms,&mdash;a noisy crowd;<br />
+All the birds are singing loud;<br />
+And the first white butterfly<br />
+In the sunshine dances by.<br />
+<br />
+Look around thee, look around!<br />
+Flowers in all the fields abound;<br />
+Every running stream is bright;<br />
+All the orchard trees are white;<br />
+And each small and waving shoot<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>Promises sweet flowers and fruit.<br />
+<br />
+Turn thine eyes to earth and heaven:<br />
+God for thee the spring has given,<br />
+Taught the birds their melodies,<br />
+Clothed the earth, and cleared the skies,<br />
+For thy pleasure or thy food:<br />
+Pour thy soul in gratitude.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Mary Howitt.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Coming of Spring</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+There's something in the air<br />
+That's new and sweet and rare&mdash;<br />
+A scent of summer things,<br />
+A whir as if of wings.<br />
+<br />
+There's something, too, that's new<br />
+In the color of the blue<br />
+That's in the morning sky,<br />
+Before the sun is high.<br />
+<br />
+And though on plain and hill<br />
+'Tis winter, winter still,<br />
+There's something seems to say<br />
+That winter's had its day.<br />
+<br />
+And all this changing tint,<br />
+This whispering stir and hint<br />
+Of bud and bloom and wing,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>Is the coming of the spring.<br />
+<br />
+And to-morrow or to-day<br />
+The brooks will break away<br />
+From their icy, frozen sleep,<br />
+And run, and laugh, and leap.<br />
+<br />
+And the next thing, in the woods,<br />
+The catkins in their hoods<br />
+Of fur and silk will stand,<br />
+A sturdy little band.<br />
+<br />
+And the tassels soft and fine<br />
+Of the hazel will entwine,<br />
+And the elder branches show<br />
+Their buds against the snow.<br />
+<br />
+So, silently but swift,<br />
+Above the wintry drift,<br />
+The long days gain and gain,<br />
+Until on hill and plain,&mdash;<br />
+<br />
+Once more, and yet once more,<br />
+Returning as before,<br />
+We see the bloom of birth<br />
+Make young again the earth.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Nora Perry.</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>May</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+May shall make the world anew;<br />
+Golden sun and silver dew,<br />
+Money minted in the sky,<br />
+Shall the earth's new garments buy.<br />
+May shall make the orchards bloom;<br />
+And the blossoms' fine perfume<br />
+Shall set all the honey-bees<br />
+Murmuring among the trees.<br />
+May shall make the bud appear<br />
+Like a jewel, crystal clear,<br />
+'Mid the leaves upon the limb<br />
+Where the robin lilts his hymn.<br />
+May shall make the wild flowers tell<br />
+Where the shining snowflakes fell;<br />
+Just as though each snow-flake's heart,<br />
+By some secret, magic art,<br />
+Were transmuted to a flower<br />
+In the sunlight and the shower.<br />
+Is there such another, pray,<br />
+Wonder-making month as May?<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Frank Dempster Sherman.</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Spring and Summer</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Spring is growing up,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is not it a pity?</span><br />
+She was such a little thing,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And so very pretty!</span><br />
+Summer is extremely grand,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We must pay her duty,</span><br />
+(But it is to little Spring<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That she owes her beauty!)</span><br />
+<br />
+All the buds are blown,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Trees are dark and shady,</span><br />
+(It was Spring who dress'd them, though,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Such a little lady!)</span><br />
+And the birds sing loud and sweet<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their enchanting hist'ries,</span><br />
+(It was Spring who taught them, though,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Such a singing mistress!)</span><br />
+<br />
+From the glowing sky<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Summer shines above us;</span><br />
+Spring was such a little dear,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But will Summer love us?</span><br />
+She is very beautiful,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With her grown-up blisses,</span><br />
+Summer we must bow before;<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Spring we coaxed with kisses!</span><br />
+<br />
+Spring is growing up,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Leaving us so lonely,</span><br />
+In the place of little Spring<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We have Summer only!</span><br />
+Summer with her lofty airs,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And her stately faces,</span><br />
+In the place of little Spring,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With her childish graces!</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>"A."</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Summer Days</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Winter is cold-hearted;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Spring is yea and nay;</span><br />
+Autumn is a weathercock,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blown every way:</span><br />
+Summer days for me,<br />
+When every leaf is on its tree,<br />
+<br />
+When Robin's not a beggar,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Jenny Wren's a bride,</span><br />
+And larks hang, singing, singing, singing,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Over the wheat-fields wide,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And anchored lilies ride,</span><br />
+And the pendulum spider<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Swings from side to side,</span><br />
+<br />
+And blue-black beetles transact business,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And gnats fly in a host,</span><br />
+And furry caterpillars hasten<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That no time be lost,</span><br />
+And moths grow fat and thrive,<br />
+And ladybirds arrive.<br />
+<br />
+Before green apples blush,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Before green nuts embrown,</span><br />
+Why, one day in the country<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is worth a month in town&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is worth a day and a year</span><br />
+Of the dusty, musty, lag-last fashion<br />
+That days drone elsewhere.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Christina G. Rossetti.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>September</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+The goldenrod is yellow,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The corn is turning brown,</span><br />
+The trees in apple orchards<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With fruit are bending down;</span><br />
+<br />
+The gentian's bluest fringes<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are curling in the sun;</span><br />
+In dusty pods the milkweed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Its hidden silk has spun;</span><br />
+<br />
+The sedges flaunt their harvest<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In every meadow nook,</span><br />
+And asters by the brookside<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Make asters in the brook;</span><br />
+<br />
+From dewy lanes at morning<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The grapes' sweet odors rise;</span><br />
+At noon the roads all flutter<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With yellow butterflies&mdash;</span><br />
+<br />
+By all these lovely tokens<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">September days are here,</span><br />
+With summer's best of weather<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And autumn's best of cheer.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>H. H.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>How the Leaves Came Down</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+I'll tell you how the leaves came down.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The great Tree to his children said,</span><br />
+"You're getting sleepy, Yellow and Brown,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yes, very sleepy, little Red;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It is quite time you went to bed."</span><br />
+<br />
+"Ah!" begged each silly, pouting leaf,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Let us a little longer stay;</span><br />
+Dear Father Tree, behold our grief,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Tis such a very pleasant day</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We do not want to go away."</span><br />
+<br />
+So, just for one more merry day<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the great Tree the leaflets clung,</span><br />
+Frolicked and danced and had their way,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon the autumn breezes swung,</span><br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whispering all their sports among,</span><br />
+<br />
+"Perhaps the great Tree will forget<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And let us stay until the spring,</span><br />
+If we all beg and coax and fret."<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But the great Tree did no such thing;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He smiled to hear their whispering.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Come, children all, to bed," he cried;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And ere the leaves could urge their prayer</span><br />
+He shook his head, and far and wide,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fluttering and rustling everywhere,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Down sped the leaflets through the air.</span><br />
+<br />
+I saw them; on the ground they lay,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Golden and red, a huddled swarm,</span><br />
+Waiting till one from far away,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">White bed-clothes heaped upon her arm,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Should come to wrap them safe and warm.</span><br />
+<br />
+The great bare Tree looked down and smiled.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Good-night, dear little leaves," he said;</span><br />
+And from below each sleepy child<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Replied "Good-night," and murmured,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"It is <i>so</i> nice to go to bed."</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Susan Coolidge.</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Winter Night</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Blow, wind, blow!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Drift the flying snow!</span><br />
+Send it twirling, whirling overhead!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There's a bedroom in a tree</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Where, snug as snug can be,</span><br />
+The squirrel nests in his cosey bed.<br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Shriek, wind, shriek!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Make the branches creak!</span><br />
+Battle with the boughs till break o' day!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In a snow-cave warm and tight,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Through the icy winter night</span><br />
+The rabbit sleeps the peaceful hours away.<br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Call, wind, call,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In entry and in hall,</span><br />
+Straight from off the mountain white and wild!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Soft purrs the pussy-cat</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">On her little fluffy mat,</span><br />
+And beside her nestles close her furry child.<br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Scold, wind, scold,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So bitter and so bold!</span><br />
+Shake the windows with your tap, tap, tap!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With half-shut, dreamy eyes</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The drowsy baby lies</span><br />
+Cuddled closely in his mother's lap.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Mary F. Butts.</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<div class='center'><i>A Year's Windfalls</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+On the wind of January<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Down flits the snow,</span><br />
+Travelling from the frozen North<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As cold as it can blow.</span><br />
+Poor robin redbreast,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Look where he comes;</span><br />
+Let him in to feel your fire,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And toss him of your crumbs.</span><br />
+<br />
+On the wind in February<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Snowflakes float still,</span><br />
+Half inclined to turn to rain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nipping, dripping, chill.</span><br />
+Then the thaws swell the streams,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And swollen rivers swell the sea:&mdash;</span><br />
+If the winter ever ends<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How pleasant it will be.</span><br />
+<br />
+In the wind of windy March<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The catkins drop down,</span><br />
+Curly, caterpillar-like,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Curious green and brown.</span><br />
+With concourse of nest-building birds<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And leaf-buds by the way,</span><br />
+We begin to think of flowers<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And life and nuts some day.</span><br />
+<br />
+With the gusts of April<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rich fruit-tree blossoms fall,</span><br />
+On the hedged-in orchard-green,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the southern wall.</span><br />
+Apple-trees and pear-trees<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shed petals white or pink,</span><br />
+Plum-trees and peach-trees;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While sharp showers sink and sink.</span><br />
+<br />
+Little brings the May breeze<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beside pure scent of flowers,</span><br />
+While all things wax and nothing wanes<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In lengthening daylight hours.</span><br />
+Across the hyacinth beds<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The wind lags warm and sweet,</span><br />
+Across the hawthorn tops,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Across the blades of wheat.</span><br />
+<br />
+In the wind of sunny June<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thrives the red rose crop,</span><br />
+Every day fresh blossoms blow<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While the first leaves drop;</span><br />
+White rose and yellow rose<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And moss rose choice to find,</span><br />
+And the cottage cabbage-rose<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not one whit behind.</span><br />
+<br />
+On the blast of scorched July<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Drives the pelting hail,</span><br />
+From thunderous lightning-clouds, that blot<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blue heaven grown lurid-pale.</span><br />
+Weedy waves are tossed ashore,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sea-things strange to sight</span><br />
+Gasp upon the barren shore<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And fade away in light.</span><br />
+<br />
+In the parching August wind<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Corn-fields bow the head,</span><br />
+Sheltered in round valley depths,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On low hills outspread.</span><br />
+Early leaves drop loitering down<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Weightless on the breeze,</span><br />
+First fruits of the year's decay<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the withering trees.</span><br />
+<br />
+In brisk wind of September<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The heavy-headed fruits</span><br />
+Shake upon their bending boughs<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And drop from the shoots;</span><br />
+Some glow golden in the sun,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some show green and streaked,</span><br />
+Some set forth a purple bloom,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some blush rosy-cheeked.</span><br />
+<br />
+In strong blast of October<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At the equinox,</span><br />
+Stirred up in his hollow bed<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Broad ocean rocks;</span><br />
+Plunge the ships on his bosom,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Leaps and plunges the foam,</span><br />
+It's oh! for mothers' sons at sea,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That they were safe at home.</span><br />
+<br />
+In slack wind of November<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The fog forms and shifts;</span><br />
+All the world comes out again<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the fog lifts.</span><br />
+Loosened from their sapless twigs<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Leaves drop with every gust;</span><br />
+Drifting, rustling, out of sight<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the damp or dust.</span><br />
+<br />
+Last of all, December,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The year's sands nearly run,</span><br />
+Speeds on the shortest day,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Curtails the sun;</span><br />
+With its bleak raw wind<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lays the last leaves low,</span><br />
+Brings back the nightly frosts,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Brings back the snow.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Christina G. Rossetti.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>II</h2>
+
+
+<h2>THE CHILD'S WORLD</h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;">
+<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<div class='poem'>
+<i>Great, wide, beautiful, wonderful World,<br />
+With the wonderful water round you curled,<br />
+And the wonderful grass upon your breast,<br />
+World, you are beautifully drest.</i><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'><i>William Brighty Rands.</i></div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<h2>THE CHILD'S WORLD</h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;">
+<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<div class='center'><i>The Wonderful World</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Great, wide, beautiful, wonderful World,<br />
+With the wonderful water round you curled,<br />
+And the wonderful grass upon your breast,<br />
+World, you are beautifully drest.<br />
+<br />
+The wonderful air is over me,<br />
+And the wonderful wind is shaking the tree&mdash;<br />
+It walks on the water, and whirls the mills,<br />
+And talks to itself on the top of the hills.<br />
+<br />
+You friendly Earth, how far do you go,<br />
+With the wheat-fields that nod and the rivers that flow,<br />
+With cities and gardens, and cliffs and isles,<br />
+And people upon you for thousands of miles?<br />
+<br />
+Ah! you are so great, and I am so small,<br />
+I hardly can think of you, World, at all;<br />
+And yet, when I said my prayers to-day,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>My mother kissed me, and said, quite gay,<br />
+<br />
+"If the wonderful World is great to you,<br />
+And great to father and mother, too,<br />
+You are more than the Earth, though you are such a dot!<br />
+You can love and think, and the Earth cannot!"<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>William Brighty Rands.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>A Day</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+I'll tell you how the sun rose,<br />
+A ribbon at a time.<br />
+The steeples swam in amethyst,<br />
+The news like squirrels ran.<br />
+<br />
+The hills untied their bonnets,<br />
+The bobolinks begun.<br />
+Then I said softly to myself,<br />
+"That must have been the sun!"<br />
+<br />
+<b>. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;.</b><br />
+<br />
+But how he set, I know not.<br />
+There seemed a purple stile<br />
+Which little yellow boys and girls<br />
+Were climbing all the while<br />
+<br />
+Till when they reached the other side,<br />
+A dominie in gray<br />
+Put gently up the evening bars,<br />
+And led the flock away.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Emily Dickinson.</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Good-Morning</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+The year's at the Spring,<br />
+And day's at the morn;<br />
+Morning's at seven;<br />
+The hill-side's dew-pearled;<br />
+The lark's on the wing;<br />
+The snail's on the thorn;<br />
+God's in his heaven&mdash;<br />
+All's right with the world.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Robert Browning.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>What the Winds Bring</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+Which is the Wind that brings the cold?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The North-Wind, Freddy, and all the snow;</span><br />
+And the sheep will scamper into the fold<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the North begins to blow.</span><br />
+<br />
+Which is the Wind that brings the heat?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The South-Wind, Katy; and corn will grow,</span><br />
+And peaches redden for you to eat,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the South begins to blow.</span><br />
+<br />
+Which is the Wind that brings the rain?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The East-Wind, Arty; and farmers know</span><br />
+The cows come shivering up the lane,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the East begins to blow.</span><br />
+<br />
+Which is the Wind that brings the flowers?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The West-Wind, Bessy; and soft and low</span><br />
+The birdies sing in the summer hours,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the West begins to blow.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Edmund Clarence Stedman.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Lady Moon</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Over the sea."</span><br />
+Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"All that love me."</span><br />
+<br />
+Are you not tired with rolling, and never<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Resting to sleep?</span><br />
+Why look so pale and so sad, as forever<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Wishing to weep?</span><br />
+<br />
+"Ask me not this, little child, if you love me:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">You are too bold:</span><br />
+I must obey my dear Father above me,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And do as I'm told."</span><br />
+<br />
+Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Over the sea."</span><br />
+Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"All that love me."</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Lord Houghton.</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>O Lady Moon</i><a name="FNanchor_B_2" id="FNanchor_B_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_B_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a><br /><br /></div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+O Lady Moon, your horns point toward the east:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Shine, be increased;</span><br />
+O Lady Moon, your horns point toward the west:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Wane, be at rest.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Christina G. Rossetti.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Windy Nights</i><a name="FNanchor_C_3" id="FNanchor_C_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_C_3" class="fnanchor">[C]</a><br /><br /></div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Whenever the moon and stars are set,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Whenever the wind is high,</span><br />
+All night long in the dark and wet,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A man goes riding by,</span><br />
+Late at night when the fires are out,<br />
+Why does he gallop and gallop about?<br />
+<br />
+Whenever the trees are crying aloud,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And ships are tossed at sea,</span><br />
+By, on the highway, low and loud,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">By at the gallop goes he.</span><br />
+By at the gallop he goes, and then<br />
+By he comes back at the gallop again.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Robert Louis Stevenson.</div>
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Wild Winds</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Oh, oh, how the wild winds blow!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Blow high,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Blow low,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And whirlwinds go,</span><br />
+To chase the little leaves that fly&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Fly low and high,</span><br />
+To hollow and to steep hill-side;<br />
+They shiver in the dreary weather,<br />
+And creep in little heaps together,<br />
+And nestle close and try to hide.<br />
+<br />
+Oh, oh, how the wild winds blow!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Blow low,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Blow high,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And whirlwinds try</span><br />
+To find a crevice&mdash;to find a crack,<br />
+They whirl to the front; they whirl to the back.<br />
+But Tommy and Will and the baby together<br />
+Are snug and safe from the wintry weather.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">All the winds that blow</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Cannot touch a toe&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Cannot twist or twirl</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">One silken curl.</span><br />
+They may rattle the doors in a noisy pack,<br />
+But the blazing fires will drive them back.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Mary F. Butts.</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Now the Noisy Winds Are Still</i><a name="FNanchor_D_4" id="FNanchor_D_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_D_4" class="fnanchor">[D]</a><br /><br /></div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Now the noisy winds are still;<br />
+April's coming up the hill!<br />
+All the spring is in her train,<br />
+Led by shining ranks of rain;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Pit, pat, patter, clatter,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sudden sun, and clatter, patter!&mdash;</span><br />
+First the blue, and then the shower;<br />
+Bursting bud, and smiling flower;<br />
+Brooks set free with tinkling ring;<br />
+Birds too full of song to sing;<br />
+Crisp old leaves astir with pride,<br />
+Where the timid violets hide,&mdash;<br />
+All things ready with a will,&mdash;<br />
+April's coming up the hill!<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Mary Mapes Dodge.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Wind</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+The wind has a language, I would I could learn;<br />
+Sometimes 'tis soothing, and sometimes 'tis stern;<br />
+Sometimes it comes like a low, sweet song,<br />
+And all things grow calm, as the sound floats along;<br />
+And the forest is lulled by the dreamy strain;<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>And slumber sinks down on the wandering main;<br />
+And its crystal arms are folded in rest,<br />
+And the tall ship sleeps on its heaving breast.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Letitia Elizabeth Landon.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Fountain</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Into the sunshine,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Full of the light,</span><br />
+Leaping and flashing<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From morn till night!</span><br />
+<br />
+Into the moonlight,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whiter than snow,</span><br />
+Waving so flower-like<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the winds blow!</span><br />
+<br />
+Into the starlight,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rushing in spray,</span><br />
+Happy at midnight,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Happy by day;</span><br />
+<br />
+Ever in motion,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blithesome and cheery,</span><br />
+Still climbing heavenward,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Never aweary;</span><br />
+<br />
+Glad of all weathers;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still seeming best,</span><br />
+Upward or downward;<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Motion thy rest;</span><br />
+<br />
+Full of a nature<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nothing can tame,</span><br />
+Changed every moment,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ever the same;</span><br />
+<br />
+Ceaseless aspiring,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ceaseless content,</span><br />
+Darkness or sunshine<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy element;</span><br />
+<br />
+Glorious fountain!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let my heart be</span><br />
+Fresh, changeful, constant,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upward like thee!</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>James Russell Lowell.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Waterfall</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+<i>Tinkle, tinkle!</i><br />
+Listen well!<br />
+Like a fairy silver bell<br />
+In the distance ringing,<br />
+Lightly swinging<br />
+In the air;<br />
+'Tis the water in the dell<br />
+Where the elfin minstrels dwell,<br />
+Falling in a rainbow sprinkle,<br />
+Dropping stars that brightly twinkle,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>Bright and fair,<br />
+On the darkling pool below,<br />
+Making music so;<br />
+'Tis the water elves who play<br />
+On their lutes of spray.<br />
+<i>Tinkle, tinkle!</i><br />
+Like a fairy silver bell;<br />
+Like a pebble in a shell;<br />
+<i>Tinkle, tinkle!</i><br />
+Listen well!<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Frank Dempster Sherman.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Voice of the Grass</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">By the dusty roadside,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">On the sunny hill-side,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Close by the noisy brook,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In every shady nook,</span><br />
+I come creeping, creeping everywhere.<br />
+<br />
+Here I come creeping, smiling everywhere;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">All around the open door,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Where sit the aged poor;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Here where the children play,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In the bright and merry May,</span><br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>I come creeping, creeping everywhere.<br />
+<br />
+Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In the noisy city street</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My pleasant face you'll meet,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Cheering the sick at heart</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Toiling his busy part,&mdash;</span><br />
+Silently creeping, creeping everywhere.<br />
+<br />
+Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">You cannot see me coming,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Nor hear my low sweet humming;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For in the starry night,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And the glad morning light,</span><br />
+I come quietly creeping everywhere.<br />
+<br />
+Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">More welcome than the flowers</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In summer's pleasant hours;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The gentle cow is glad,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And the merry bird not sad,</span><br />
+To see me creeping, creeping everywhere.<br />
+<br />
+<b>. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;.</b><br />
+<br />
+Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My humble song of praise</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Most joyfully I raise</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To him at whose command</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I beautify the land,</span><br />
+Creeping, silently creeping everywhere.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Sarah Roberts Boyle.</div>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Wind in a Frolic</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+The wind one morning sprang up from sleep,<br />
+Saying, "Now for a frolic! Now for a leap!<br />
+Now for a madcap, galloping chase!<br />
+I'll make a commotion in every place!"<br />
+So it swept with a bustle right through a great town,<br />
+Creaking the signs, and scattering down<br />
+Shutters, and whisking, with merciless squalls,<br />
+Old women's bonnets and gingerbread stalls.<br />
+There never was heard a much lustier shout,<br />
+As the apples and oranges tumbled about;<br />
+And the urchins that stand with their thievish eyes<br />
+Forever on watch, ran off with each prize.<br />
+<br />
+Then away to the field it went blustering and humming,<br />
+And the cattle all wondered whatever was coming.<br />
+It plucked by their tails the grave matronly cows,<br />
+And tossed the colts' manes all about their brows,<br />
+Till offended at such a familiar salute,<br />
+They all turned their backs and stood silently mute.<br />
+So on it went capering and playing its pranks;<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>Whistling with reeds on the broad river-banks;<br />
+Puffing the birds as they sat on the spray,<br />
+Or the traveller grave on the king's highway.<br />
+It was not too nice to bustle the bags<br />
+Of the beggar and flutter his dirty rags.<br />
+'Twas so bold that it feared not to play its joke<br />
+With the doctor's wig and the gentleman's cloak.<br />
+Through the forest it roared, and cried gayly, "Now,<br />
+You sturdy old oaks, I'll make you bow!"<br />
+And it made them bow without more ado,<br />
+Or it cracked their branches through and through.<br />
+<br />
+Then it rushed like a monster o'er cottage and farm,<br />
+Striking their inmates with sudden alarm;<br />
+And they ran out like bees in a midsummer swarm.<br />
+There were dames with their kerchiefs tied over their caps,<br />
+To see if their poultry were free from mishaps;<br />
+The turkeys they gobbled, the geese screamed aloud,<br />
+And the hens crept to roost in a terrified crowd;<br />
+There was rearing of ladders, and logs laying on,<br />
+Where the thatch from the roof threatened soon to be gone.<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>But the wind had passed on, and had met in a lane<br />
+With a schoolboy, who panted and struggled in vain,<br />
+For it tossed him, and twirled him, then passed, and he stood<br />
+With his hat in a pool and his shoe in the mud.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>William Howitt.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Clouds</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+The sky is full of clouds to-day,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And idly to and fro,</span><br />
+Like sheep across the pasture, they<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Across the heavens go.</span><br />
+I hear the wind with merry noise&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Around the housetops sweep,</span><br />
+And dream it is the shepherd boys,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They're driving home their sheep.</span><br />
+<br />
+The clouds move faster now; and see!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The west is red and gold.</span><br />
+Each sheep seems hastening to be<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The first within the fold.</span><br />
+I watch them hurry on until<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The blue is clear and deep,</span><br />
+And dream that far beyond the hill<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The shepherds fold their sheep.</span><br />
+<br />
+Then in the sky the trembling stars<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like little flowers shine out,</span><br />
+While Night puts up the shadow bars,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And darkness falls about.</span><br />
+I hear the shepherd wind's good-night&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Good-night and happy sleep!"</span><br />
+And dream that in the east, all white,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Slumber the clouds, the sheep.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Frank Dempster Sherman.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Signs of Rain</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+The hollow winds begin to blow,<br />
+The clouds look black, the glass is low,<br />
+The soot falls down, the spaniels sleep,<br />
+The spiders from their cobwebs peep:<br />
+Last night the sun went pale to bed,<br />
+The moon in halos hid her head;<br />
+The boding shepherd heaves a sigh,<br />
+For, see, a rainbow spans the sky:<br />
+The walls are damp, the ditches smell,<br />
+Closed is the pink-eyed pimpernel.<br />
+Hark how the chairs and tables crack!<br />
+Old Betty's joints are on the rack;<br />
+Loud quack the ducks, the peacocks cry,<br />
+The distant hills are seeming nigh.<br />
+How restless are the snorting swine;<br />
+The busy flies disturb the kine;<br />
+Low o'er the grass the swallow wings,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span>The cricket too, how sharp he sings;<br />
+Puss on the hearth, with velvet paws,<br />
+Sits wiping o'er her whiskered jaws.<br />
+Through the clear stream the fishes rise,<br />
+And nimbly catch the incautious flies.<br />
+The glow-worms, numerous and bright,<br />
+Illumed the dewy dell last night.<br />
+At dusk the squalid toad was seen,<br />
+Hopping and crawling o'er the green;<br />
+The whirling wind the dust obeys,<br />
+And in the rapid eddy plays;<br />
+The frog has changed his yellow vest,<br />
+And in a russet coat is dressed.<br />
+Though June, the air is cold and still,<br />
+The mellow blackbird's voice is shrill.<br />
+My dog, so altered in his taste,<br />
+Quits mutton-bones on grass to feast;<br />
+And see yon rooks, how odd their flight,<br />
+They imitate the gliding kite,<br />
+And seem precipitate to fall,<br />
+As if they felt the piercing ball.<br />
+'Twill surely rain, I see with sorrow,<br />
+Our jaunt must be put off to-morrow.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Edward Jenner.</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>A Sudden Shower</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Barefooted boys scud up the street,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or scurry under sheltering sheds;</span><br />
+And school-girl faces, pale and sweet,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gleam from the shawls about their heads.</span><br />
+<br />
+Doors bang; and mother-voices call<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From alien homes; and rusty gates</span><br />
+Are slammed; and high above it all<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The thunder grim reverberates.</span><br />
+<br />
+And then abrupt,&mdash;the rain, the rain!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The earth lies gasping; and the eyes</span><br />
+Behind the streaming window-panes<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Smile at the trouble of the skies.</span><br />
+<br />
+The highway smokes, sharp echoes ring;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The cattle bawl and cow-bells clank;</span><br />
+And into town comes galloping<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The farmer's horse, with steaming flank.</span><br />
+<br />
+The swallow dips beneath the eaves,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And flirts his plumes and folds his wings;</span><br />
+And under the catawba leaves<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The caterpillar curls and clings.</span><br />
+<br />
+The bumble-bee is pelted down<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">The wet stem of the hollyhock;</span><br />
+And sullenly in spattered brown<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The cricket leaps the garden walk.</span><br />
+<br />
+Within, the baby claps his hands<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And crows with rapture strange and vague;</span><br />
+Without, beneath the rosebush stands<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A dripping rooster on one leg.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>James Whitcomb Riley.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Strange Lands</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Where do you come from, Mr. Jay?<br />
+"From the land of Play, from the land of Play."<br />
+And where can that be, Mr. Jay?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Far away&mdash;far away."</span><br />
+<br />
+Where do you come from, Mrs. Dove?<br />
+"From the land of Love, from the land of Love."<br />
+And how do you get there, Mrs. Dove?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Look above&mdash;look above."</span><br />
+<br />
+Where do you come from, Baby Miss?<br />
+"From the land of Bliss, from the land of Bliss."<br />
+And what is the way there, Baby Miss?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Mother's kiss&mdash;mother's kiss."</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Laurence Alma Tadema.</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Guessing Song</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Oh ho! oh ho! Pray, who can I be?<br />
+I sweep o'er the land, I scour o'er the sea;<br />
+I cuff the tall trees till they bow down their heads,<br />
+And I rock the wee birdies asleep in their beds.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh ho! oh ho! And who can I be,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That sweep o'er the land and scour o'er the sea?</span><br />
+<br />
+I rumple the breast of the gray-headed daw,<br />
+I tip the rook's tail up and make him cry "caw";<br />
+But though I love fun, I'm so big and so strong,<br />
+At a puff of my breath the great ships sail along.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh ho! oh ho! And who can I be,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That sweep o'er the land and sail o'er the sea?</span><br />
+<br />
+I swing all the weather-cocks this way and that,<br />
+I play hare-and-hounds with a runaway hat;<br />
+But however I wander, I never can stray,<br />
+For go where I will, I've a free right of way!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh ho! oh ho! And who can I be,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That sweep o'er the land and scour o'er the sea?</span><br />
+<br />
+I skim o'er the heather, I dance up the street,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>I've foes that I laugh at, and friends that I greet;<br />
+I'm known in the country, I'm named in the town,<br />
+For all the world over extends my renown.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh ho! oh ho! And who can I be,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That sweep o'er the land and scour o'er the sea?</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Henry Johnstone.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Rivulet</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Run, little rivulet, run!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Summer is fairly begun.</span><br />
+Bear to the meadow the hymn of the pines,<br />
+And the echo that rings where the waterfall shines;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Run, little rivulet, run!</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Run, little rivulet, run!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sing to the fields of the sun</span><br />
+That wavers in emerald, shimmers in gold,<br />
+Where you glide from your rocky ravine, crystal-cold;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Run, little rivulet, run!</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Run, little rivulet, run!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sing of the flowers, every one,&mdash;</span><br />
+Of the delicate harebell and violet blue;<br />
+Of the red mountain rose-bud, all dripping with dew;<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Run, little rivulet, run!</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Run, little rivulet, run!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Carry the perfume you won</span><br />
+From the lily, that woke when the morning was gray,<br />
+To the white waiting moonbeam adrift on the bay;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Run, little rivulet, run!</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Run, little rivulet, run!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Stay not till summer is done!</span><br />
+Carry the city the mountain-birds' glee;<br />
+Carry the joy of the hills to the sea;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Run, little rivulet, run!</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Lucy Larcom.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Jack Frost</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+The Frost looked forth on a still, clear night,<br />
+And whispered, "Now, I shall be out of sight;<br />
+So, through the valley, and over the height,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In silence I'll take my way.</span><br />
+I will not go on like that blustering train,<br />
+The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain,<br />
+That make such a bustle and noise in vain;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But I'll be as busy as they!"</span><br />
+<br />
+So he flew to the mountain, and powdered its crest.<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>He lit on the trees, and their boughs he dressed<br />
+With diamonds and pearls; and over the breast<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of the quivering lake, he spread</span><br />
+A coat of mail, that it need not fear<br />
+The glittering point of many a spear<br />
+Which he hung on its margin, far and near,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Where a rock could rear its head.</span><br />
+<br />
+He went to the window of those who slept,<br />
+And over each pane like a fairy crept:<br />
+Wherever he breathed, wherever he stepped,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">By the light of the morn were seen</span><br />
+Most beautiful things!&mdash;there were flowers and trees,<br />
+There were bevies of birds, and swarms of bees;<br />
+There were cities and temples and towers; and these<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">All pictured in silvery sheen!</span><br />
+<br />
+But he did one thing that was hardly fair&mdash;<br />
+He peeped in the cupboard: and finding there<br />
+That all had forgotten for him to prepare.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Now, just to set them a-thinking,</span><br />
+I'll bite this basket of fruit," said he,<br />
+"This costly pitcher I'll burst in three!<br />
+And the glass of water they've left for me,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Shall 'tchick' to tell them I'm drinking."</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Hannah F. Gould.</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Snowflakes</i><a name="FNanchor_E_5" id="FNanchor_E_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_E_5" class="fnanchor">[E]</a><br /><br /></div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Whenever a snowflake leaves the sky,<br />
+It turns and turns to say "Good-by!<br />
+Good-by, dear clouds, so cool and gray!"<br />
+Then lightly travels on its way.<br />
+<br />
+And when a snowflake finds a tree,<br />
+"Good-day!" it says&mdash;"Good-day to thee!<br />
+Thou art so bare and lonely, dear,<br />
+I'll rest and call my comrades here."<br />
+<br />
+But when a snowflake, brave and meek,<br />
+Lights on a rosy maiden's cheek,<br />
+It starts&mdash;"How warm and soft the day!<br />
+'Tis summer!"&mdash;and it melts away.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Mary Mapes Dodge.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Water! the Water!</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+The Water! the Water!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The joyous brook for me,</span><br />
+That tuneth through the quiet night<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Its ever-living glee.</span><br />
+The Water! the Water!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That sleepless, merry heart,</span><br />
+Which gurgles on unstintedly,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And loveth to impart,</span><br />
+To all around it, some small measure<br />
+Of its own most perfect pleasure.<br />
+<br />
+The Water! the Water!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The gentle stream for me,</span><br />
+That gushes from the old gray stone<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beside the alder-tree.</span><br />
+The Water! the Water!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That ever-bubbling spring</span><br />
+I loved and look'd on while a child,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In deepest wondering,&mdash;</span><br />
+And ask'd it whence it came and went,<br />
+And when its treasures would be spent.<br />
+<br />
+The Water! the Water!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The merry, wanton brook</span><br />
+That bent itself to pleasure me,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like mine old shepherd crook.</span><br />
+The Water! the Water!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That sang so sweet at noon,</span><br />
+And sweeter still all night, to win<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Smiles from the pale proud moon,</span><br />
+And from the little fairy faces<br />
+That gleam in heaven's remotest places.<br />
+<b>. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;.</b>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='signature'>William Motherwell.</div>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>III</h2>
+
+<h2>HIAWATHA'S CHICKENS</h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;">
+<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<div class='poem'>
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Then the little Hiawatha</i></span><br />
+<i>Learned of every bird its language,</i><br />
+<i>Learned their names and all their secrets,</i><br />
+<i>How they built their nests in Summer,</i><br />
+<i>Where they hid themselves in Winter,</i><br />
+<i>Talked with them whene'er he met them,</i><br />
+<i>Called them "Hiawatha's Chickens."</i><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'><i>Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.</i></div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>HIAWATHA'S CHICKENS</h2>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;">
+<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Swallows</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Gallant and gay in their doublets gray,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All at a flash like the darting of flame,</span><br />
+Chattering Arabic, African, Indian&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Certain of springtime, the swallows came!</span><br />
+<br />
+Doublets of gray silk and surcoats of purple,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And ruffs of russet round each little throat,</span><br />
+Wearing such garb they had crossed the waters,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mariners sailing with never a boat.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Edwin Arnold.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Swallow's Nest</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Day after day her nest she moulded,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Building with magic, love and mud,</span><br />
+A gray cup made by a thousand journeys,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the tiny beak was trowel and hod.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Edwin Arnold.</div>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Birds in Spring</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king;<br />
+Then blooms each thing, then Maids dance in a ring,<br />
+Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!</span><br />
+<br />
+The Palm and May make country houses gay,<br />
+Lambs frisk and play, the Shepherds pipe all day,<br />
+And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!</span><br />
+<br />
+The Fields breathe sweet, the Daisies kiss our feet,<br />
+Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit,<br />
+In every Street these Tunes our ears do greet&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Spring, the sweet Spring!</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Thomas Nashe.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Robin Redbreast</i></div>
+
+<div class='center'>(A Child's Song)<br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Good-bye, good-bye to Summer!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Summer's nearly done;</span><br />
+The garden smiling faintly,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cool breezes in the sun;</span><br />
+<br />
+Our Thrushes now are silent,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our Swallows flown away,&mdash;</span><br />
+But Robin's here, in coat of brown,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With ruddy breast-knot gay.</span><br />
+Robin, Robin Redbreast,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O Robin dear!</span><br />
+Robin singing sweetly<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the falling of the year.</span><br />
+<br />
+Bright yellow, red, and orange,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The leaves come down in hosts;</span><br />
+The trees are Indian Princes,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But soon they'll turn to Ghosts;</span><br />
+The scanty pears and apples<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hang russet on the bough,</span><br />
+It's Autumn, Autumn, Autumn late,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Twill soon be Winter now.</span><br />
+Robin, Robin Redbreast,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O Robin dear!</span><br />
+And welaway! my Robin,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For pinching times are near.</span><br />
+<br />
+The fireside for the Cricket,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The wheatstack for the Mouse,</span><br />
+When trembling night-winds whistle<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And moan all round the house;</span><br />
+The frosty ways like iron,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">The branches plumed with snow,&mdash;</span><br />
+Alas! in Winter, dead and dark,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where can poor Robin go?</span><br />
+Robin, Robin Redbreast,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O Robin dear!</span><br />
+And a crumb of bread for Robin,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His little heart to cheer.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>William Allingham.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Lark and the Rook</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+"Good-night, Sir Rook!" said a little lark.<br />
+"The daylight fades; it will soon be dark;<br />
+I've bathed my wings in the sun's last ray;<br />
+I've sung my hymn to the parting day;<br />
+So now I haste to my quiet nook<br />
+In yon dewy meadow&mdash;good-night, Sir Rook!"<br />
+<br />
+"Good-night, poor Lark," said his titled friend<br />
+With a haughty toss and a distant bend;<br />
+"I also go to my rest profound,<br />
+But not to sleep on the cold, damp ground.<br />
+The fittest place for a bird like me<br />
+Is the topmost bough of yon tall pine-tree.<br />
+<br />
+"I opened my eyes at peep of day<br />
+And saw you taking your upward way,<br />
+Dreaming your fond romantic dreams,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>An ugly speck in the sun's bright beams;<br />
+Soaring too high to be seen or heard;<br />
+And I said to myself: 'What a foolish bird!'<br />
+<br />
+"I trod the park with a princely air,<br />
+I filled my crop with the richest fare;<br />
+I cawed all day 'mid a lordly crew,<br />
+And I made more noise in the world than you!<br />
+The sun shone forth on my ebon wing;<br />
+I looked and wondered&mdash;good-night, poor thing!"<br />
+<br />
+"Good-night, once more," said the lark's sweet voice.<br />
+"I see no cause to repent my choice;<br />
+You build your nest in the lofty pine,<br />
+But is your slumber more sweet than mine?<br />
+You make more noise in the world than I,<br />
+But whose is the sweeter minstrelsy?"<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Unknown.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Snowbird</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+In the rosy light trills the gay swallow,<br />
+The thrush, in the roses below;<br />
+The meadow-lark sings in the meadow,<br />
+But the snowbird sings in the snow.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Ah me!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Chickadee!</span><br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>The snowbird sings in the snow!<br />
+<br />
+The blue martin trills in the gable,<br />
+The wren, in the gourd below;<br />
+In the elm flutes the golden robin,<br />
+But the snowbird sings in the snow.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Ah me!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Chickadee!</span><br />
+The snowbird sings in the snow!<br />
+<br />
+High wheels the gray wing of the osprey,<br />
+The wing of the sparrow drops low;<br />
+In the mist dips the wing of the robin,<br />
+And the snowbird's wing in the snow.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Ah me!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Chickadee!</span><br />
+The snowbird sings in the snow.<br />
+<br />
+I love the high heart of the osprey,<br />
+The meek heart of the thrush below,<br />
+The heart of the lark in the meadow,<br />
+And the snowbird's heart in the snow.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">But dearest to me,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Chickadee! Chickadee!</span><br />
+Is that true little heart in the snow.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Hezekiah Butterworth.</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Who Stole the Bird's Nest?</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+"To-whit! to-whit! to-whee!<br />
+Will you listen to me?<br />
+Who stole four eggs I laid,<br />
+And the nice nest I made?"<br />
+<br />
+"Not I," said the cow, "Moo-oo!<br />
+Such a thing I'd never do.<br />
+I gave you a wisp of hay,<br />
+But didn't take your nest away.<br />
+Not I," said the cow, "Moo-oo!<br />
+Such a thing I'd never do."<br />
+<br />
+"To-whit! to-whit! to-whee!<br />
+Will you listen to me?<br />
+Who stole four eggs I laid,<br />
+And the nice nest I made?"<br />
+<br />
+"Bob-o'-link! Bob-o'-link!<br />
+Now what do you think?<br />
+Who stole a nest away<br />
+From the plum-tree, to-day?"<br />
+<br />
+"Not I," said the dog, "Bow-wow!<br />
+I wouldn't be so mean, anyhow!<br />
+I gave hairs the nest to make,<br />
+But the nest I did not take.<br />
+Not I," said the dog, "Bow-wow!<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>I'm not so mean, anyhow."<br />
+<br />
+"To-whit! to-whit! to-whee!<br />
+Will you listen to me?<br />
+Who stole four eggs I laid,<br />
+And the nice nest I made?"<br />
+<br />
+"Bob-o'-link! Bob-o'-link!<br />
+Now what do you think?<br />
+Who stole a nest away<br />
+From the plum-tree, to-day?"<br />
+<br />
+"Coo-coo! Coo-coo! Coo-coo!<br />
+Let me speak a word, too!<br />
+Who stole that pretty nest<br />
+From little yellow-breast?"<br />
+<br />
+"Not I," said the sheep; "Oh, no!<br />
+I wouldn't treat a poor bird so.<br />
+I gave wool the nest to line,<br />
+But the nest was none of mine.<br />
+Baa! Baa!" said the sheep, "Oh, no<br />
+I wouldn't treat a poor bird so."<br />
+<br />
+"To-whit! to-whit! to-whee!<br />
+Will you listen to me?<br />
+Who stole four eggs I laid,<br />
+And the nice nest I made?"<br />
+<br />
+"Bob-o'-link! Bob-o'-link!<br />
+Now what do you think?<br />
+Who stole a nest away<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span>From the plum-tree, to-day?"<br />
+<br />
+"Coo-coo! Coo-coo! Coo-coo!<br />
+Let me speak a word, too!<br />
+Who stole that pretty nest<br />
+From little yellow-breast?"<br />
+<br />
+"Caw! Caw!" cried the crow;<br />
+"I should like to know<br />
+What thief took away<br />
+A bird's nest, to-day?"<br />
+<br />
+"Cluck! Cluck!" said the hen;<br />
+"Don't ask me again,<br />
+Why I haven't a chick<br />
+Would do such a trick.<br />
+We all gave her a feather,<br />
+And she wove them together.<br />
+I'd scorn to intrude<br />
+On her and her brood.<br />
+Cluck! Cluck!" said the hen,<br />
+"Don't ask me again."<br />
+<br />
+"Chirr-a-whirr! Chirr-a-whirr!<br />
+All the birds make a stir!<br />
+Let us find out his name,<br />
+And all cry 'For shame!'"<br />
+<br />
+"I would not rob a bird,"<br />
+Said little Mary Green;<br />
+"I think I never heard<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span>Of anything so mean."<br />
+<br />
+"It is very cruel, too,"<br />
+Said little Alice Neal;<br />
+"I wonder if he knew<br />
+How sad the bird would feel?"<br />
+<br />
+A little boy hung down his head,<br />
+And went and hid behind the bed,<br />
+For he stole that pretty nest<br />
+From poor little yellow-breast;<br />
+And he felt so full of shame,<br />
+He didn't like to tell his name.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Lydia Maria Child.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Answer to a Child's Question</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+Do you ask what the birds say? The sparrow, the dove,<br />
+The linnet, and thrush say, "I love and I love!"<br />
+In the winter they're silent, the wind is so strong;<br />
+What it says I don't know, but it sings a loud song.<br />
+But green leaves and blossoms, and sunny warm weather,<br />
+And singing and loving, all come back together;<br />
+Then the lark is so brimful of gladness and love,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span>The green fields below him, the blue sky above,<br />
+That he sings, and he sings, and forever sings he,<br />
+"I love my Love, and my Love loves me."<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Samuel Taylor Coleridge.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Burial of the Linnet</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Found in the garden dead in his beauty&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh that a linnet should die in the spring!</span><br />
+Bury him, comrades, in pitiful duty,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Muffle the dinner-bell, solemnly ring.</span><br />
+<br />
+Bury him kindly, up in the corner;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bird, beast, and goldfish are sepulchred there</span><br />
+Bid the black kitten march as chief mourner,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Waving her tail like a plume in the air.</span><br />
+<br />
+Bury him nobly&mdash;next to the donkey;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fetch the old banner, and wave it about;</span><br />
+Bury him deeply&mdash;think of the monkey,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shallow his grave, and the dogs got him out.</span><br />
+<br />
+Bury him softly&mdash;white wool around him,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kiss his poor feathers&mdash;the first kiss and last;</span><br />
+Tell his poor widow kind friends have found him:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Plant his poor grave with whatever grows fast.</span><br />
+<br />
+Farewell, sweet singer! dead in thy beauty,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Silent through summer, though other birds sing,</span><br />
+Bury him, comrades, in pitiful duty,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Muffle the dinner-bell, mournfully ring.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Juliana Horatia Ewing.</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Titmouse</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+. . . . Piped a tiny voice hard by,<br />
+Gay and polite, a cheerful cry,<br />
+<i>Chic-chicadeedee!</i> saucy note<br />
+Out of sound heart and merry throat,<br />
+As if it said, "Good-day, good sir!<br />
+Fine afternoon, old passenger!<br />
+Happy to meet you in these places,<br />
+Where January brings few faces."<br />
+<br />
+This poet, though he live apart,<br />
+Moved by his hospitable heart,<br />
+Sped, when I passed his sylvan fort,<br />
+To do the honors of his court,<br />
+As fits a feathered lord of land;<br />
+Flew near, with soft wing grazed my hand;<br />
+Hopped on the bough, then, darting low,<br />
+Prints his small impress on the snow,<br />
+Shows feats of his gymnastic play,<br />
+Head downward, clinging to the spray,<br />
+<br />
+<b>. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;.</b><br />
+<br />
+Here was this atom in full breath,<br />
+Hurling defiance at vast death.<br />
+This scrap of valor, just for play,<br />
+Fronts the north wind in waistcoat gray.<br />
+<b>. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;.</b>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='signature'>Ralph Waldo Emerson.</div>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Birds in Summer</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+How pleasant the life of a bird must be,<br />
+Flitting about in each leafy tree;<br />
+In the leafy trees so broad and tall,<br />
+Like a green and beautiful palace hall,<br />
+With its airy chambers, light and boon,<br />
+That open to sun, and stars, and moon;<br />
+That open unto the bright blue sky,<br />
+And the frolicsome winds as they wander by!<br />
+<br />
+They have left their nests in the forest bough;<br />
+Those homes of delight they need not now;<br />
+And the young and old they wander out,<br />
+And traverse the green world round about;<br />
+And hark at the top of this leafy hall,<br />
+How, one to another, they lovingly call!<br />
+"Come up, come up!" they seem to say,<br />
+"Where the topmost twigs in the breezes play!"<br />
+<br />
+"Come up, come up, for the world is fair,<br />
+Where the merry leaves dance in the summer air!"<br />
+And the birds below give back the cry,<br />
+"We come, we come to the branches high!"<br />
+How pleasant the life of the birds must be,<br />
+Living above in a leafy tree!<br />
+And away through the air what joy to go,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span>And to look on the green, bright earth below!<br />
+<br />
+How pleasant the life of a bird must be,<br />
+Skimming about on the breezy sea,<br />
+Cresting the billows like silvery foam,<br />
+Then wheeling away to its cliff-built home!<br />
+What joy it must be to sail, upborne,<br />
+By a strong free wing, through the rosy morn,<br />
+To meet the young sun, face to face,<br />
+And pierce, like a shaft, the boundless space!<br />
+<br />
+To pass through the bowers of the silver cloud;<br />
+To sing in the thunder halls aloud:<br />
+To spread out the wings for a wild, free flight<br />
+With the upper cloud-winds,&mdash;oh, what delight!<br />
+Oh, what would I give, like a bird, to go,<br />
+Right on through the arch of the sun-lit bow,<br />
+And see how the water-drops are kissed<br />
+Into green and yellow and amethyst.<br />
+<br />
+How pleasant the life of a bird must be,<br />
+Wherever it listeth, there to flee;<br />
+To go, when a joyful fancy calls,<br />
+Dashing down 'mong the waterfalls;<br />
+Then wheeling about, with its mate at play,<br />
+Above and below, and among the spray,<br />
+Hither and thither, with screams as wild<br />
+As the laughing mirth of a rosy child.<br />
+<br />
+What joy it must be, like a living breeze,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>To flutter about 'mid the flowering trees;<br />
+Lightly to soar and to see beneath,<br />
+The wastes of the blossoming purple heath,<br />
+And the yellow furze, like fields of gold,<br />
+That gladden some fairy region old!<br />
+On mountain-tops, on the billowy sea,<br />
+On the leafy stems of the forest-tree,<br />
+How pleasant the life of a bird must be!<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Mary Howitt.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>An Epitaph on a Robin Redbreast</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Tread lightly here; for here, 'tis said,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When piping winds are hush'd around,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A small note wakes from underground,</span><br />
+Where now his tiny bones are laid.<br />
+<br />
+No more in lone or leafless groves,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With ruffled wing and faded breast,</span><br />
+His friendless, homeless spirit roves;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gone to the world where birds are blest!</span><br />
+<br />
+Where never cat glides o'er the green,<br />
+Or school-boy's giant form is seen;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But love, and joy, and smiling Spring</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Inspire their little souls to sing!</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Samuel Rogers.</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Bluebird</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+I know the song that the bluebird is singing,<br />
+Out in the apple-tree where he is swinging.<br />
+Brave little fellow! the skies may be dreary,<br />
+Nothing cares he while his heart is so cheery.<br />
+<br />
+Hark! how the music leaps out from his throat!<br />
+Hark! was there ever so merry a note?<br />
+Listen awhile, and you'll hear what he's saying,<br />
+Up in the apple-tree, swinging and swaying:<br />
+<br />
+"Dear little blossoms, down under the snow,<br />
+You must be weary of winter, I know;<br />
+Hark! while I sing you a message of cheer,<br />
+Summer is coming and spring-time is here!<br />
+<br />
+"Little white snowdrop, I pray you arise;<br />
+Bright yellow crocus, come, open your eyes;<br />
+Sweet little violets hid from the cold,<br />
+Put on your mantles of purple and gold;<br />
+Daffodils, daffodils! say, do you hear?<br />
+Summer is coming, and spring-time is here!"<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Mrs. Emily Huntington Miller.</div>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Song</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+I had a dove and the sweet dove died;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And I have thought it died of grieving:</span><br />
+O, what could it grieve for? Its feet were tied<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With a silken thread of my own hand's weaving;</span><br />
+Sweet little red feet! why should you die&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Why should you leave me, sweet bird! why?</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">You lived alone in the forest-tree,</span><br />
+Why, pretty thing! would you not live with me?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I kiss'd you oft and gave you white peas;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Why not live sweetly, as in the green trees?</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>John Keats.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>What Does Little Birdie Say?</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+What does little birdie say,<br />
+In her nest at peep of day?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Let me fly," says little birdie,</span><br />
+"Mother, let me fly away."<br />
+<br />
+Birdie, rest a little longer,<br />
+Till the little wings are stronger<br />
+So she rests a little longer,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then she flies away.</span><br />
+<br />
+What does little baby say,<br />
+In her bed at peep of day?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Baby says, like little birdie,</span><br />
+"Let me rise and fly away."<br />
+<br />
+Baby, sleep a little longer,<br />
+Till the little limbs are stronger.<br />
+If she sleeps a little longer,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Baby, too, shall fly away.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Alfred, Lord Tennyson.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Owl</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+When cats run home and light is come,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And dew is cold upon the ground,</span><br />
+And the far-off stream is dumb,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the whirring sail goes round;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the whirring sail goes round;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Alone and warming his five wits,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The white owl in the belfry sits.</span><br />
+<br />
+When merry milkmaids click the latch,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And rarely smells the new-mown hay,</span><br />
+And the cock hath sung beneath the thatch<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Twice or thrice his roundelay,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Twice or thrice his roundelay;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Alone and warming his five wits,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The white owl in the belfry sits.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Alfred, Lord Tennyson.</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Wild Geese</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+The wild wind blows, the sun shines, the birds sing loud,<br />
+The blue, blue sky is flecked with fleecy dappled cloud,<br />
+Over earth's rejoicing fields the children dance and sing,<br />
+And the frogs pipe in chorus, "It is spring! It is spring!"<br />
+<br />
+The grass comes, the flower laughs where lately lay the snow,<br />
+O'er the breezy hill-top hoarsely calls the crow,<br />
+By the flowing river the alder catkins swing,<br />
+And the sweet song-sparrow cries, "Spring! It is spring!"<br />
+<br />
+Hark, what a clamor goes winging through the sky!<br />
+Look, children! Listen to the sound so wild and high!<br />
+Like a peal of broken bells,&mdash;kling, klang, kling,&mdash;<br />
+Far and high the wild geese cry, "Spring! It is spring!"<br />
+<br />
+Bear the winter off with you, O wild geese dear!<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>Carry all the cold away, far away from here;<br />
+Chase the snow into the north, O strong of heart and wing,<br />
+While we share the robin's rapture, crying "Spring! It is spring!"<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Celia Thaxter.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Chanticleer</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+I wake! I feel the day is near;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I hear the red cock crowing!</span><br />
+He cries "'Tis dawn!" How sweet and clear<br />
+His cheerful call comes to my ear,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While light is slowly growing.</span><br />
+<br />
+The white snow gathers flake on flake;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I hear the red cock crowing!</span><br />
+Is anybody else awake<br />
+To see the winter morning break,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While thick and fast 'tis snowing?</span><br />
+<br />
+I think the world is all asleep;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I hear the red cock crowing!</span><br />
+Out of the frosty pane I peep;<br />
+The drifts are piled so wide and deep,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And wild the wind is blowing!</span><br />
+<br />
+Nothing I see has shape or form;<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">I hear the red cock crowing!</span><br />
+But that dear voice comes through the storm<br />
+To greet me in my nest so warm,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As if the sky were glowing!</span><br />
+<br />
+A happy little child, I lie<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And hear the red cock crowing.</span><br />
+The day is dark. I wonder why<br />
+His voice rings out so brave and high,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With gladness overflowing.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Celia Thaxter.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Singer</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+O Lark! sweet lark!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where learn you all your minstrelsy?</span><br />
+What realms are those to which you fly?<br />
+While robins feed their young from dawn till dark,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You soar on high&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Forever in the sky.</span><br />
+<br />
+O child! dear child!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Above the clouds I lift my wing</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To hear the bells of Heaven ring;</span><br />
+Some of their music, though my flights be wild,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To Earth I bring;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then let me soar and sing!</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Edmund Clarence Stedman.</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Blue Jay</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+O Blue Jay up in the maple-tree,<br />
+Shaking your throat with such bursts of glee,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How did you happen to be so blue?</span><br />
+Did you steal a bit of the lake for your crest,<br />
+And fasten blue violets into your vest?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tell me, I pray you,&mdash;tell me true!</span><br />
+<br />
+Did you dip your wings in azure dye,<br />
+When April began to paint the sky,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That was pale with the winter's stay?</span><br />
+Or were you hatched from a bluebell bright,<br />
+'Neath the warm, gold breast of a sunbeam light,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the river one blue spring day?</span><br />
+<br />
+O Blue Jay up in the maple-tree,<br />
+A-tossing your saucy head at me,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With ne'er a word for my questioning,</span><br />
+Pray, cease for a moment your "ting-a-link,"<br />
+And hear when I tell you what I think,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You bonniest bit of the spring.</span><br />
+<br />
+I think when the fairies made the flowers,<br />
+To grow in these mossy fields of ours,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Periwinkles and violets rare,</span><br />
+There was left of the spring's own color, blue,<br />
+Plenty to fashion a flower whose hue<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would be richer than all and as fair.</span><br />
+<br />
+So, putting their wits together, they<br />
+Made one great blossom so bright and gay,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The lily beside it seemed blurred;</span><br />
+And then they said, "We will toss it in air;<br />
+So many blue blossoms grow everywhere,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let this pretty one be a bird!"</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Susan Hartley Swett.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Robert of Lincoln</i><a name="FNanchor_F_6" id="FNanchor_F_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_F_6" class="fnanchor">[F]</a><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Merrily swinging on brier and weed,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Near to the nest of his little dame,</span><br />
+Over the mountain-side or mead,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Robert of Lincoln is telling his name:</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Spink, spank, spink,</span><br />
+Snug and safe is this nest of ours,<br />
+Hidden among the summer flowers,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Chee, chee, chee.</span><br />
+<br />
+Robert of Lincoln is gayly drest,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wearing a bright, black wedding-coat;</span><br />
+White are his shoulders and white his crest,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hear him call, in his merry note,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,</span><br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Spink, spank, spink,</span><br />
+Look what a nice new coat is mine,<br />
+Sure there was never a bird so fine!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Chee, chee, chee.</span><br />
+<br />
+Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings,</span><br />
+Passing at home a patient life,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Broods in the grass while her husband sings</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Spink, spank, spink,</span><br />
+Brood, kind creature; you need not fear<br />
+Thieves and robbers while I am here,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Chee, chee, chee.</span><br />
+<br />
+Modest and shy as a nun is she;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One weak chirp is her only note.</span><br />
+Braggart, and prince of braggarts is he,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pouring boasts from his little throat:</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Spink, spank, spink,</span><br />
+Never was I afraid of man;<br />
+Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Chee, chee, chee.</span><br />
+<br />
+Six white eggs on a bed of hay,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Flecked with purple, a pretty sight:</span><br />
+There as the mother sits all day,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Robert is singing with all his might,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,</span><br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Spink, spank, spink,</span><br />
+Nice good wife, that never goes out,<br />
+Keeping house while I frolic about,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Chee, chee, chee.</span><br />
+<br />
+Soon as the little ones chip the shell,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Six wide mouths are open for food;</span><br />
+Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gathering seeds for the hungry brood.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Spink, spank, spink,</span><br />
+This new life is likely to be<br />
+Hard for a gay young fellow like me,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Chee, chee, chee.</span><br />
+<br />
+Robert of Lincoln at length is made<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sober with work, and silent with care;</span><br />
+Off is his holiday garment laid,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Half forgotten that merry air:</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Spink, spank, spink,</span><br />
+Nobody knows but my mate and I<br />
+Where our nest and our nestlings lie,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Chee, chee, chee.</span><br />
+<br />
+Summer wanes; the children are grown;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fun and frolic no more he knows,</span><br />
+Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum crone;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Off he flies, and we sing as he goes:</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,</span><br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Spink, spank, spink,</span><br />
+When you can pipe that merry old strain,<br />
+Robert of Lincoln, come back again,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Chee, chee, chee.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>William Cullen Bryant.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>White Butterflies</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Fly, white butterflies, out to sea,<br />
+Frail, pale wings for the wind to try,<br />
+Small white wings that we scarce can see,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Fly!</span><br />
+<br />
+Some fly light as a laugh of glee,<br />
+Some fly soft as a long, low sigh;<br />
+All to the haven where each would be,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Fly!</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Algernon Charles Swinburne.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Ant and the Cricket</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+A silly young cricket, accustomed to sing<br />
+Through the warm, sunny months of gay summer and spring,<br />
+Began to complain, when he found that at home<br />
+His cupboard was empty and winter was come.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Not a crumb to be found</span><br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">On the snow-covered ground;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Not a flower could he see,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Not a leaf on a tree:</span><br />
+"Oh, what will become," says the cricket, "of me?"<br />
+<br />
+At last by starvation and famine made bold,<br />
+All dripping with wet and all trembling with cold,<br />
+Away he set off to a miserly ant,<br />
+To see if, to keep him alive, he would grant<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Him shelter from rain:</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A mouthful of grain</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He wished only to borrow,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He'd repay it to-morrow:</span><br />
+If not, he must die of starvation and sorrow.<br />
+<br />
+Says the ant to the cricket, "I'm your servant and friend,<br />
+But we ants never borrow, we ants never lend;<br />
+But tell me, dear sir, did you lay nothing by<br />
+When the weather was warm?" Said the cricket, "Not I.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My heart was so light</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That I sang day and night,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For all nature looked gay."</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"You <i>sang</i>, sir, you say?</span><br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>Go then," said the ant, "and <i>dance</i> winter away."<br />
+Thus ending, he hastily lifted the wicket<br />
+And out of the door turned the poor little cricket.<br />
+Though this is a fable, the moral is good:<br />
+If you live without work, you must live without food.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Unknown.</div>
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>IV</h2>
+
+<h2>THE FLOWER FOLK</h2>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;">
+<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+<i>Hope is like a harebell, trembling from its birth,<br />
+Love is like a rose, the joy of all the earth;<br />
+Faith is like a lily, lifted high and white,<br />
+Love is like a lovely rose, the world's delight;<br />
+Harebells and sweet lilies show a thornless growth,<br />
+But the rose with all its thorns excels them both.</i><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'><i>Christina G. Rossetti.</i></div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>THE FLOWER FOLK</h2>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;">
+<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Little White Lily</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Little white Lily<br />
+Sat by a stone,<br />
+Drooping and waiting<br />
+Till the sun shone.<br />
+Little white Lily<br />
+Sunshine has fed;<br />
+Little white Lily<br />
+Is lifting her head.<br />
+<br />
+Little white Lily<br />
+Said, "It is good&mdash;<br />
+Little white Lily's<br />
+Clothing and food."<br />
+Little white Lily<br />
+Drest like a bride!<br />
+Shining with whiteness,<br />
+And crowned beside!<br />
+<br />
+Little white Lily<br />
+Droopeth with pain,<br />
+Waiting and waiting<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>For the wet rain.<br />
+Little white Lily<br />
+Holdeth her cup;<br />
+Rain is fast falling<br />
+And filling it up.<br />
+<br />
+Little white Lily<br />
+Said, "Good again&mdash;<br />
+When I am thirsty<br />
+To have fresh rain!<br />
+Now I am stronger;<br />
+Now I am cool;<br />
+Heat cannot burn me,<br />
+My veins are so full."<br />
+<br />
+Little white Lily<br />
+Smells very sweet:<br />
+On her head sunshine,<br />
+Rain at her feet.<br />
+"Thanks to the sunshine,<br />
+Thanks to the rain!<br />
+Little white Lily<br />
+Is happy again!"<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>George Macdonald.</div>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Violets</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Violets, violets, sweet March violets,<br />
+Sure as March comes, they'll come too,<br />
+First the white and then the blue&mdash;<br />
+Pretty violets!<br />
+<br />
+White, with just a pinky dye,<br />
+Blue as little baby's eye,&mdash;<br />
+So like violets.<br />
+<br />
+Though the rough wind shakes the house,<br />
+Knocks about the budding boughs,<br />
+There are violets.<br />
+<br />
+Though the passing snow-storms come,<br />
+And the frozen birds sit dumb,<br />
+Up spring violets.<br />
+<br />
+One by one among the grass,<br />
+Saying "Pluck me!" as we pass,&mdash;<br />
+Scented violets.<br />
+<br />
+By and by there'll be so many,<br />
+We'll pluck dozens nor miss any:<br />
+Sweet, sweet violets!<br />
+<br />
+Children, when you go to play,<br />
+Look beneath the hedge to-day:&mdash;<br />
+Mamma likes violets.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Dinah Maria Mulock.</div>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Young Dandelion</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Young Dandelion<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On a hedge-side,</span><br />
+Said young Dandelion,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Who'll be my bride?</span><br />
+<br />
+"I'm a bold fellow<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As ever was seen,</span><br />
+With my shield of yellow,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the grass green.</span><br />
+<br />
+"You may uproot me<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From field and from lane,</span><br />
+Trample me, cut me,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I spring up again.</span><br />
+<br />
+"I never flinch, Sir,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wherever I dwell;</span><br />
+Give me an inch, Sir,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'll soon take an ell.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Drive me from garden<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In anger and pride,</span><br />
+I'll thrive and harden<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the road-side.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Not a bit fearful,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Showing my face,</span><br />
+Always so cheerful<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">In every place."</span><br />
+<br />
+Said young Dandelion,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a sweet air,</span><br />
+"I have my eye on<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Miss Daisy fair.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Though we may tarry<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till past the cold,</span><br />
+Her I will marry<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ere I grow old.</span><br />
+<br />
+"I will protect her<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From all kinds of harm,</span><br />
+Feed her with nectar,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shelter her warm.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Whate'er the weather,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let it go by;</span><br />
+We'll hold together,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Daisy and I.</span><br />
+<br />
+"I'll ne'er give in,&mdash;no!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nothing I fear:</span><br />
+All that I win, oh!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'll keep for my dear."</span><br />
+<br />
+Said young Dandelion<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On his hedge-side,</span><br />
+"Who'll me rely on?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who'll be my bride?"</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Dinah Maria Mulock.</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Baby Seed Song</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Little brown brother, oh! little brown brother,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are you awake in the dark?</span><br />
+Here we lie cosily, close to each other:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hark to the song of the lark&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Waken!" the lark says, "waken and dress you;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Put on your green coats and gay,</span><br />
+Blue sky will shine on you, sunshine caress you&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Waken! 'tis morning&mdash;'tis May!"</span><br />
+<br />
+Little brown brother, oh! little brown brother,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What kind of flower will you be?</span><br />
+I'll be a poppy&mdash;all white, like my mother;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Do be a poppy like me.</span><br />
+What! you're a sun-flower? How I shall miss you<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When you're grown golden and high!</span><br />
+But I shall send all the bees up to kiss you;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Little brown brother, good-bye.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>E. Nesbit.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>A Violet Bank</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows,<br />
+Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows:<br />
+Quite over-canopied with lush woodbine,<br />
+With sweet musk roses and with eglantine.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>William Shakespeare.</div>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>There's Nothing Like the Rose</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+The lily has an air,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the snowdrop a grace,</span><br />
+And the sweet-pea a way,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the hearts-ease a face,&mdash;</span><br />
+Yet there's nothing like the rose<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">When she blows.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Christina G. Rossetti.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Snowdrops</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Little ladies, white and green,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With your spears about you,</span><br />
+Will you tell us where you've been<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Since we lived without you?</span><br />
+<br />
+You are sweet, and fresh, and clean,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With your pearly faces;</span><br />
+In the dark earth where you've been,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There are wondrous places:</span><br />
+<br />
+Yet you come again, serene,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the leaves are hidden;</span><br />
+Bringing joy from where you've been,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You return unbidden&mdash;</span><br />
+<br />
+Little ladies, white and green,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are you glad to cheer us?</span><br />
+Hunger not for where you've been,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stay till Spring be near us!</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Laurence Alma Tadema.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Fern Song</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Dance to the beat of the rain, little Fern,<br />
+And spread out your palms again,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And say, "Tho' the sun</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hath my vesture spun,</span><br />
+He had laboured, alas, in vain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But for the shade</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That the Cloud hath made,</span><br />
+And the gift of the Dew and the Rain,"<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then laugh and upturn</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All your fronds, little Fern,</span><br />
+And rejoice in the beat of the rain!<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>John B. Tabb.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Violet</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Down in a green and shady bed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A modest violet grew;</span><br />
+Its stalk was bent, it hung its head,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As if to hide from view.</span><br />
+<br />
+And yet it was a lovely flower,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Its color bright and fair;</span><br />
+It might have graced a rosy bower<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Instead of hiding there.</span><br />
+<br />
+Yet there it was content to bloom,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In modest tints arrayed;</span><br />
+And there diffused its sweet Perfume<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Within the silent shade.</span><br />
+<br />
+Then let me to the valley go,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This pretty flower to see,</span><br />
+That I may also learn to grow<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In sweet humility.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Jane Taylor.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Daffy-Down-Dilly</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Daffy-down-dilly<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Came up in the cold,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through the brown mould,</span><br />
+Although the March breezes<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blew keen on her face,</span><br />
+Although the white snow<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lay on many a place.</span><br />
+<br />
+Daffy-down-dilly<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Had heard under ground,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sweet rushing sound</span><br />
+Of the streams, as they broke<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">From their white winter chains,</span><br />
+Of the whistling spring winds<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the pattering rains.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Now then," thought Daffy,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Deep down in her heart,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"It's time I should start."</span><br />
+So she pushed her soft leaves<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through the hard frozen ground,</span><br />
+Quite up to the surface,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And then she looked round.</span><br />
+<br />
+There was snow all about her,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gray clouds overhead;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The trees all looked dead:</span><br />
+Then how do you think<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Poor Daffy-down felt,</span><br />
+When the sun would not shine,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the ice would not melt?</span><br />
+<br />
+"Cold weather!" thought Daffy,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still working away;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"The earth's hard to-day!</span><br />
+There's but a half inch<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of my leaves to be seen,</span><br />
+And two thirds of that<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is more yellow than green.</span><br />
+<br />
+"I can't do much yet;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I'll do what I can:</span><br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">It's well I began!</span><br />
+For, unless I can manage<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To lift up my head,</span><br />
+The people will think<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That the Spring herself's dead."</span><br />
+<br />
+So, little by little,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She brought her leaves out,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All clustered about;</span><br />
+And then her bright flowers<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Began to unfold,</span><br />
+Till Daffy stood robed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In her spring green and gold.</span><br />
+<br />
+O Daffy-down-dilly,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So brave and so true!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I wish all were like you!&mdash;</span><br />
+So ready for duty<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In all sorts of weather,</span><br />
+And loyal to courage<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And duty together.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Anna B. Warner.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Baby Corn</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+A happy mother stalk of corn<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Held close a baby ear,</span><br />
+And whispered: "Cuddle up to me,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'll keep you warm, my dear.</span><br />
+I'll give you petticoats of green,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With many a tuck and fold</span><br />
+To let out daily as you grow;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For you will soon be old."</span><br />
+<br />
+A funny little baby that,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For though it had no eye,</span><br />
+It had a hundred mouths; 'twas well<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It did not want to cry.</span><br />
+The mother put in each small mouth<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A hollow thread of silk,</span><br />
+Through which the sun and rain and air<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Provided baby's milk.</span><br />
+<br />
+The petticoats were gathered close<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where all the threadlets hung.</span><br />
+And still as summer days went on<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To mother-stalk it clung;</span><br />
+And all the time it grew and grew&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Each kernel drank the milk</span><br />
+By day, by night, in shade, in sun,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From its own thread of silk.</span><br />
+<br />
+And each grew strong and full and round,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And each was shining white;</span><br />
+The gores and seams were all let out,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The green skirts fitted tight.</span><br />
+The ear stood straight and large and tall,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And when it saw the sun,</span><br />
+Held up its emerald satin gown<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To say: "Your work is done."</span><br />
+<br />
+"You're large enough," said Mother Stalk,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"And now there's no more room</span><br />
+For you to grow." She tied the threads<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Into a soft brown plume&mdash;</span><br />
+It floated out upon the breeze<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To greet the dewy morn,</span><br />
+And then the baby said: "Now I'm<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A full-grown ear of corn!"</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Unknown.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>A Child's Fancy</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+O little flowers, you love me so,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You could not do without me;</span><br />
+O little birds that come and go,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You sing sweet songs about me;</span><br />
+O little moss, observed by few,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That round the tree is creeping,</span><br />
+You like my head to rest on you,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When I am idly sleeping.</span><br />
+<br />
+O rushes by the river side,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You bow when I come near you;</span><br />
+O fish, you leap about with pride,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Because you think I hear you;</span><br />
+O river, you shine clear and bright,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To tempt me to look in you;</span><br />
+O water-lilies, pure and white,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You hope that I shall win you.</span><br />
+<br />
+O pretty things, you love me so,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I see I must not leave you;</span><br />
+You'd find it very dull, I know,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I should not like to grieve you.</span><br />
+Don't wrinkle up, you silly moss;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My flowers, you need not shiver;</span><br />
+My little buds, don't look so cross;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Don't talk so loud, my river.</span><br />
+<br />
+And I will make a promise, dears,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That will content you, maybe;</span><br />
+I'll love you through the happy years,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till I'm a nice old lady!</span><br />
+True love (like yours and mine) they say<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Can never think of ceasing,</span><br />
+But year by year, and day by day,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Keeps steadily increasing.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>"A."</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Little Dandelion</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Gay little Dandelion<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lights up the meads,</span><br />
+Swings on her slender foot,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Telleth her beads,</span><br />
+Lists to the robin's note<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Poured from above:</span><br />
+Wise little Dandelion<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Asks not for love.</span><br />
+<br />
+Cold lie the daisy banks<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Clothed but in green,</span><br />
+Where, in the days agone,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bright hues were seen.</span><br />
+Wild pinks are slumbering;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Violets delay:</span><br />
+True little Dandelion<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Greeteth the May.</span><br />
+<br />
+Brave little Dandelion!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fast falls the snow,</span><br />
+Bending the daffodil's<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Haughty head low.</span><br />
+Under that fleecy tent,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Careless of cold,</span><br />
+Blithe little Dandelion<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Counteth her gold.</span><br />
+<br />
+Meek little Dandelion<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Groweth more fair,</span><br />
+Till dies the amber dew<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Out from her hair.</span><br />
+High rides the thirsty sun,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fiercely and high;</span><br />
+Faint little Dandelion<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Closeth her eye.</span><br />
+<br />
+Pale little Dandelion,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In her white shroud,</span><br />
+Heareth the angel breeze<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Call from the cloud!</span><br />
+Tiny plumes fluttering<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Make no delay!</span><br />
+Little winged Dandelion<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Soareth away.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Helen B. Bostwick.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Dandelions</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Upon a showery night and still,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Without a sound of warning,</span><br />
+A trooper band surprised the hill,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And held it in the morning.</span><br />
+We were not waked by bugle notes,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">No cheer our dreams invaded,</span><br />
+And yet, at dawn their yellow coats<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the green slopes paraded.</span><br />
+<br />
+We careless folk the deed forgot;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Till one day, idly walking,</span><br />
+We marked upon the self-same spot<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A crowd of vet'rans talking.</span><br />
+They shook their trembling heads and gray<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With pride and noiseless laughter;</span><br />
+When, well-a-day! they blew away,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And ne'er were heard of after!</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Helen Gray Cone.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Flax Flower</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Oh, the little flax flower!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It groweth on the hill,</span><br />
+And, be the breeze awake or 'sleep<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It never standeth still.</span><br />
+It groweth, and it groweth fast;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One day it is a seed</span><br />
+And then a little grassy blade<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Scarce better than a weed.</span><br />
+But then out comes the flax flower<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As blue as is the sky;</span><br />
+And "'Tis a dainty little thing,"<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">We say as we go by.</span><br />
+<br />
+Ah! 'tis a goodly little thing,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It groweth for the poor,</span><br />
+And many a peasant blesseth it<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beside his cottage door.</span><br />
+He thinketh how those slender stems<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That shimmer in the sun</span><br />
+Are rich for him in web and woof<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And shortly shall be spun.</span><br />
+He thinketh how those tender flowers<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of seed will yield him store,</span><br />
+And sees in thought his next year's crop<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blue shining round his door.</span><br />
+<br />
+Oh, the little flax flower!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The mother then says she,</span><br />
+"Go, pull the thyme, the heath, the fern,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But let the flax flower be!</span><br />
+It groweth for the children's sake,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It groweth for our own;</span><br />
+There are flowers enough upon the hill,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But leave the flax alone!</span><br />
+The farmer hath his fields of wheat,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Much cometh to his share;</span><br />
+We have this little plot of flax<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That we have tilled with care."</span><br />
+<br />
+Oh, the goodly flax flower!<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">It groweth on the hill,</span><br />
+And, be the breeze awake or 'sleep,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It never standeth still.</span><br />
+It seemeth all astir with life<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As if it loved to thrive,</span><br />
+As if it had a merry heart<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Within its stem alive.</span><br />
+Then fair befall the flax-field,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And may the kindly showers</span><br />
+Give strength unto its shining stem,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Give seed unto its flowers!</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Mary Howitt.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Dear Little Violets</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Under the green hedges after the snow,<br />
+There do the dear little violets grow,<br />
+Hiding their modest and beautiful heads<br />
+Under the hawthorn in soft mossy beds.<br />
+<br />
+Sweet as the roses, and blue as the sky,<br />
+Down there do the dear little violets lie;<br />
+Hiding their heads where they scarce may be seen,<br />
+By the leaves you may know where the violet hath been.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>John Moultrie.</div>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Bird's Song in Spring</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+The silver birch is a dainty lady,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She wears a satin gown;</span><br />
+The elm tree makes the old churchyard shady,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She will not live in town.</span><br />
+<br />
+The English oak is a sturdy fellow,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He gets his green coat late;</span><br />
+The willow is smart in a suit of yellow,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While brown the beech trees wait.</span><br />
+<br />
+Such a gay green gown God gives the larches&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As green as He is good!</span><br />
+The hazels hold up their arms for arches<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When Spring rides through the wood.</span><br />
+<br />
+The chestnut's proud, and the lilac's pretty,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The poplar's gentle and tall,</span><br />
+But the plane tree's kind to the poor dull city&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I love him best of all!</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>E. Nesbit.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Tree</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+The Tree's early leaf-buds were bursting their brown;<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>"Shall I take them away?" said the Frost, sweeping down.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"No, leave them alone</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till the blossoms have grown,"</span><br />
+Prayed the Tree, while he trembled from rootlet to crown.<br />
+<br />
+The Tree bore his blossoms, and all the birds sung:<br />
+"Shall I take them away?" said the Wind, as he swung.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"No, leave them alone</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till the berries have grown,"</span><br />
+Said the Tree, while his leaflets quivering hung.<br />
+<br />
+The Tree bore his fruit in the mid-summer glow:<br />
+Said the girl, "May I gather thy berries now?"<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Yes, all thou canst see:</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Take them; all are for thee,"</span><br />
+Said the Tree, while he bent down his laden boughs low.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Bj&ouml;rnstjerne Bj&ouml;rnson.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Daisy's Song</i></div>
+
+<div class='center'>(A Fragment)<br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+The sun, with his great eye,<br />
+Sees not so much as I;<br />
+And the moon, all silver-proud<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>Might as well be in a cloud.<br />
+And O the spring&mdash;the spring!<br />
+I lead the life of a king!<br />
+Couch'd in the teeming grass,<br />
+I spy each pretty lass.<br />
+<br />
+I look where no one dares,<br />
+And I stare where no one stares,<br />
+And when the night is nigh<br />
+Lambs bleat my lullaby.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>John Keats.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Song</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+For the tender beech and the sapling oak,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That grow by the shadowy rill,</span><br />
+You may cut down both at a single stroke,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You may cut down which you will.</span><br />
+<br />
+But this you must know, that as long as they grow,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whatever change may be,</span><br />
+You can never teach either oak or beech<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To be aught but a greenwood tree.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Thomas Love Peacock.</div>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>For Good Luck</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Little Kings and Queens of the May<br />
+If you want to be,<br />
+Every one of you, very good,<br />
+In this beautiful, beautiful, beautiful wood,<br />
+Where the little birds' heads get so turned with delight<br />
+That some of them sing all night:<br />
+Whatever you pluck,<br />
+Leave some for good luck!<br />
+<br />
+Picked from the stalk or pulled by the root,<br />
+From overhead or under foot,<br />
+Water-wonders of pond or brook&mdash;<br />
+Wherever you look,<br />
+And whatever you find,<br />
+Leave something behind:<br />
+Some for the Naiads,<br />
+Some for the Dryads,<br />
+And a bit for the Nixies and Pixies!<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Juliana Horatia Ewing.</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>V</h2>
+
+<h2>HIAWATHA'S BROTHERS</h2>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;">
+<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+<i>Of all beasts he learned the language,<br />
+Learned their names and all their secrets,<br />
+How the beavers built their lodges,<br />
+Where the squirrels hid their acorns,<br />
+How the reindeer ran so swiftly,<br />
+Why the rabbit was so timid,<br />
+Talked with them whene'er he met them,<br />
+Called them "Hiawatha's Brothers."</i><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'><i>Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.</i></div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>HIAWATHA'S BROTHERS</h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;">
+<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>My Pony</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+My pony toss'd his sprightly head,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And would have smiled, if smile he could,</span><br />
+To thank me for the slice of bread<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He thinks so delicate and good;</span><br />
+His eye is very bright and wild,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He looks as if he loved me so,</span><br />
+Although I only am a child<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he's a real horse, you know.</span><br />
+<br />
+How charming it would be to rear,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And have hind legs to balance on;</span><br />
+Of hay and oats within the year<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To leisurely devour a ton;</span><br />
+To stoop my head and quench my drouth<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With water in a lovely pail;</span><br />
+To wear a snaffle in my mouth,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fling back my ears, and slash my tail!</span><br />
+<br />
+To gallop madly round a field,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who tries to catch me is a goose,</span><br />
+And then with dignity to yield<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">My stately back for rider's use;</span><br />
+To feel as only horses can,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When matters take their proper course,</span><br />
+And no one notices the man,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While loud applauses greet the horse!</span><br />
+<br />
+He canters fast or ambles slow,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And either is a pretty game;</span><br />
+His duties are but pleasures&mdash;oh,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I wish that mine were just the same!</span><br />
+Lessons would be another thing<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If I might turn from book and scroll,</span><br />
+And learn to gallop round a ring,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As he did when a little foal.</span><br />
+<br />
+It must be charming to be shod,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And beautiful beyond my praise,</span><br />
+When tired of rolling on the sod,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To stand upon all-fours and graze!</span><br />
+Alas! my dreams are weak and wild,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I must not ape my betters so;</span><br />
+Alas! I only am a child,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he's a real horse, you know.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>"A."</div>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>On a Spaniel, called Beau,<br />
+Killing a Young Bird</i><br />
+(<small>July 15, 1793</small>)<br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+A Spaniel, Beau, that fares like you,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Well fed, and at his ease,</span><br />
+Should wiser be than to pursue<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Each trifle that he sees.</span><br />
+<br />
+But you have kill'd a tiny bird,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which flew not till to-day,</span><br />
+Against my orders, whom you heard<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Forbidding you the prey.</span><br />
+<br />
+Nor did you kill that you might eat,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And ease a doggish pain,</span><br />
+For him, though chas'd with furious heat<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You left where he was slain.</span><br />
+<br />
+Nor was he of the thievish sort,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or one whom blood allures,</span><br />
+But innocent was all his sport<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whom you have torn for yours.</span><br />
+<br />
+My dog! What remedy remains,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Since, teach you all I can,</span><br />
+I see you, after all my pains,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So much resemble Man?</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>William Cowper.</div>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Beau's Reply</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Sir, when I flew to seize the bird<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In spite of your command,</span><br />
+A louder voice than yours I heard,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And harder to withstand.</span><br />
+<br />
+You cried&mdash;forbear!&mdash;but in my breast<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A mightier cried&mdash;proceed&mdash;</span><br />
+'Twas Nature, Sir, whose strong behest<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Impell'd me to the deed.</span><br />
+<br />
+Yet much as Nature I respect,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I ventur'd once to break,</span><br />
+(As you, perhaps, may recollect)<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her precept for your sake;</span><br />
+<br />
+And when your linnet on a day,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Passing his prison door,</span><br />
+Had flutter'd all his strength away,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And panting press'd the floor,</span><br />
+<br />
+Well knowing him a sacred thing,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not destin'd to my tooth,</span><br />
+I only kiss'd his ruffled wing,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And lick'd the feathers smooth.</span><br />
+<br />
+Let my obedience <i>then</i> excuse<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My disobedience <i>now</i>,</span><br />
+Nor some reproof yourself refuse<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">From your aggriev'd Bow-wow;</span><br />
+If killing birds be such a crime,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Which I can hardly see,)</span><br />
+What think you, Sir, of killing Time<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With verse address'd to me?</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>William Cowper.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Seal Lullaby</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+Oh, hush thee, my baby, the night is behind us,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And black are the waters that sparkled so green,</span><br />
+The moon o'er the combers, looks downward to find us<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At rest in the hollows that rustle between.</span><br />
+Where billow meets billow, there soft be thy pillow;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ah, weary wee flipperling, curl at thy ease!</span><br />
+The storm shall not wake thee, nor shark overtake thee,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Asleep in the arms of the slow-swinging seas.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Rudyard Kipling.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Milking Time</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+When the cows come home the milk is coming;<br />
+Honey's made while the bees are humming;<br />
+Duck and drake on the rushy lake,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span>And the deer live safe in the breezy brake;<br />
+And timid, funny, pert little bunny<br />
+Winks his nose, and sits all sunny.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Christina G. Rossetti.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Thank You, Pretty Cow</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Thank you, pretty cow, that made<br />
+Pleasant milk to soak my bread,<br />
+Every day and every night,<br />
+Warm, and fresh, and sweet, and white.<br />
+<br />
+Do not chew the hemlock rank,<br />
+Growing on the weedy bank;<br />
+But the yellow cowslip eat,<br />
+That will make it very sweet.<br />
+<br />
+Where the purple violet grows,<br />
+Where the bubbling water flows,<br />
+Where the grass is fresh and fine,<br />
+Pretty cow, go there and dine.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Jane Taylor.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Boy and the Sheep</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+"Lazy sheep, pray tell me why<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">In the pleasant field you lie,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Eating grass and daisies white,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">From the morning till the night:</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Everything can something do;</span><br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">But what kind of use are you?"</span><br />
+<br />
+"Nay, my little master, nay,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Do not serve me so, I pray!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Don't you see the wool that grows</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">On my back to make your clothes?</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Cold, ah, very cold you'd be,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">If you had not wool from me.</span><br />
+<br />
+"True, it seems a pleasant thing<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Nipping daisies in the spring;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">But what chilly nights I pass</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">On the cold and dewy grass,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Or pick my scanty dinner where</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">All the ground is brown and bare!</span><br />
+<br />
+"Then the farmer comes at last,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">When the merry spring is past,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Cuts my woolly fleece away,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">For your coat in wintry day.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Little master, this is why</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">In the pleasant fields I lie."</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Ann Taylor.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Lambs in the Meadow</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+O little lambs! the month is cold,<br />
+The sky is very gray;<br />
+You shiver in the misty grass<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span>And bleat at all the winds that pass;<br />
+Wait! when I'm big&mdash;some day&mdash;<br />
+I'll build a roof to every fold.<br />
+<br />
+But now that I am small I'll pray<br />
+At mother's knee for you;<br />
+Perhaps the angels with their wings;<br />
+Will come and warm you, little things;<br />
+I'm sure that, if God knew,<br />
+He'd let the lambs be born in May.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Laurence Alma Tadema.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Pet Lamb</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink;<br />
+I heard a voice; it said, "Drink, pretty creature, drink!"<br />
+And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied<br />
+A snow-white mountain-lamb, with a maiden at its side.<br />
+<br />
+Nor sheep nor kine were near; the lamb was all alone,<br />
+And by a slender cord was tethered to a stone.<br />
+With one knee on the grass did the little maiden kneel,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>While to that mountain-lamb she gave its evening meal.<br />
+<br />
+The lamb, while from her hand he thus his supper took,<br />
+Seemed to feast, with head and ears, and his tail with pleasure shook.<br />
+"Drink, pretty creature, drink!" she said, in such a tone<br />
+That I almost received her heart into my own.<br />
+<br />
+'Twas little Barbara Lewthwaite, a child of beauty rare!<br />
+I watched them with delight; they were a lovely pair.<br />
+Now with her empty can the maiden turned away,<br />
+But ere ten yards were gone her footsteps did she stay.<br />
+<br />
+Right toward the lamb she looked; and from a shady place,<br />
+I, unobserved, could see the workings of her face.<br />
+If nature to her tongue could measured numbers bring,<br />
+Thus, thought I, to her lamb that little maid might sing:&mdash;<br />
+<br />
+"What ails thee, young one? what? Why pull so at thy cord?<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>Is it not well with thee? well both for bed and board?<br />
+Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be;<br />
+Rest, little young one, rest; what is't that aileth thee?<br />
+<br />
+"What is it thou would'st seek? What is wanting to thy heart?<br />
+Thy limbs, are they not strong? and beautiful thou art.<br />
+This grass is tender grass, these flowers they have no peers,<br />
+And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears.<br />
+<br />
+"If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy woollen chain,&mdash;<br />
+This beech is standing by,&mdash;its covert thou canst gain.<br />
+For rain and mountain storms, the like thou need'st not fear;<br />
+The rain and storm are things that scarcely can come here.<br />
+<br />
+"Rest, little young one, rest; thou hast forgot the day<br />
+When my father found thee first, in places far away.<br />
+Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert owned by none,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span>And thy mother from thy side forevermore was gone.<br />
+<br />
+"He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee home,&mdash;<br />
+A blessed day for thee!&mdash;Then whither would'st thou roam?<br />
+A faithful nurse thou hast; the dam that did thee yean<br />
+Upon the mountain-tops no kinder could have been.<br />
+<br />
+"Thou know'st that twice a day I have brought thee in this can<br />
+Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran;<br />
+And twice in the day, when the ground was wet with dew,<br />
+I bring thee draughts of milk,&mdash;warm milk it is, and new.<br />
+<br />
+"Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they are now;<br />
+Then I'll yoke thee to my cart, like a pony to the plough,<br />
+My playmate thou shalt be, and when the wind is cold,<br />
+Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be thy fold.<br />
+<br />
+"It will not, will not rest! Poor creature, can it be<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>That 'tis thy mother's heart which is working so in thee?<br />
+Things that I know not of belike to thee are dear,<br />
+And dreams of things which thou canst neither see nor hear.<br />
+<br />
+"Alas, the mountain-tops that look so green and fair!<br />
+I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come there.<br />
+The little brooks, that seem all pastime and all play,<br />
+When they are angry roar like lions for their prey.<br />
+<br />
+"Here thou need'st not dread the raven in the sky;<br />
+Night and day thou art safe&mdash;our cottage is hard by.<br />
+Why bleat so after me? why pull so at thy chain?<br />
+Sleep,&mdash;and at break of day I will come to thee again!"<br />
+<br />
+As homeward through the lane I went with lazy feet,<br />
+This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat;<br />
+And it seemed, as I retraced the ballad line by line,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span>That but half of it was hers and one half of it was mine.<br />
+<br />
+Again and once again did I repeat the song:<br />
+"Nay," said I, "more than half to the damsel must belong";<br />
+For she looked with such a look, and she spake with such a tone,<br />
+That I almost received her heart into my own.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>William Wordsworth.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Kitten, and Falling Leaves</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+See the kitten on the wall,<br />
+Sporting with the leaves that fall,<br />
+Withered leaves&mdash;one&mdash;two&mdash;and three&mdash;<br />
+From the lofty elder tree!<br />
+Through the calm and frosty air<br />
+Of this morning bright and fair,<br />
+Eddying round and round they sink<br />
+Softly, slowly: one might think<br />
+From the motions that are made,<br />
+Every little leaf conveyed<br />
+Sylph or fairy hither tending,<br />
+To this lower world descending,<br />
+Each invisible and mute,<br />
+In his wavering parachute.<br />
+But the kitten, how she starts,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span>Crouches, stretches, paws and darts!<br />
+First at one and then its fellow,<br />
+Just as light and just as yellow;<br />
+There are many now&mdash;now one&mdash;<br />
+Now they stop and there are none:<br />
+What intenseness of desire<br />
+In her upward eye of fire!<br />
+With a tiger-leap, half-way,<br />
+Now she meets the coming prey;<br />
+Lets it go as fast and then<br />
+Has it in her power again.<br />
+Now she works with three or four,<br />
+Like an Indian conjuror;<br />
+Quick as he in feats of art,<br />
+Far beyond in joy of heart.<br />
+
+<b>. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;.</b><br />
+
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>William Wordsworth.</div>
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>VI</h2>
+
+<h2>OTHER LITTLE CHILDREN</h2>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;">
+<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+<i>If thou couldst know thine own sweetness,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O little one, perfect and sweet,</span><br />
+Thou wouldst be a child forever;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Completer whilst incomplete.</span></i><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'><i>Francis Turner Palgrave.</i></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>OTHER LITTLE CHILDREN</h2>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;">
+<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Where Go the Boats?</i><a name="FNanchor_G_7" id="FNanchor_G_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_G_7" class="fnanchor">[G]</a><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Dark brown is the river,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Golden is the sand.</span><br />
+It flows along forever<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With trees on either hand.</span><br />
+<br />
+Green leaves a-floating,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Castles of the foam,</span><br />
+Boats of mine a-boating&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where will all come home?</span><br />
+<br />
+On goes the river<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And out past the mill,</span><br />
+Away down the valley,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Away down the hill.</span><br />
+<br />
+Away down the river,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A hundred miles or more,</span><br />
+Other little children<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall bring my boats ashore.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Robert Louis Stevenson.</div>
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Cleanliness</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Come, my little Robert, near&mdash;<br />
+Fie! what filthy hands are here!<br />
+Who, that e'er could understand<br />
+The rare structure of a hand,<br />
+With its branching fingers fine,<br />
+Work itself of hands divine,<br />
+Strong, yet delicately knit,<br />
+For ten thousand uses fit,<br />
+Overlaid with so clear skin<br />
+You may see the blood within,&mdash;<br />
+Who this hand would choose to cover<br />
+With a crust of dirt all over,<br />
+Till it look'd in hue and shape<br />
+Like the forefoot of an ape!<br />
+Man or boy that works or plays<br />
+In the fields or the highways,<br />
+May, without offence or hurt,<br />
+From the soil contract a dirt<br />
+Which the next clear spring or river<br />
+Washes out and out for ever&mdash;<br />
+But to cherish stains impure,<br />
+Soil deliberate to endure,<br />
+On the skin to fix a stain<br />
+Till it works into the grain,<br />
+Argues a degenerate mind,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>Sordid, slothful, ill-inclined,<br />
+Wanting in that self-respect<br />
+Which does virtue best protect.<br />
+All-endearing cleanliness,<br />
+Virtue next to godliness,<br />
+Easiest, cheapest, needfull'st duty,<br />
+To the body health and beauty;<br />
+Who that's human would refuse it,<br />
+When a little water does it?<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Charles and Mary Lamb.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Wishing</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+Ring-ting! I wish I were a Primrose,<br />
+A bright yellow Primrose, blowing in the spring!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The stooping bough above me,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The wandering bee to love me,</span><br />
+The fern and moss to creep across,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the Elm-tree for our king!</span><br />
+<br />
+Nay,&mdash;stay! I wish I were an Elm-tree,<br />
+A great lofty Elm-tree, with green leaves gay!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The winds would set them dancing,</span><br />
+The sun and moonshine glance in,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And birds would house among the boughs,</span><br />
+And sweetly sing.<br />
+<br />
+Oh&mdash;no! I wish I were a Robin,&mdash;<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>A Robin, or a little Wren, everywhere to go,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through forest, field, or garden,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And ask no leave or pardon,</span><br />
+Till winter comes with icy thumbs<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To ruffle up our wing!</span><br />
+<br />
+Well,&mdash;tell! where should I fly to,<br />
+Where go sleep in the dark wood or dell?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Before the day was over,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Home must come the rover,</span><br />
+For mother's kiss,&mdash;sweeter this<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than any other thing.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>William Allingham.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Boy</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+The Boy from his bedroom window<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Look'd over the little town,</span><br />
+And away to the bleak black upland<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Under a clouded moon.</span><br />
+<br />
+The moon came forth from her cavern.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He saw the sudden gleam</span><br />
+Of a tarn in the swarthy moorland;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or perhaps the whole was a dream.</span><br />
+<br />
+For I never could find that water<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In all my walks and rides:</span><br />
+Far-off, in the Land of Memory,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">That midnight pool abides.</span><br />
+<br />
+Many fine things had I glimpse of,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And said, "I shall find them one day."</span><br />
+Whether within or without me<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They were, I cannot say.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>William Allingham.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Infant Joy</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+"I have no name,<br />
+I am but two days old."<br />
+What shall I call thee?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">"I happy am,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Joy is my name."</span><br />
+Sweet joy befall thee!<br />
+<br />
+Pretty joy!<br />
+Sweet joy but two days old!<br />
+Sweet joy I call thee.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Thou dost smile,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">I sing the while.</span><br />
+Sweet joy befall thee!<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>William Blake</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>A Blessing for the Blessed</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+When the sun has left the hill-top<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And the daisy fringe is furled,</span><br />
+When the birds from wood and meadow<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">In their hidden nests are curled,</span><br />
+Then I think of all the babies<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">That are sleeping in the world.</span><br />
+<br />
+There are babies in the high lands<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And babies in the low,</span><br />
+There are pale ones wrapped in furry skins<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">On the margin of the snow,</span><br />
+And brown ones naked in the isles<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Where all the spices grow.</span><br />
+<br />
+And some are in the palace<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">On a white and downy bed,</span><br />
+And some are in the garret<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">With a clout beneath their head,</span><br />
+And some are on the cold hard earth,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Whose mothers have no bread.</span><br />
+<br />
+O little men and women,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Dear flowers yet unblown&mdash;</span><br />
+O little kings and beggars<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Of the pageant yet unshown&mdash;</span><br />
+Sleep soft and dream pale dreams now,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">To-morrow is your own.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Laurence Alma Tadema.</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Piping Down the Valleys Wild</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Piping down the valleys wild,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Piping songs of pleasant glee,</span><br />
+On a cloud I saw a child,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he, laughing, said to me:</span><br />
+<br />
+"Pipe a song about a lamb."<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So I piped with merry cheer.</span><br />
+"Piper, pipe that song again."<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So I piped; he wept to hear.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sing thy songs of happy cheer."</span><br />
+So I sang the same again,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While he wept with joy to hear.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Piper, sit thee down and write,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In a book, that all may read."&mdash;</span><br />
+So he vanished from my sight,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I plucked a hollow reed,</span><br />
+<br />
+And I made a rural pen;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I stained the water clear</span><br />
+And I wrote my happy songs<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Every child may joy to hear.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>William Blake.</div>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>A Sleeping Child</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+Lips, lips, open!<br />
+Up comes a little bird that lives inside,<br />
+Up comes a little bird, and peeps, and out he flies.<br />
+<br />
+All the day he sits inside, and sometimes he sings;<br />
+Up he comes and out he goes at night to spread his wings.<br />
+<br />
+Little bird, little bird, whither will you go?<br />
+Round about the world while nobody can know.<br />
+<br />
+Little bird, little bird, whither do you flee?<br />
+Far away round the world while nobody can see.<br />
+<br />
+Little bird, little bird, how long will you roam?<br />
+All round the world and around again home.<br />
+<br />
+Round the round world, and back through the air,<br />
+When the morning comes, the little bird is there.<br />
+<br />
+Back comes the little bird, and looks, and in he flies.<br />
+Up wakes the little boy, and opens both his eyes.<br />
+<br />
+Sleep, sleep, little boy, little bird's away,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>Little bird will come again by the peep of day;<br />
+<br />
+Sleep, sleep, little boy, little bird must go<br />
+Round about the world, while nobody can know.<br />
+<br />
+Sleep, sleep sound, little bird goes round,<br />
+Round and round he goes,&mdash;sleep, sleep sound!<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Arthur Hugh Clough.</div>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Birdies with Broken Wings</i><a name="FNanchor_H_8" id="FNanchor_H_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_H_8" class="fnanchor">[H]</a><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Birdies with broken wings,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hide from each other;</span><br />
+But babies in trouble<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Can run home to mother.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Mary Mapes Dodge.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Seven Times One</i><br />
+
+<i><small>Exultation</small></i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+There's no dew left on the daisies and clover,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There's no rain left in heaven;</span><br />
+I've said my "seven times" over and over&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Seven times one are seven.</span><br />
+<br />
+I am old! so old I can write a letter;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My birthday lessons are done:</span><br />
+The lambs play always, they know no better;<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">They are only one times one.</span><br />
+<br />
+O Moon! in the night I have seen you sailing,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And shining so round and low;</span><br />
+You were bright! ah, bright! but your light is failing;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You are nothing now but a bow.</span><br />
+<br />
+You Moon! have you done something wrong in heaven,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That God has hidden your face?</span><br />
+I hope, if you have, you will soon be forgiven,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And shine again in your place.</span><br />
+<br />
+O velvet Bee! you're a dusty fellow,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You've powdered your legs with gold;</span><br />
+O brave marsh Mary-buds, rich and yellow!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Give me your money to hold.</span><br />
+<br />
+O Columbine! open your folded wrapper<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where two twin turtle-doves dwell;</span><br />
+O Cuckoo-pint! toll me the purple clapper,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That hangs in your clear, green bell.</span><br />
+<br />
+And show me your nest with the young ones in it&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I will not steal them away,</span><br />
+I am old! you may trust me, Linnet, Linnet,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I am seven times one to-day.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Jean Ingelow.</div>
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>I Remember, I Remember</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+I remember, I remember,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The house where I was born;</span><br />
+The little window where the sun<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Came peeping in at morn;</span><br />
+He never came a wink too soon,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor brought too long a day;</span><br />
+But now I often wish the night<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Had borne my breath away!</span><br />
+<br />
+I remember, I remember,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The roses, red and white,</span><br />
+The violets, and the lily-cups&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Those flowers made of light!</span><br />
+The lilacs where the robin built,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And where my brother set</span><br />
+The laburnum, on his birthday,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The tree is living yet!</span><br />
+<br />
+I remember, I remember,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where I was used to swing,</span><br />
+And thought the air must rush as fresh<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To swallows on the wing;</span><br />
+My spirit flew in feathers then,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That is so heavy now.</span><br />
+And summer pools could hardly cool<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">The fever on my brow!</span><br />
+<br />
+I remember, I remember,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The fir trees dark and high;</span><br />
+I used to think their slender tops<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were close against the sky;</span><br />
+It was a childish ignorance,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But now 'tis little joy</span><br />
+To know I'm farther off from heav'n<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than when I was a boy.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Thomas Hood.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Good-night and Good-morning</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+A fair little girl sat under a tree<br />
+Sewing as long as her eyes could see;<br />
+Then smoothed her work and folded it right,<br />
+And said, "Dear work, good-night, good-night!"<br />
+<br />
+Such a number of rooks came over her head<br />
+Crying, "Caw, caw!" on their way to bed;<br />
+She said, as she watched their curious flight,<br />
+"Little black things, good-night, good-night!"<br />
+<br />
+The horses neighed, and the oxen lowed;<br />
+The sheep's "Bleat, bleat!" came over the road.<br />
+All seeming to say, with a quiet delight,<br />
+"Good little girl, good-night, good-night!"<br />
+<br />
+She did not say to the sun, "Good-night!"<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>Though she saw him there like a ball of light;<br />
+For she knew he had God's own time to keep<br />
+All over the world, and never could sleep.<br />
+<br />
+The tall, pink Fox-glove bowed his head&mdash;<br />
+The Violets curtsied, and went to bed;<br />
+And good little Lucy tied up her hair,<br />
+And said, on her knees, her favorite prayer.<br />
+<br />
+And while on her pillow she softly lay,<br />
+She knew nothing more till again it was day,<br />
+And all things said to the beautiful sun,<br />
+"Good-morning, good-morning! our work is begun."<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>
+Lord Houghton.<br />
+(Richard Monckton Milnes.)<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Little Children</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Sporting through the forest wide;<br />
+Playing by the waterside;<br />
+Wandering o'er the heathy fells;<br />
+Down within the woodland dells;<br />
+All among the mountains wild,<br />
+Dwelleth many a little child!<br />
+In the baron's hall of pride;<br />
+By the poor man's dull fireside:<br />
+'Mid the mighty, 'mid the mean,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span>Little children may be seen,<br />
+Like the flowers that spring up fair,<br />
+Bright and countless everywhere!<br />
+In the far isles of the main;<br />
+In the desert's lone domain;<br />
+In the savage mountain-glen,<br />
+'Mong the tribes of swarthy men;<br />
+Whereso'er the sun hath shone<br />
+On a league of people'd ground,<br />
+Little children may be found!<br />
+Blessings on them! they in me<br />
+Move a kindly sympathy,<br />
+With their wishes, hopes, and fears;<br />
+With their laughter and their tears;<br />
+With their wonder so intense,<br />
+And their small experience!<br />
+Little children, not alone<br />
+On the wide earth are ye known,<br />
+'Mid its labours and its cares,<br />
+'Mid its sufferings and its snares;<br />
+Free from sorrow, free from strife,<br />
+In the world of love and life,<br />
+Where no sinful thing hath trod&mdash;<br />
+In the presence of your God,<br />
+Spotless, blameless, glorified&mdash;<br />
+Little children, ye abide!<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Mary Howitt.</div>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Angel's Whisper</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">A baby was sleeping;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Its mother was weeping;</span><br />
+For her husband was far on the wild raging sea;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">And the tempest was swelling</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Round the fisherman's dwelling,</span><br />
+And she cried, "Dermot, darling, Oh, come back to me!"<br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Her beads while she numbered</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">The baby still slumbered,</span><br />
+And smiled in her face as she bended her knee.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"Oh, blest be that warning,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Thy sweet sleep adorning,</span><br />
+For I know that the angels are whispering to thee!<br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"And while they are keeping</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Bright watch o'er thy sleeping,</span><br />
+Oh, pray to them softly, my baby, with me!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">And say thou would'st rather</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">They'd watch o'er thy father,</span><br />
+For I know that the angels are whispering to thee."<br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">The dawn of the morning</span><br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Saw Dermot returning,</span><br />
+And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">And closely caressing</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Her child with a blessing,</span><br />
+Said, "I knew that the angels were whispering to thee."<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Samuel Lover.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Little Garaine</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+"Where do the stars grow, little Garaine?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The garden of moons is it far away?</span><br />
+The orchard of suns, my little Garaine,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will you take us there some day?"</span><br />
+<br />
+"If you shut your eyes," quoth little Garaine,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I will show you the way to go</span><br />
+To the orchard of suns and the garden of moons<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the field where the stars do grow.</span><br />
+<br />
+"But you must speak soft," quoth little Garaine<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"And still must your footsteps be,</span><br />
+For a great bear prowls in the field of stars,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the moons they have men to see.</span><br />
+<br />
+"And the suns have the Children of Signs to guard,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And they have no pity at all&mdash;&mdash;</span><br />
+You must not stumble, you must not speak,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">When you come to the orchard wall.</span><br />
+<br />
+"The gates are locked," quoth little Garaine,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"But the way I am going to tell!</span><br />
+The key of your heart it will open them all<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And there's where the darlings dwell!"</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Sir Gilbert Parker.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>A Letter</i></div>
+
+<div class='center'><i><small>(To Lady Margaret Cavendish Holles-Harley, when a
+Child)</small></i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+My noble, lovely, little Peggy,<br />
+Let this my First Epistle beg ye,<br />
+At dawn of morn, and close of even,<br />
+To lift your heart and hands to Heaven.<br />
+In double duty say your prayer:<br />
+<i>Our Father</i> first, then <i>Notre P&egrave;re</i>.<br />
+<br />
+And, dearest child, along the day,<br />
+In every thing you do and say,<br />
+Obey and please my lord and lady,<br />
+So God shall love and angels aid ye.<br />
+<br />
+If to these precepts you attend,<br />
+No second letter need I send,<br />
+And so I rest your constant friend.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Matthew Prior.</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Love and the Child</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Toys, and treats, and pleasures pass<br />
+Like a shadow in a glass,<br />
+Like the smoke that mounts on high,<br />
+Like a noonday's butterfly.<br />
+<br />
+Quick they come and quick they end,<br />
+Like the money that I spend;<br />
+Some to-day, to-morrow more,<br />
+Short, like those that went before.<br />
+<br />
+Mother, fold me to your knees!<br />
+How much should I care for these&mdash;<br />
+Little joys that come and go!<br />
+If you did not love me so?<br />
+<br />
+And when things are sad or wrong,<br />
+Then I know that love is strong;<br />
+When I ache, or when I weep,<br />
+Then I know that love is deep.<br />
+<br />
+Father, now my prayer is said,<br />
+Lay your hand upon my head!<br />
+Pleasures pass from day to day,<br />
+But I know that love will stay.<br />
+<br />
+While I sleep it will be near;<br />
+I shall wake and find it here;<br />
+I shall feel it in the air<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span>When I say my morning prayer.<br />
+<br />
+Maker of this little heart!<br />
+Lord of love I know thou art!<br />
+Little heart! though thou forget,<br />
+Still the love is round thee set.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>William Brighty Rands.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Polly</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Brown eyes, straight nose;<br />
+Dirt pies, rumpled clothes.<br />
+<br />
+Torn books, spoilt toys:<br />
+Arch looks, unlike a boy's;<br />
+<br />
+Little rages, obvious arts;<br />
+(Three her age is), cakes, tarts;<br />
+<br />
+Falling down off chairs;<br />
+Breaking crown down stairs;<br />
+<br />
+Catching flies on the pane;<br />
+Deep sighs&mdash;cause not plain;<br />
+<br />
+Bribing you with kisses<br />
+For a few farthing blisses.<br />
+<br />
+Wide-a-wake; as you hear,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span>"Mercy's sake, quiet, dear!"<br />
+<br />
+New shoes, new frock;<br />
+Vague views of what's o'clock<br />
+<br />
+When it's time to go to bed,<br />
+And scorn sublime for what is said.<br />
+<br />
+Folded hands, saying prayers,<br />
+Understands not nor cares&mdash;<br />
+<br />
+Thinks it odd, smiles away;<br />
+Yet may God hear her pray!<br />
+<br />
+Bed gown white, kiss Dolly;<br />
+Good night!&mdash;that's Polly,<br />
+<br />
+Fast asleep, as you see,<br />
+Heaven keep my girl for me!<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>William Brighty Rands.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>A Chill</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+What can lambkins do<br />
+All the keen night through?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nestle by their woolly mother</span><br />
+The careful ewe.<br />
+<br />
+What can nestlings do<br />
+In the nightly dew?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sleep beneath their mother's wing</span><br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span>Till day breaks anew.<br />
+<br />
+If in field or tree<br />
+There might only be<br />
+Such a warm soft sleeping-place<br />
+Found for me!<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Christina G. Rossetti.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>A Child's Laughter</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+All the bells of heaven may ring,<br />
+All the birds of heaven may sing,<br />
+All the wells on earth may spring,<br />
+All the winds on earth may bring<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">All sweet sounds together;</span><br />
+Sweeter far than all things heard,<br />
+Hand of harper, tone of bird,<br />
+Sound of woods at sundawn stirred,<br />
+Welling water's winsome word,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Wind in warm, wan weather.</span><br />
+<br />
+One thing yet there is that none<br />
+Hearing, ere its chime be done<br />
+Knows not well the sweetest one<br />
+Heard of man beneath the sun,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Hoped in heaven hereafter;</span><br />
+Soft and strong and loud and light,<br />
+Very sound of very light,<br />
+Heard from morning's rosiest height,<br />
+When the soul of all delight<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Fills a child's clear laughter.</span><br />
+<br />
+Golden bells of welcome rolled<br />
+Never forth such note, nor told<br />
+Hours so blithe in tones so bold,<br />
+As the radiant month of gold<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Here that rings forth heaven.</span><br />
+If the golden-crested wren<br />
+Were a nightingale&mdash;why, then<br />
+Something seen and heard of men<br />
+Might be half as sweet as when<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Laughs a child of seven.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Algernon C. Swinburne.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The World's Music</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+The world's a very happy place,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where every child should dance and sing,</span><br />
+And always have a smiling face,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And never sulk for anything.</span><br />
+<br />
+I waken when the morning's come,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And feel the air and light alive</span><br />
+With strange sweet music like the hum<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of bees about their busy hive.</span><br />
+<br />
+The linnets play among the leaves<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At hide-and-seek, and chirp and sing;</span><br />
+While, flashing to and from the eaves,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">The swallows twitter on the wing.</span><br />
+<br />
+And twigs that shake, and boughs that sway;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And tall old trees you could not climb;</span><br />
+And winds that come, but cannot stay,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are singing gayly all the time.</span><br />
+<br />
+From dawn to dark the old mill-wheel<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Makes music, going round and round;</span><br />
+And dusty-white with flour and meal,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The miller whistles to its sound.</span><br />
+<br />
+The brook that flows beside the mill,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As happy as a brook can be,</span><br />
+Goes singing its old song until<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It learns the singing of the sea.</span><br />
+<br />
+For every wave upon the sands<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sings songs you never tire to hear,</span><br />
+Of laden ships from sunny lands<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where it is summer all the year.</span><br />
+<br />
+And if you listen to the rain<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where leaves and birds and bees are dumb,</span><br />
+You hear it pattering on the pane<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like Andrew beating on his drum.</span><br />
+<br />
+The coals beneath the kettle croon,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And clap their hands and dance in glee;</span><br />
+And even the kettle hums a tune<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">To tell you when it's time for tea.</span><br />
+<br />
+The world is such a happy place<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That children, whether big or small,</span><br />
+Should always have a smiling face<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And never, never sulk at all.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Gabriel Setoun.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Little Land</i><a name="FNanchor_I_9" id="FNanchor_I_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_I_9" class="fnanchor">[I]</a><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+When at home alone I sit<br />
+And am very tired of it,<br />
+I have just to shut my eyes<br />
+To go sailing through the skies&mdash;<br />
+To go sailing far away<br />
+To the pleasant Land of Play;<br />
+To the fairy land afar<br />
+Where the Little People are;<br />
+Where the clover-tops are trees,<br />
+And the rain-pools are the seas,<br />
+And the leaves like little ships<br />
+Sail about on tiny trips;<br />
+And above the daisy tree<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Through the grasses,</span><br />
+High o'erhead the Bumble Bee<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Hums and passes.</span><br />
+<br />
+In that forest to and fro<br />
+I can wander, I can go;<br />
+See the spider and the fly,<br />
+And the ants go marching by<br />
+Carrying parcels with their feet<br />
+Down the green and grassy street.<br />
+I can in the sorrel sit<br />
+Where the ladybird alit.<br />
+I can climb the jointed grass;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And on high</span><br />
+See the greater swallows pass<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In the sky,</span><br />
+And the round sun rolling by<br />
+Heeding no such thing as I.<br />
+<br />
+Through the forest I can pass<br />
+Till, as in a looking-glass,<br />
+Humming fly and daisy tree<br />
+And my tiny self I see,<br />
+Painted very clear and neat<br />
+On the rain-pool at my feet.<br />
+Should a leaflet come to land<br />
+Drifting near to where I stand,<br />
+Straight I'll board that tiny boat<br />
+Round the rain-pool sea to float.<br />
+<br />
+Little thoughtful creatures sit<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span>On the grassy coasts of it;<br />
+Little things with lovely eyes<br />
+See me sailing with surprise.<br />
+Some are clad in armour green&mdash;<br />
+(These have sure to battle been!)<br />
+Some are pied with ev'ry hue,<br />
+Black and crimson, gold and blue;<br />
+Some have wings and swift are gone:&mdash;<br />
+But they all look kindly on.<br />
+<br />
+When my eyes I once again<br />
+Open and see all things plain;<br />
+High bare walls, great bare floor;<br />
+Great big knobs on drawer and door;<br />
+Great big people perched on chairs,<br />
+Stitching tucks and mending tears,<br />
+Each a hill that I could climb,<br />
+And talking nonsense all the time&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O dear me,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That I could be</span><br />
+A sailor on the rain-pool sea,<br />
+A climber in the clover-tree,<br />
+And just come back, a sleepy-head,<br />
+Late at night to go to bed.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Robert Louis Stevenson.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>In a Garden</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Baby, see the flowers!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Baby sees</span><br />
+Fairer things than these,<br />
+Fairer though they be than dreams of ours.<br />
+<br />
+Baby, hear the birds!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Baby knows</span><br />
+Better songs than those,<br />
+Sweeter though they sound than sweetest words.<br />
+<br />
+Baby, see the moon!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Baby's eyes</span><br />
+Laugh to watch it rise,<br />
+Answering light with love and night with noon.<br />
+<br />
+Baby, hear the sea!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Baby's face</span><br />
+Takes a graver grace,<br />
+Touched with wonder what the sound may be.<br />
+<br />
+Baby, see the star!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Baby's hand</span><br />
+Opens, warm and bland,<br />
+Calm in claim of all things fair that are.<br />
+<br />
+Baby, hear the bells!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Baby's head</span><br />
+Bows as ripe for bed,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span>Now the flowers curl round and close their cells.<br />
+<br />
+Baby, flower of light,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sleep and see</span><br />
+Brighter dreams than we,<br />
+Till good day shall smile away good night.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Algernon Charles Swinburne</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Little Gustava</i></div>
+
+<div class='center'>I<br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+Little Gustava sits in the sun,<br />
+Safe in the porch, and the little drops run<br />
+From the icicles under the eaves so fast,<br />
+For the bright spring sun shines warm at last,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And glad is little Gustava.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />II<br /><br /></div>
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+She wears a quaint little scarlet cap,<br />
+And a little green bowl she holds in her lap,<br />
+Filled with bread and milk to the brim,<br />
+And a wreath of marigolds round the rim.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Ha! ha!" laughs little Gustava.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />III<br /><br /></div>
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+Up comes her little gray coaxing cat<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span>With her little pink nose, and she mews, "What's that?"<br />
+Gustava feeds her,&mdash;she begs for more;<br />
+And a little brown hen walks in at the door<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">"Good day!" cries little Gustava.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />IV<br /><br /></div>
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+She scatters crumbs for the little brown hen.<br />
+There comes a rush and a flutter, and then<br />
+Down fly her little white doves so sweet,<br />
+With their snowy wings and crimson feet:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Welcome!" cries little Gustava.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />V<br /><br /></div>
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+So dainty and eager they pick up the crumbs.<br />
+But who is this through the doorway comes?<br />
+Little Scotch terrier, little dog Rags,<br />
+Looks in her face, and his funny tail wags:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Ha, ha!" laughs little Gustava.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />VI<br /><br /></div>
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+"You want some breakfast too?" and down<br />
+She sets her bowl on brick floor brown;<br />
+And little dog Rags drinks up her milk,<br />
+While she strokes his shaggy locks like silk:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Dear Rags!" says little Gustava.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />VII<br /><br /></div>
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+Waiting without stood sparrow and crow,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>Cooling their feet in the melting snow:<br />
+"Won't you come in, good folk?" she cried.<br />
+But they were too bashful, and stood outside<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Though "Pray come in!" cried Gustava.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />VIII<br /><br /></div>
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+So the last she threw them, and knelt on the mat<br />
+With doves and biddy and dog and cat.<br />
+And her mother came to the open house-door<br />
+"Dear little daughter, I bring you some more.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My merry little Gustava!"</span><br />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />IX<br /><br /></div>
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+Kitty and terrier, biddy and doves,<br />
+All things harmless Gustava loves.<br />
+The shy, kind creatures 'tis joy to feed,<br />
+And oh her breakfast is sweet indeed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To happy little Gustava!</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Celia Thaxter.</div>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>A Bunch of Roses</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+The rosy mouth and rosy toe<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Of little baby brother,</span><br />
+Until about a month ago<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Had never met each other;</span><br />
+But nowadays the neighbours sweet,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">In every sort of weather,</span><br />
+Half way with rosy fingers meet,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">To kiss and play together.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>John B. Tabb.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Child</i><br />
+
+<i><small>At Bethlehem</small></i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+Long, long before the Babe could speak,<br />
+When he would kiss his mother's cheek<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And to her bosom press,</span><br />
+The brightest angels standing near<br />
+Would turn away to hide a tear&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">For they are motherless.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>John B. Tabb</div>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>After the Storm</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+And when,&mdash;its force expended,<br />
+The harmless storm was ended,<br />
+And as the sunrise splendid<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Came blushing o'er the sea&mdash;</span><br />
+I thought, as day was breaking,<br />
+My little girls were waking,<br />
+And smiling and making<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">A prayer at home for me.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>William Makepeace Thackeray.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Lucy Gray</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And, when I crossed the wild,</span><br />
+I chanced to see at break of day<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The solitary child.</span><br />
+<br />
+No mate, no comrade, Lucy knew;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She dwelt on a wide moor,&mdash;</span><br />
+The sweetest thing that ever grew<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beside a human door!</span><br />
+<br />
+You yet may spy the fawn at play,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The hare upon the green;</span><br />
+But the sweet face of Lucy Gray<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will never more be seen.</span><br />
+<br />
+"To-night will be a stormy night&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You to the town must go:</span><br />
+And take a lantern, child, to light<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your mother through the snow."</span><br />
+<br />
+"That, father, will I gladly do:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Tis scarcely afternoon&mdash;</span><br />
+The minster-clock has just struck two;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And yonder is the moon."</span><br />
+<br />
+At this the father raised his hook,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And snapped a faggot-band;</span><br />
+He plied his work;&mdash;and Lucy took<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The lantern in her hand.</span><br />
+<br />
+Not blither is the mountain roe:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With many a wanton stroke</span><br />
+Her feet disperse the powdery snow,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That rises up like smoke.</span><br />
+<br />
+The storm came on before its time<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She wandered up and down;</span><br />
+And many a hill did Lucy climb,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But never reached the town.</span><br />
+<br />
+The wretched parents all that night<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Went shouting far and wide;</span><br />
+But there was neither sound nor sight<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">To serve them for a guide.</span><br />
+<br />
+At daybreak on a hill they stood<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That overlooked the moor;</span><br />
+And thence they saw the bridge of wood,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A furlong from their door.</span><br />
+<br />
+They wept&mdash;and, turning homeward, cried,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"In heaven we all shall meet!"</span><br />
+When in the snow the mother spied<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The print of Lucy's feet.</span><br />
+<br />
+Then downwards from the steep hill's edge<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They tracked the footmarks small;</span><br />
+And through the broken hawthorn hedge,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And by the low stone wall:</span><br />
+<br />
+And then an open field they crossed;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The marks were still the same;</span><br />
+They tracked them on, nor ever lost;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And to the bridge they came.</span><br />
+<br />
+They follow from the snowy bank<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Those footmarks, one by one,</span><br />
+Into the middle of the plank;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And further there were none!</span><br />
+<br />
+&mdash;Yet some maintain that to this day<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She is a living child;</span><br />
+That you may see sweet Lucy Gray<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon the lonesome wild.</span><br />
+<br />
+O'er rough and smooth she trips along,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And never looks behind;</span><br />
+And sings a solitary song<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That whistles in the wind.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>William Wordsworth</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Deaf and Dumb</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+He lies on the grass, looking up to the sky;<br />
+Blue butterflies pass like a breath or a sigh,<br />
+The shy little hare runs confidingly near,<br />
+And wise rabbits stare with inquiry, not fear:<br />
+Gay squirrels have found him and made him their choice;<br />
+All creatures flock round him, and seem to rejoice.<br />
+<br />
+Wild ladybirds leap on his cheek fresh and fair,<br />
+Young partridges creep, nestling under his hair,<br />
+Brown honey-bees drop something sweet on his lips,<br />
+Rash grasshoppers hop on his round finger-tips,<br />
+Birds hover above him with musical call;<br />
+All things seem to love him, and he loves them all.<br />
+<br />
+Is nothing afraid of the boy lying there?<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span>Would all nature aid if he wanted its care?<br />
+Things timid and wild with soft eagerness come.<br />
+Ah, poor little child!&mdash;he is deaf&mdash;he is dumb.<br />
+But what can have brought them? but how can they know?<br />
+What instinct has taught them to cherish him so?<br />
+<br />
+Since first he could walk they have served him like this.<br />
+His lips could not talk, but they found they could kiss.<br />
+They made him a court, and they crowned him a king;<br />
+Ah, who could have thought of so lovely a thing?<br />
+They found him so pretty, they gave him their hearts,<br />
+And some divine pity has taught them their parts!<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>"A."</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Blind Boy</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+O, say, what is that thing called Light,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which I must ne'er enjoy?</span><br />
+What are the blessings of the sight?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O tell your poor blind boy!</span><br />
+<br />
+You talk of wondrous things you see;<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">You say the sun shines bright;</span><br />
+I feel him warm, but how can he<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Make either day or night?</span><br />
+<br />
+My day and night myself I make,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whene'er I sleep or play,</span><br />
+And could I always keep awake,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With me 'twere always day.</span><br />
+<br />
+With heavy sighs I often hear<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You mourn my hapless woe;</span><br />
+But sure with patience I can bear<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A loss I ne'er can know.</span><br />
+<br />
+Then let not what I cannot have<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My peace of mind destroy;</span><br />
+Whilst thus I sing, I am a king,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Although a poor blind boy!</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Colley Cibber.</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<h2>VII</h2><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<h2>PLAY-TIME</h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;">
+<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<div class='poem'>
+<i>The world's a very happy place,</i><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Where every child should dance and sing,</i></span><br />
+<i>And always have a smiling face,</i><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>And never sulk for anything.</i></span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'><i>Gabriel Setoun.</i></div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>PLAY-TIME</h2>
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;">
+<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>A Boy's Song</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Where the pools are bright and deep,<br />
+Where the gray trout lies asleep,<br />
+Up the river and o'er the lea,<br />
+That's the way for Billy and me.<br />
+<br />
+Where the blackbird sings the latest,<br />
+Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest,<br />
+Where the nestlings chirp and flee,<br />
+That's the way for Billy and me.<br />
+<br />
+Where the mowers mow the cleanest,<br />
+Where the hay lies thick and greenest,<br />
+There to trace the homeward bee,<br />
+That's the way for Billy and me.<br />
+<br />
+Where the hazel bank is steepest,<br />
+Where the shadow falls the deepest,<br />
+Where the clustering nuts fall free,<br />
+That's the way for Billy and me.<br />
+<br />
+Why the boys should drive away<br />
+Little sweet maidens from the play,<br />
+Or love to banter and fight so well,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span>That's the thing I never could tell.<br />
+<br />
+But this I know, I love to play,<br />
+Through the meadow, among the hay,<br />
+Up the water and o'er the lea,<br />
+That's the way for Billy and me.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>James Hogg (The Ettrick Shepherd).</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Lost Doll</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+I once had a sweet little doll, dears,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The prettiest doll in the world;</span><br />
+Her cheeks were so red and white, dears,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And her hair was so charmingly curled.</span><br />
+But I lost my poor little doll, dears,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As I played on the heath one day;</span><br />
+And I cried for her more than a week, dears,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I never could find where she lay.</span><br />
+<br />
+I found my poor little doll, dears,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As I played on the heath one day;</span><br />
+Folks say she is terribly changed, dears,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For her paint is all washed away,</span><br />
+And her arms trodden off by the cows, dears,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And her hair not the least bit curled;</span><br />
+Yet for old sake's sake, she is still, dears,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The prettiest doll in the world.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Charles Kingsley</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Dolladine</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+This is her picture&mdash;Dolladine&mdash;<br />
+The beautifullest doll that ever was seen!<br />
+Oh, what nosegays! Oh, what sashes!<br />
+Oh, what beautiful eyes and lashes!<br />
+<br />
+Oh, what a precious perfect pet!<br />
+On each instep a pink rosette;<br />
+Little blue shoes for her little blue tots;<br />
+Elegant ribbons in bows and knots.<br />
+<br />
+Her hair is powdered; her arms are straight,<br />
+Only feel, she is quite a weight!<br />
+Her legs are limp, though;&mdash;stand up, miss!&mdash;<br />
+What a beautiful buttoned-up mouth to kiss!<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>William Brighty Rands.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Dressing the Doll</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+This is the way we dress the Doll:&mdash;<br />
+You may make her a shepherdess, the Doll,<br />
+If you give her a crook with a pastoral hook,<br />
+But this is the way we dress the Doll.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br /><span class="smcap">Chorus</span>.<br /><br /></div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Bless the Doll, you may press the Doll,<br />
+But do not crumple and mess the Doll!<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span>This is the way we dress the Doll.<br />
+First, you observe her little chemise,<br />
+As white as milk, with ruches of silk;<br />
+And the little drawers that cover her knees.<br />
+As she sits or stands, with golden bands,<br />
+And lace in beautiful filagrees.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><span class="smcap">Chorus</span>.<br /><br /></div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Bless the Doll, you may press the Doll,<br />
+But do not crumple or mess the Doll!<br />
+This is the way we dress the Doll.<br />
+<br />
+Now these are the bodies: she has two,<br />
+One of pink, with ruches of blue,<br />
+And sweet white lace; be careful, do!<br />
+And one of green, with buttons of sheen,<br />
+Buttons and bands of gold, I mean,<br />
+With lace on the border in lovely order,<br />
+The most expensive we can afford her!<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><span class="smcap">Chorus</span>.<br /><br /></div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Bless the Doll, you may press the Doll,<br />
+But do not crumple or mess the Doll!<br />
+This is the way we dress the Doll.<br />
+<br />
+Then, with black at the border, jacket<br />
+And this&mdash;and this&mdash;she will not lack it;<br />
+Skirts? Why, there are skirts, of course,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span>And shoes and stockings we shall enforce,<br />
+With a proper bodice, in the proper place<br />
+(Stays that lace have had their days<br />
+And made their martyrs); likewise garters,<br />
+All entire. But our desire<br />
+Is to show you her night attire,<br />
+At least a part of it. Pray admire<br />
+This sweet white thing that she goes to bed in!<br />
+It's not the one that's made for her wedding;<br />
+<i>That</i> is special, a new design,<br />
+Made with a charm and a countersign,<br />
+Three times three and nine times nine:<br />
+These are only her usual clothes:<br />
+Look, <i>there's</i> a wardrobe! gracious knows<br />
+It's pretty enough, as far as it goes!<br />
+<br />
+So you see the way we dress the Doll:<br />
+You might make her a shepherdess, the Doll,<br />
+If you gave her a crook with a pastoral hook,<br />
+With sheep, and a shed, and a shallow brook,<br />
+And all that, out of the poetry-book.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><span class="smcap">Chorus</span>.<br /><br /></div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Bless the Doll, you may press the Doll,<br />
+But do not crumple and mess the Doll!<br />
+This is the way we dress the Doll;<br />
+If you had not seen, could you guess the Doll?<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>William Brighty Rands.</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Pedlar's Caravan</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+I wish I lived in a caravan,<br />
+With a horse to drive, like a pedlar-man!<br />
+Where he comes from nobody knows,<br />
+Or where he goes to, but on he goes!<br />
+<br />
+His caravan has windows two,<br />
+And a chimney of tin, that the smoke comes through;<br />
+He has a wife, with a baby brown,<br />
+And they go riding from town to town.<br />
+<br />
+Chairs to mend, and delf to sell!<br />
+He clashes the basins like a bell;<br />
+Tea-trays, baskets ranged in order,<br />
+Plates with the alphabet round the border!<br />
+<br />
+The roads are brown, and the sea is green,<br />
+But his house is just like a bathing-machine;<br />
+The world is round, and he can ride,<br />
+Rumble and splash, to the other side!<br />
+<br />
+With the pedlar-man I should like to roam,<br />
+And write a book when I came home;<br />
+All the people would read my book,<br />
+Just like the Travels of Captain Cook!<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>William Brighty Rands.</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>A Sea-Song from the Shore</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Hail! Ho!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Sail! Ho!</span><br />
+Ahoy! Ahoy! Ahoy!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Who calls to me,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">So far at sea?</span><br />
+Only a little boy!<br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Sail! Ho!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Hail! Ho!</span><br />
+The sailor he sails the sea:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I wish he would capture a little sea-horse</span><br />
+And send him home to me.<br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I wish, as he sails</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Through the tropical gales,</span><br />
+He would catch me a sea-bird, too,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">With its silver wings</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And the song it sings,</span><br />
+And its breast of down and dew!<br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I wish he would catch me a</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Little mermaid,</span><br />
+Some island where he lands,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">With her dripping curls,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And her crown of pearls,</span><br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span>And the looking-glass in her hands!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Hail! Ho!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Sail! Ho!</span><br />
+Sail far o'er the fabulous main!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And if I were a sailor,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I'd sail with you,</span><br />
+Though I never sailed back again.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>James Whitcomb Riley.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Land of Story-Books</i><a name="FNanchor_J_10" id="FNanchor_J_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_J_10" class="fnanchor">[J]</a><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+At evening when the lamp is lit,<br />
+Around the fire my parents sit;<br />
+They sit at home and talk and sing,<br />
+And do not play at anything.<br />
+<br />
+Now, with my little gun, I crawl<br />
+All in the dark along the wall,<br />
+And follow round the forest track<br />
+Away behind the sofa back.<br />
+<br />
+There, in the night, where none can spy,<br />
+All in my hunter's camp I lie,<br />
+And play at books that I have read<br />
+Till it is time to go to bed.<br />
+<br />
+These are the hills, these are the woods,<br />
+These are my starry solitudes;<br />
+And there the river by whose brink<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span>The roaring lions come to drink.<br />
+<br />
+I see the others far away<br />
+As if in firelit camp they lay,<br />
+And I, like to an Indian scout,<br />
+Around their party prowled about.<br />
+<br />
+So, when my nurse comes in for me,<br />
+Home I return across the sea,<br />
+And go to bed with backward looks<br />
+At my dear land of Story-books.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Robert Louis Stevenson.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The City Child</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+Dainty little maiden, whither would you wander?<br />
+Whither from this pretty home, the home where mother dwells?<br />
+"Far and far away," said the dainty little maiden,<br />
+"All among the gardens, auriculas, anemones,<br />
+Roses and lilies and Canterbury bells."<br />
+<br />
+Dainty little maiden, whither would you wander?<br />
+Whither from this pretty house, this city-house of ours?<br />
+"Far and far away," said the dainty little maiden,<br />
+"All among the meadows, the clover and the clematis,<br />
+Daisies and kingcups and honeysuckle-flowers."<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Alfred, Lord Tennyson.</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Going into Breeches</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Joy to Philip! he this day<br />
+Has his long coats cast away,<br />
+And (the childish season gone)<br />
+Put the manly breeches on.<br />
+Officer on gay parade,<br />
+Red-coat in his first cockade,<br />
+Bridegroom in his wedding-trim,<br />
+Birthday beau surpassing him,<br />
+Never did with conscious gait<br />
+Strut about in half the state<br />
+Or the pride (yet free from sin)<br />
+Of my little <span class="smcap">manikin</span>:<br />
+Never was there pride or bliss<br />
+Half so rational as his.<br />
+Sashes, frocks, to those that need 'em,<br />
+Philip's limbs have got their freedom&mdash;<br />
+He can run, or he can ride,<br />
+And do twenty things beside,<br />
+Which his petticoats forbade;<br />
+Is he not a happy lad?<br />
+Now he's under other banners<br />
+He must leave his former manners;<br />
+Bid adieu to female games<br />
+And forget their very names;<br />
+Puss-in-corners, hide-and-seek,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span>Sports for girls and punies weak!<br />
+Baste-the-bear he now may play at;<br />
+Leap-frog, foot-ball sport away at;<br />
+Show his skill and strength at cricket,<br />
+Mark his distance, pitch his wicket;<br />
+Run about in winter's snow<br />
+Till his cheeks and fingers glow;<br />
+Climb a tree or scale a wall<br />
+Without any fear to fall.<br />
+If he get a hurt or bruise,<br />
+To complain he must refuse,<br />
+Though the anguish and the smart<br />
+Go unto his little heart;<br />
+He must have his courage ready,<br />
+Keep his voice and visage steady;<br />
+Brace his eyeballs stiff as drum,<br />
+That a tear may never come;<br />
+And his grief must only speak<br />
+From the colour in his cheek.<br />
+This and more he must endure,<br />
+Hero he in miniature.<br />
+This and more must now be done,<br />
+Now the breeches are put on.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Charles and Mary Lamb.</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Hunting Song</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Up, up! ye dames and lasses gay!<br />
+To the meadows trip away.<br />
+'Tis you must tend the flocks this morn,<br />
+And scare the small birds from the corn,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Not a soul at home may stay:</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">For the shepherds must go</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">With lance and bow</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day.</span><br />
+<br />
+Leave the hearth and leave the house<br />
+To the cricket and the mouse:<br />
+Find grannam out a sunny seat,<br />
+With babe and lambkin at her feet.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Not a soul at home may stay:</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">For the shepherds must go</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">With lance and bow</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Samuel Taylor Coleridge.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Hie Away</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Hie away, hie away!<br />
+Over bank and over brae,<br />
+Where the copsewood is the greenest,<br />
+Where the fountains glisten sheenest,<br />
+Where the lady fern grows strongest,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span>Where the morning dew lies longest,<br />
+Where the blackcock sweetest sips it,<br />
+Where the fairy latest trips it:<br />
+Hie to haunts right seldom seen,<br />
+Lovely, lonesome, cool, and green,<br />
+Over bank and over brae,<br />
+Hie away, hie away!<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Sir Walter Scott.</div>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></p>
+<h2>VIII</h2>
+
+<h2>STORY TIME</h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;">
+<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<div class='poem'>
+<i>And I made a rural pen;</i><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>And I stained the water clear</i></span><br />
+<i>And I wrote my happy songs</i><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Every child may joy to hear.</i></span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'><i>William Blake.</i></div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>STORY TIME</h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;">
+<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Fairy Folk</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Come cuddle close in daddy's coat<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beside the fire so bright,</span><br />
+And hear about the fairy folk<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That wander in the night.</span><br />
+For when the stars are shining clear<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all the world is still,</span><br />
+They float across the silver moon<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From hill to cloudy hill.</span><br />
+<br />
+Their caps of red, their cloaks of green,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are hung with silver bells,</span><br />
+And when they're shaken with the wind<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their merry ringing swells.</span><br />
+And riding on the crimson moth,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With black spots on his wings,</span><br />
+They guide them down the purple sky<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">With golden bridle rings.</span><br />
+<br />
+They love to visit girls and boys<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To see how sweet they sleep,</span><br />
+To stand beside their cosy cots<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And at their faces peep.</span><br />
+For in the whole of fairy land<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They have no finer sight</span><br />
+Than little children sleeping sound<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With faces rosy bright.</span><br />
+<br />
+On tip-toe crowding round their heads,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When bright the moonlight beams,</span><br />
+They whisper little tender words<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That fill their minds with dreams;</span><br />
+And when they see a sunny smile,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With lightest finger tips</span><br />
+They lay a hundred kisses sweet<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon the ruddy lips.</span><br />
+<br />
+And then the little spotted moths<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Spread out their crimson wings,</span><br />
+And bear away the fairy crowd<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With shaking bridle rings.</span><br />
+Come bairnies, hide in daddy's coat,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beside the fire so bright&mdash;</span><br />
+Perhaps the little fairy folk<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will visit you to-night.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Robert Bird.</div>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>A Fairy in Armor</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+He put his acorn helmet on;<br />
+It was plumed of the silk of the thistle down;<br />
+The corslet plate that guarded his breast<br />
+Was once the wild bee's golden vest;<br />
+His cloak, of a thousand mingled dyes,<br />
+Was formed of the wings of butterflies;<br />
+His shield was the shell of a lady-bug green,<br />
+Studs of gold on a ground of green;<br />
+And the quivering lance which he brandished bright,<br />
+Was the sting of a wasp he had slain in fight.<br />
+Swift he bestrode his fire-fly steed;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He bared his blade of the bent-grass blue;</span><br />
+He drove his spurs of the cockle-seed,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And away like a glance of thought he flew,</span><br />
+To skim the heavens, and follow far<br />
+The fiery trail of the rocket-star.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Joseph Rodman Drake.</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Last Voyage of the Fairies</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Down the bright stream the Fairies float,&mdash;<br />
+A water-lily is their boat.<br />
+<br />
+Long rushes they for paddles take,<br />
+Their mainsail of a bat's wing make;<br />
+<br />
+The tackle is of cobwebs neat,&mdash;<br />
+With glow-worm lantern all's complete.<br />
+<br />
+So down the broad'ning stream they float,<br />
+With Puck as pilot of the boat.<br />
+<br />
+The Queen on speckled moth-wings lies,<br />
+And lifts at times her languid eyes<br />
+<br />
+To mark the green and mossy spots<br />
+Where bloom the blue forget-me-nots:<br />
+<br />
+Oberon, on his rose-bud throne,<br />
+Claims the fair valley as his own:<br />
+<br />
+And elves and fairies, with a shout<br />
+Which may be heard a yard about,<br />
+<br />
+Hail him as Elfland's mighty King;<br />
+And hazel-nuts in homage bring,<br />
+<br />
+And bend the unreluctant knee,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span>And wave their wands in loyalty.<br />
+<br />
+Down the broad stream the Fairies float,<br />
+An unseen power impels their boat;<br />
+<br />
+The banks fly past&mdash;each wooded scene&mdash;<br />
+The elder copse&mdash;the poplars green&mdash;<br />
+<br />
+And soon they feel the briny breeze<br />
+With salt and savour of the seas&mdash;<br />
+<br />
+Still down the stream the Fairies float,<br />
+An unseen power impels their boat;<br />
+<br />
+Until they mark the rushing tide<br />
+Within the estuary wide.<br />
+<br />
+And now they're tossing on the sea,<br />
+Where waves roll high, and winds blow free,&mdash;<br />
+<br />
+Ah, mortal vision nevermore<br />
+Shall see the Fairies on the shore,<br />
+<br />
+Or watch upon a summer night<br />
+Their mazy dances of delight!<br />
+<br />
+Far, far away upon the sea,<br />
+The waves roll high, the breeze blows free!<br />
+<br />
+The Queen on speckled moth-wings lies,<br />
+Slow gazing with a strange surprise<br />
+<br />
+Where swim the sea-nymphs on the tide<br />
+Or on the backs of dolphins ride:<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span><br />
+The King, upon his rose-bud throne,<br />
+Pales as he hears the waters moan;<br />
+<br />
+The elves have ceased their sportive play,<br />
+Hushed by the slowly sinking day:<br />
+<br />
+And still afar, afar they float,<br />
+The Fairies in their fragile boat,&mdash;<br />
+<br />
+Further and further from the shore,<br />
+And lost to mortals evermore!<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>W. H. Davenport Adams.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>A New Fern</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+A Fairy has found a new fern!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A lovely surprise of the May!</span><br />
+She stamps her wee foot, looks uncommonly stern,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And keeps other fairies at bay.</span><br />
+<br />
+She watches it flourish and grow&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What exquisite pleasure is hers!</span><br />
+She kisses it, strokes it and fondles it so&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I almost believe that she purrs!</span><br />
+<br />
+Of all the most beautiful things,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">None brighter than this I discern,</span><br />
+To be a young fairy, with glittering wings,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And then&mdash;to discover a fern!</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>"A."</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Child and the Fairies</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+The woods are full of fairies!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The trees are all alive:</span><br />
+The river overflows with them,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">See how they dip and dive!</span><br />
+What funny little fellows!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What dainty little dears!</span><br />
+They dance and leap, and prance and peep,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And utter fairy cheers!</span><br />
+<br />
+<b>. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;.</b><br />
+<br />
+I'd like to tame a fairy,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To keep it on a shelf,</span><br />
+To see it wash its little face,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And dress its little self.</span><br />
+I'd teach it pretty manners,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It always should say "Please;"</span><br />
+And then you know I'd make it sew,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And curtsey with its knees!</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>"A."</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Little Elf</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+I met a little Elf-man, once,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Down where the lilies blow.</span><br />
+I asked him why he was so small<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And why he didn't grow.</span><br />
+<br />
+He slightly frowned, and with his eye<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He looked me through and through.</span><br />
+"I'm quite as big for me," said he,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"As you are big for you."</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>John Kendrick Bangs.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<div class='center'><br /><i>"One, Two, Three"</i><a name="FNanchor_K_11" id="FNanchor_K_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_K_11" class="fnanchor">[K]</a><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+It was an old, old, old, old lady<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a boy that was half-past three,</span><br />
+And the way that they played together<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was beautiful to see.</span><br />
+<br />
+She couldn't go romping and jumping,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the boy, no more could he;</span><br />
+For he was a thin little fellow,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a thin little twisted knee.</span><br />
+<br />
+They sat in the yellow sunlight,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Out under the maple tree,</span><br />
+And the game that they played I'll tell you,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just as it was told to me.</span><br />
+<br />
+It was Hide-and-Go-Seek they were playing.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though you'd never have known it to be&mdash;</span><br />
+With an old, old, old, old lady<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a boy with a twisted knee.</span><br />
+<br />
+The boy would bend his face down<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On his little sound right knee.</span><br />
+And he guessed where she was hiding<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In guesses One, Two, Three.</span><br />
+<br />
+"You are in the china closet!"<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He would cry and laugh with glee&mdash;</span><br />
+It wasn't the china closet,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But he still had Two and Three.</span><br />
+<br />
+"You are up in papa's big bedroom,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the chest with the queer old key,"</span><br />
+And she said: "You are warm and warmer;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But you are not quite right," said she.</span><br />
+<br />
+"It can't be the little cupboard<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where mamma's things used to be&mdash;</span><br />
+So it must be in the clothes press, Gran'ma,"<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he found her with his Three.</span><br />
+<br />
+Then she covered her face with her fingers,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That were wrinkled and white and wee,</span><br />
+And she guessed where the boy was hiding,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a One and a Two and a Three.</span><br />
+<br />
+And they never had stirred from their places<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Right under the maple tree&mdash;</span><br />
+This old, old, old, old lady<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the boy with the lame little knee&mdash;</span><br />
+This dear, dear, dear old lady<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the boy who was half-past three.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Henry C. Bunner.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>What May Happen to a Thimble</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Come about the meadow,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hunt here and there,</span><br />
+Where's mother's thimble?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Can you tell where?</span><br />
+Jane saw her wearing it,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fan saw it fall,</span><br />
+Ned isn't sure<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That she dropp'd it at all.</span><br />
+<br />
+Has a mouse carried it<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Down to her hole&mdash;</span><br />
+Home full of twilight,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shady, small soul?</span><br />
+Can she be darning there,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ere the light fails,</span><br />
+Small ragged stockings&mdash;<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tiny torn tails?</span><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Did a finch fly with it<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Into the hedge,</span><br />
+Or a reed-warbler<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Down in the sedge?</span><br />
+Are they carousing there,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All the night through?</span><br />
+Such a great goblet,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Brimful of dew!</span><br />
+<br />
+Have beetles crept with it<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where oak roots hide?</span><br />
+There have they settled it<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Down on its side?</span><br />
+Neat little kennel,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So cosy and dark,</span><br />
+Has one crept into it,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Trying to bark?</span><br />
+<br />
+Have the ants cover'd it<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With straw and sand?</span><br />
+Roomy bell-tent for them,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So tall and grand;</span><br />
+Where the red soldier-ants<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lie, loll, and lean&mdash;</span><br />
+While the blacks steadily<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Build for their queen.</span><br />
+<br />
+Has a huge dragon-fly<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Borne it (how cool!)</span><br />
+To his snug dressing-room,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the clear pool?</span><br />
+There will he try it on,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For a new hat&mdash;</span><br />
+Nobody watching<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But one water-rat?</span><br />
+<br />
+Did the flowers fight for it,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While, undecried,</span><br />
+One selfish daisy<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Slipp'd it aside;</span><br />
+Now has she plunged it in<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Close to her feet&mdash;</span><br />
+Nice private water-tank<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For summer heat?</span><br />
+<br />
+Did spiders snatch at it<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wanting to look</span><br />
+At the bright pebbles<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which lie in the brook?</span><br />
+Now are they using it<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Nobody knows!)</span><br />
+Safe little diving-bell,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shutting so close?</span><br />
+<br />
+Hunt for it, hope for it,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All through the moss;</span><br />
+Dip for it, grope for it&mdash;<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Tis such a loss!</span><br />
+Jane finds a drop of dew,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fan finds a stone;</span><br />
+I find the thimble,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which is mother's own!</span><br />
+<br />
+Run with it, fly with it&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Don't let it fall;</span><br />
+All did their best for it&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mother thanks all.</span><br />
+Just as we give it her,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Think what a shame!&mdash;</span><br />
+Ned says he's sure<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That it isn't the same!</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>"B."</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Discontent</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Down in a field, one day in June,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The flowers all bloomed together,</span><br />
+Save one, who tried to hide herself,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And drooped that pleasant weather.</span><br />
+<br />
+A robin, who had flown too high,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And felt a little lazy,</span><br />
+Was resting near a buttercup<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who wished she were a daisy.</span><br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span><br />
+For daisies grew so trig and tall!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She always had a passion</span><br />
+For wearing frills around her neck,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In just the daisies' fashion.</span><br />
+<br />
+And buttercups must always be<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The same old tiresome color;</span><br />
+While daisies dress in gold and white,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Although their gold is duller.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Dear robin," said the sad young flower,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Perhaps you'd not mind trying</span><br />
+To find a nice white frill for me,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some day when you are flying?"</span><br />
+<br />
+"You silly thing!" the robin said,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I think you must be crazy:</span><br />
+I'd rather be my honest self,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than any made-up daisy.</span><br />
+<br />
+"You're nicer in your own bright gown;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The little children love you:</span><br />
+Be the best buttercup you can,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And think no flower above you.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Though swallows leave me out of sight,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We'd better keep our places:</span><br />
+Perhaps the world would all go wrong<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">With one too many daisies.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Look bravely up into the sky,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And be content with knowing</span><br />
+That God wished for a buttercup<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just here, where you are growing."</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Sarah Orne Jewett.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Nightingale and the Glowworm</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+A nightingale that all day long<br />
+Had cheered the village with his song,<br />
+Nor yet at eve his note suspended,<br />
+Nor yet when eventide was ended,<br />
+Began to feel, as well he might,<br />
+The keen demands of appetite;<br />
+When looking eagerly around,<br />
+He spied far off, upon the ground,<br />
+A something shining in the dark,<br />
+And knew the glowworm by his spark;<br />
+So, stooping down from hawthorn top,<br />
+He thought to put him in his crop.<br />
+<br />
+The worm, aware of his intent,<br />
+Harangued him thus, right eloquent:<br />
+"Did you admire my lamp," quoth he,<br />
+"As much as I your minstrelsy,<br />
+You would abhor to do me wrong,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span>As much as I to spoil your song:<br />
+For 'twas the self-same Power Divine<br />
+Taught you to sing, and me to shine;<br />
+That you with music, I with light,<br />
+Might beautify and cheer the night."<br />
+The songster heard this short oration,<br />
+And warbling out his approbation,<br />
+Released him, as my story tells,<br />
+And found a supper somewhere else.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>William Cowper.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Thanksgiving Day</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Over the river and through the wood,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To grandfather's house we go;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The horse knows the way</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To carry the sleigh</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through the white and drifted snow.</span><br />
+Over the river and through the wood&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, how the wind does blow!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">It stings the toes</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And bites the nose,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As over the ground we go.</span><br />
+<br />
+Over the river and through the wood,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To have a first-rate play.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Hear the bells ring,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Ting-a-ling-ding!"</span><br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hurrah for Thanksgiving Day!</span><br />
+<br />
+Over the river and through the wood<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Trot fast, my dapple-gray!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Spring over the ground,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Like a hunting-hound!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For this is Thanksgiving Day.</span><br />
+<br />
+Over the river and through the wood,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And straight through the barn-yard gate.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">We seem to go</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Extremely slow,&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It is so hard to wait!</span><br />
+<br />
+Over the river and through the wood&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now grandmother's cap I spy!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Hurrah for the fun!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Is the pudding done?</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hurrah for the pumpkin-pie!</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Lydia Maria Child.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>A Thanksgiving Fable</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+It was a hungry pussy cat, upon Thanksgiving morn,<br />
+And she watched a thankful little mouse, that ate an ear of corn.<br />
+"If I ate that thankful little mouse, how thankful he should be,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span>When he has made a meal himself, to make a meal for me!<br />
+<br />
+"Then with his thanks for having fed, and his thanks for feeding me,<br />
+With all <i>his</i> thankfulness inside, how thankful I shall be!"<br />
+Thus mused the hungry pussy cat, upon Thanksgiving Day;<br />
+But the little mouse had overheard and declined (with thanks) to stay.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Oliver Herford.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Magpie's Nest</i></div>
+
+<div class='center'><small>A Fable</small><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+When the Arts in their infancy were,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">In a fable of old 'tis express'd</span><br />
+A wise magpie constructed that rare<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Little house for young birds, call'd a nest.</span><br />
+<br />
+This was talk'd of the whole country round;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">You might hear it on every bough sung,</span><br />
+"Now no longer upon the rough ground<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Will fond mothers brood over their young:</span><br />
+<br />
+"For the magpie with exquisite skill<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Has invented a moss-cover'd cell</span><br />
+Within which a whole family will<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">In the utmost security dwell."</span><br />
+<br />
+To her mate did each female bird say,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Let us fly to the magpie, my dear;</span><br />
+If she will but teach us the way,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A nest we will build us up here.</span><br />
+<br />
+"It's a thing that's close arch'd overhead,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a hole made to creep out and in;</span><br />
+We, my bird, might make just a bed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If we only knew how to begin."</span><br />
+<br />
+<b>. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;.</b><br />
+<br />
+To the magpie soon every bird went<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in modest terms made their request,</span><br />
+That she would be pleased to consent<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To teach them to build up a nest.</span><br />
+<br />
+She replied, "I will show you the way,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So observe everything that I do:</span><br />
+First two sticks 'cross each other I lay&mdash;"<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"To be sure," said the crow, "why I knew</span><br />
+<br />
+"It must be begun with two sticks,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I thought that they crossed should be."</span><br />
+Said the pie, "Then some straw and moss mix<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the way you now see done by me."</span><br />
+<br />
+"O yes, certainly," said the jackdaw,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"That must follow, of course, I have thought;</span><br />
+Though I never before building saw,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">I guess'd that, without being taught."</span><br />
+<br />
+"More moss, straw, and feathers, I place<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In this manner," continued the pie.</span><br />
+"Yes, no doubt, madam, that is the case;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though no builder myself, so thought I."</span><br />
+<br />
+<b>. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;.</b>
+<br /><br />
+Whatever she taught them beside,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In his turn every bird of them said,</span><br />
+Though the nest-making art he ne'er tried<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He had just such a thought in his head.</span><br />
+<br />
+Still the pie went on showing her art,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till a nest she had built up half-way;</span><br />
+She no more of her skill would impart,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">But in her anger went fluttering away.</span><br />
+<br />
+And this speech in their hearing she made,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As she perch'd o'er their heads on a tree:</span><br />
+"If ye all were well skill'd in my trade,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pray, why came ye to learn it of me?"</span><br />
+<br />
+When a scholar is willing to learn,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He with silent submission should hear;</span><br />
+Too late they their folly discern,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The effect to this day does appear.</span><br />
+<br />
+For whenever a pie's nest you see,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her charming warm canopy view,</span><br />
+All birds' nests but hers seem to be<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A magpie's nest just cut in two.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Charles and Mary Lamb.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Owl and the Pussy-Cat</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In a beautiful pea-green boat;</span><br />
+They took some honey, and plenty of money<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wrapped up in a five-pound note.</span><br />
+The Owl looked up to the moon above,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sang to a small guitar,</span><br />
+"O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What a beautiful Pussy you are,&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">You are,</span><br />
+What a beautiful Pussy you are!"<br />
+<br />
+Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How wonderful sweet you sing!</span><br />
+O let us be married,&mdash;too long we have tarried,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But what shall we do for a ring?"</span><br />
+They sailed away for a year and a day<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the land where the Bong tree grows</span><br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span>And there in a wood, a piggy-wig stood<br />
+With a ring at the end of his nose,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">His nose,</span><br />
+With a ring at the end of his nose.<br />
+<br />
+"Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your ring?" Said the piggy, "I will."</span><br />
+So they took it away, and were married next day<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the turkey who lives on the hill.</span><br />
+They dined upon mince and slices of quince,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which they ate with a runcible spoon,</span><br />
+And hand in hand on the edge of the sand<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They danced by the light of the moon,&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">The moon,</span><br />
+They danced by the light of the moon.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Edward Lear.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>A Lobster Quadrille</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+"Will you walk a little faster?" said a whiting to a snail,<br />
+"There's a porpoise close behind us, and he's treading on my tail.<br />
+See how eagerly the lobsters and the turtles all advance!<br />
+They are waiting on the shingle&mdash;will you come and join the dance?<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span>Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the dance?<br />
+Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't you join the dance?<br />
+<br />
+"You can really have no notion how delightful it will be<br />
+When they take us up and throw us, with the lobsters, out to sea!"<br />
+But the snail replied, "Too far, too far!" and gave a look askance&mdash;<br />
+Said he thanked the whiting kindly, but he would not join the dance.<br />
+Would not, could not, would not, could not, would not join the dance,<br />
+Would not, could not, would not, could not, could not join the dance.<br />
+<br />
+"What matters it how far we go?" his scaly friend replied,<br />
+"There is another shore, you know, upon the other side.<br />
+The further off from England the nearer is to France&mdash;<br />
+Then turn not pale, beloved snail, but come and join the dance.<br />
+Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the dance?<br />
+Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't you join the dance?"<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Lewis Carroll.</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Fairies' Shopping</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Where do you think the Fairies go<br />
+To buy their blankets ere the snow?<br />
+<br />
+When Autumn comes, with frosty days<br />
+The sorry shivering little Fays<br />
+<br />
+Begin to think it's time to creep<br />
+Down to their caves for Winter sleep.<br />
+<br />
+But first they come from far and near<br />
+To buy, where shops are not too dear.<br />
+<br />
+(The wind and frost bring prices down,<br />
+So Fall's their time to come to town!)<br />
+<br />
+Where on the hill-side rough and steep<br />
+Browse all day long the cows and sheep,<br />
+<br />
+The mullein's yellow candles burn<br />
+Over the heads of dry sweet fern:<br />
+<br />
+All summer long the mullein weaves<br />
+His soft and thick and woolly leaves.<br />
+<br />
+Warmer blankets were never seen<br />
+Than these broad leaves of fuzzy green&mdash;<br />
+<br />
+(The cost of each is but a shekel<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span>Made from the gold of honeysuckle!)<br />
+<br />
+To buy their sheets and fine white lace<br />
+(With which to trim a pillow-case),<br />
+<br />
+They only have to go next door,<br />
+Where stands a sleek brown spider's store,<br />
+<br />
+And there they find the misty threads<br />
+Ready to cut into sheets and spreads;<br />
+<br />
+Then for a pillow, pluck with care<br />
+Some soft-winged seeds as light as air;<br />
+<br />
+Just what they want the thistle brings,<br />
+But thistles are such surly things&mdash;<br />
+<br />
+And so, though it is somewhat high,<br />
+The clematis the Fairies buy.<br />
+<br />
+The only bedsteads that they need<br />
+Are silky pods of ripe milk-weed,<br />
+<br />
+With hangings of the dearest things&mdash;<br />
+Autumn leaves, or butterflies' wings!<br />
+<br />
+And dandelions' fuzzy heads<br />
+They use to stuff their feather beds;<br />
+<br />
+And yellow snapdragons supply<br />
+The nightcaps that the Fairies buy,<br />
+<br />
+To which some blades of grass they pin,<br />
+And tie them 'neath each little chin.<br />
+<br />
+Then, shopping done, the Fairies cry,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span>"Our Summer's gone! oh sweet, good-bye!"<br />
+<br />
+And sadly to their caves they go,<br />
+To hide away from Winter's snow&mdash;<br />
+<br />
+And then, though winds and storms may beat,<br />
+The Fairies' sleep is warm and sweet!<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Margaret Deland.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Fable</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+The mountain and the squirrel<br />
+Had a quarrel,<br />
+And the former called the latter "Little Prig."<br />
+Bun replied:<br />
+"You are doubtless very big;<br />
+But all sorts of things and weather<br />
+Must be taken in together<br />
+To make up a year<br />
+And a sphere;<br />
+And I think it no disgrace<br />
+To occupy my place.<br />
+If I'm not so large as you,<br />
+You are not so small as I,<br />
+And not half so spry.<br />
+I'll not deny you make<br />
+A very pretty squirrel track;<br />
+Talents differ; all is well and wisely put;<br />
+If I cannot carry forests on my back<br />
+Neither can you crack a nut!"<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Ralph Waldo Emerson.</div>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>A Midsummer Song</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+Oh, father's gone to market-town: he was up before the day,<br />
+And Jamie's after robins, and the man is making hay,<br />
+And whistling down the hollow goes the boy that minds the mill,<br />
+While mother from the kitchen-door is calling with a will,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Polly!&mdash;Polly!&mdash;The cows are in the corn!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Oh, where's Polly?"</span><br />
+<br />
+From all the misty morning air there comes a summer sound,<br />
+A murmur as of waters, from skies and trees and ground.<br />
+The birds they sing upon the wing, the pigeons bill and coo;<br />
+And over hill and hollow rings again the loud halloo:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Polly!&mdash;Polly!&mdash;The cows are in the corn!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Oh, where's Polly?"</span><br />
+<br />
+Above the trees, the honey-bees swarm by with buzz and boom,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span>And in the field and garden a thousand blossoms bloom.<br />
+Within the farmer's meadow a brown-eyed daisy blows,<br />
+And down at the edge of the hollow a red and thorny rose.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But Polly!&mdash;Polly!&mdash;The cows are in the corn!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Oh, where's Polly?</span><br />
+<br />
+How strange at such a time of day the mill should stop its clatter!<br />
+The farmer's wife is listening now, and wonders what's the matter.<br />
+Oh, wild the birds are singing in the wood and on the hill,<br />
+While whistling up the hollow goes the boy that minds the mill.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But Polly!&mdash;Polly!&mdash;The cows are in the corn!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Oh, where's Polly!</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Richard Watson Gilder.</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Fairies of the Caldon-Low</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+"And where have you been, my Mary,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And where have you been from me?"</span><br />
+"I've been to the top of the Caldon-Low,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The midsummer night to see!"</span><br />
+<br />
+"And what did you see, my Mary,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All up on the Caldon-Low?"</span><br />
+"I saw the blithe sunshine come down,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I saw the merry winds blow."</span><br />
+<br />
+"And what did you hear, my Mary,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All up on the Caldon Hill?"</span><br />
+"I heard the drops of water made,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I heard the corn-ears fill."</span><br />
+<br />
+"Oh, tell me all, my Mary&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All, all that ever you know;</span><br />
+For you must have seen the fairies<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Last night on the Caldon-Low."</span><br />
+<br />
+"Then take me on your knee, mother,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And listen, mother of mine:</span><br />
+A hundred fairies danced last night,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the harpers they were nine;</span><br />
+<br />
+"And merry was the glee of the harp-strings,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And their dancing feet so small;</span><br />
+But oh! the sound of their talking<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was merrier far than all!"</span><br />
+<br />
+"And what were the words, my Mary,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That you did hear them say?"</span><br />
+"I'll tell you all, my mother,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But let me have my way.</span><br />
+<br />
+"And some they played with the water<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And rolled it down the hill;</span><br />
+'And this,' they said, 'shall speedily turn<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The poor old miller's mill;</span><br />
+<br />
+"'For there has been no water<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ever since the first of May;</span><br />
+And a busy man shall the miller be<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the dawning of the day!</span><br />
+<br />
+"'Oh, the miller, how he will laugh,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When he sees the mill-dam rise!</span><br />
+The jolly old miller, how he will laugh,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till the tears fill both his eyes!'</span><br />
+<br />
+"And some they seized the little winds,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That sounded over the hill,</span><br />
+And each put a horn into his mouth,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And blew so sharp and shrill!</span><br />
+<br />
+"'And there,' said they, 'the merry winds go,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Away from every horn;</span><br />
+And those shall clear the mildew dank<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the blind old widow's corn:</span><br />
+<br />
+"'Oh, the poor blind widow&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though she has been blind so long,</span><br />
+She'll be merry enough when the mildew's gone,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the corn stands stiff and strong!'</span><br />
+<br />
+"And some they brought the brown linseed,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And flung it down from the Low:</span><br />
+'And this,' said they, 'by the sunrise,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the weaver's croft shall grow!</span><br />
+<br />
+"'Oh, the poor lame weaver!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How will he laugh outright</span><br />
+When he sees his dwindling flax-field<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All full of flowers by night!'</span><br />
+<br />
+"And then upspoke a brownie,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a long beard on his chin;</span><br />
+'I have spun up all the tow,' said he,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'And I want some more to spin.</span><br />
+<br />
+"'I've spun a piece of hempen cloth,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I want to spin another&mdash;</span><br />
+A little sheet for Mary's bed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And an apron for her mother.'</span><br />
+<br />
+"And with that I could not help but laugh,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I laughed out loud and free;</span><br />
+And then on the top of the Caldon-Low,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There was no one left but me.</span><br />
+<br />
+"And all on the top of the Caldon-Low<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The mists were cold and gray,</span><br />
+And nothing I saw but the mossy stones<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That round about me lay.</span><br />
+<br />
+"But, as I came down from the hill-top,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I heard, afar below,</span><br />
+How busy the jolly old miller was,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And how merry the wheel did go!</span><br />
+<br />
+"And I peeped into the widow's field,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And, sure enough, was seen</span><br />
+The yellow ears of the mildewed corn<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All standing stiff and green!</span><br />
+<br />
+"And down by the weaver's croft I stole,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To see if the flax were high;</span><br />
+But I saw the weaver at his gate<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With the good news in his eye!</span><br />
+<br />
+"Now, this is all that I heard, mother,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all that I did see;</span><br />
+So, prithee, make my bed, mother,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For I'm tired as I can be!"</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Mary Howitt.</div>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Elf and the Dormouse</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Under a toadstool<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Crept a wee Elf,</span><br />
+Out of the rain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">To shelter himself.</span><br />
+<br />
+Under the toadstool<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Sound asleep,</span><br />
+Sat a big Dormouse<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">All in a heap.</span><br />
+<br />
+Trembled the wee Elf,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Frightened, and yet</span><br />
+Fearing to fly away<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Lest he get wet.</span><br />
+<br />
+To the next shelter&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Maybe a mile!</span><br />
+Sudden the wee Elf<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Smiled a wee smile,</span><br />
+<br />
+Tugged till the toadstool<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Toppled in two.</span><br />
+Holding it over him,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Gayly he flew.</span><br />
+<br />
+Soon he was safe home,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Dry as could be.</span><br />
+Soon woke the Dormouse&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">"Good gracious me!</span><br />
+<br />
+"Where is my toadstool?"<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Loud he lamented.</span><br />
+&mdash;And that's how umbrellas<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">First were invented.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Oliver Herford.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Meg Merrilies</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Old Meg she was a gipsy,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And lived upon the moors;</span><br />
+Her bed it was the brown heath turf,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And her house was out of doors.</span><br />
+Her apples were swart blackberries,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her currants pods o' broom;</span><br />
+Her wine was dew of the wild white rose,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her book a churchyard tomb.</span><br />
+<br />
+Her brothers were the craggy hills,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her sisters larchen-trees;</span><br />
+Alone with her great family<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She lived as she did please.</span><br />
+No breakfast had she many a morn,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No dinner many a noon,</span><br />
+And 'stead of supper she would stare<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Full hard against the moon.</span><br />
+<br />
+But every morn of woodbine fresh<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She made her garlanding,</span><br />
+And every night the dark glen yew<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She wore; and she would sing,</span><br />
+And with her fingers old and brown<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She plaited mats of rushes,</span><br />
+And gave them to the cottagers<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She met among the bushes.</span><br />
+<br />
+Old Meg was brave as Margaret Queen,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And tall as Amazon;</span><br />
+An old red blanket cloak she wore,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A ship-hat had she on;</span><br />
+God rest her aged bones somewhere!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She died full long agone!</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>John Keats.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Romance</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+I saw a ship a-sailing,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">A-sailing on the sea;</span><br />
+Her masts were of the shining gold,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Her deck of ivory;</span><br />
+And sails of silk, as soft as milk,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And silvern shrouds had she.</span><br />
+<br />
+And round about her sailing,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The sea was sparkling white,</span><br />
+The waves all clapped their hands and sang<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To see so fair a sight.</span><br />
+They kissed her twice, they kissed her thrice,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And murmured with delight.</span><br />
+<br />
+Then came the gallant captain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And stood upon the deck;</span><br />
+In velvet coat, and ruffles white,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Without a spot or speck;</span><br />
+And diamond rings, and triple strings<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of pearls around his neck.</span><br />
+<br />
+And four-and-twenty sailors<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were round him bowing low;</span><br />
+On every jacket three times three<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gold buttons in a row;</span><br />
+And cutlasses down to their knees;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They made a goodly show.</span><br />
+<br />
+And then the ship went sailing,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A-sailing o'er the sea;</span><br />
+She dived beyond the setting sun,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But never back came she,</span><br />
+For she found the lands of the golden sands,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the pearls and diamonds be.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Gabriel Setoun.</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Cow-Boy's Song</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+"Mooly cow, mooly cow, home from the wood<br />
+They sent me to fetch you as fast as I could.<br />
+The sun has gone down: it is time to go home.<br />
+Mooly cow, mooly cow, why don't you come?<br />
+Your udders are full, and the milkmaid is there,<br />
+And the children are waiting their supper to share.<br />
+I have let the long bars down,&mdash;why don't you pass through?"<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The mooly cow only said, "Moo-o-o!"</span><br />
+<br />
+"Mooly cow, mooly cow, have you not been<br />
+Regaling all day where the pastures are green?<br />
+No doubt it was pleasant, dear mooly, to see<br />
+The clear running brook and the wide-spreading tree,<br />
+The clover to crop and the streamlet to wade,<br />
+To drink the cool water and lie in the shade;<br />
+But now it is night: they are waiting for you."<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The mooly cow only said, "Moo-o-o!"</span><br />
+<br />
+"Mooly cow, mooly cow, where do you go,<br />
+When all the green pastures are covered with snow?<br />
+You go to the barn and we feed you with hay,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span>And the maid goes to milk you there, every day;<br />
+She speaks to you kindly and sits by your side,<br />
+She pats you, she loves you, she strokes your sleek hide:<br />
+Then come along home, pretty mooly cow, do."<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But the mooly cow only said, "Moo-o-o!"</span><br />
+<br />
+"Mooly cow, mooly cow, whisking your tail,<br />
+The milkmaid is waiting, I say, with her pail;<br />
+She tucks up her petticoats, tidy and neat,<br />
+And places the three-legg&eacute;d stool for her seat:&mdash;<br />
+What can you be staring at, mooly? You know<br />
+That we ought to have gone home an hour ago.<br />
+How dark it is growing! O, what shall I do?"<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The mooly cow only said, "Moo-o-o!"</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Anna M. Wells.</div>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>IX</h2>
+
+<h2>BED TIME<a name="FNanchor_L_12" id="FNanchor_L_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_L_12" class="fnanchor">[L]</a></h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;">
+<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'><i>
+When the golden day is done,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through the closing portal,</span><br />
+Child and garden, flower and sun,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vanish all things mortal.</span><br /></i>
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'><i>Robert Louis Stevenson.</i></div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>BED-TIME</h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;">
+<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Auld Daddy Darkness</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+Auld Daddy Darkness creeps frae his hole,<br />
+Black as a blackamoor, blin' as a mole:<br />
+Stir the fire till it lowes, let the bairnie sit,<br />
+Auld Daddy Darkness is no wantit yet.<br />
+<br />
+See him in the corners hidin' frae the licht,<br />
+See him at the window gloomin' at the nicht;<br />
+Turn up the gas licht, close the shutters a',<br />
+An' Auld Daddy Darkness will flee far awa'.<br />
+<br />
+Awa' to hide the birdie within its cosy nest,<br />
+Awa' to lap the wee flooers on their mither's breast,<br />
+Awa' to loosen Gaffer Toil frae his daily ca',<br />
+For Auld Daddy Darkness is kindly to a'.<br />
+<br />
+He comes when we're weary to wean's frae oor waes,<br />
+He comes when the bairnies are getting aff their claes;<br />
+To cover them sae cosy, an' bring bonnie dreams,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span>So Auld Daddy Darkness is better than he seems.<br />
+<br />
+Steek yer een, my wee tot, ye'll see Daddy then;<br />
+He's in below the bed claes, to cuddle ye he's fain;<br />
+Noo nestle in his bosie, sleep and dream yer fill,<br />
+Till Wee Davie Daylicht comes keekin' owre the hill.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>James Ferguson.</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Wynken, Blynken, and Nod</i><a name="FNanchor_M_13" id="FNanchor_M_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_M_13" class="fnanchor">[M]</a><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sailed off in a wooden shoe&mdash;</span><br />
+Sailed on a river of crystal light,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Into a sea of dew.</span><br />
+"Where are you going, and what do you wish?"<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The old moon asked the three.</span><br />
+"We have come to fish for the herring fish<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That live in this beautiful sea;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nets of silver and gold have we!"</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Said Wynken,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Blynken,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">And Nod.</span><br />
+<br />
+The old moon laughed and sang a song,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As they rocked in the wooden shoe,</span><br />
+And the wind that sped them all night long<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ruffled the waves of dew.</span><br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span><br />
+The little stars were the herring fish<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That lived in that beautiful sea&mdash;</span><br />
+"Now cast your nets wherever you wish&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Never afeard are we";</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So cried the stars to the fishermen three:</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Wynken,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Blynken,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">And Nod.</span><br />
+<br />
+All night long their nets they threw<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the stars in the twinkling foam&mdash;</span><br />
+Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bringing the fishermen home;</span><br />
+'Twas all so pretty a sail it seemed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As if it could not be,</span><br />
+And some folks thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of sailing that beautiful sea&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I shall name you the fishermen three:</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Wynken,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Blynken,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">And Nod.</span><br />
+<br />
+Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Nod is a little head,</span><br />
+And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is a wee one's trundle-bed.</span><br />
+<br />
+So shut your eyes while mother sings<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of wonderful sights that be,</span><br />
+And you shall see the beautiful things<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As you rock in the misty sea,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Wynken,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Blynken,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">And Nod.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Eugene Field.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Rockaby, Lullaby</i><a name="FNanchor_N_14" id="FNanchor_N_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_N_14" class="fnanchor">[N]</a><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+Rockaby, lullaby, bees on the clover!&mdash;<br />
+Crooning so drowsily, crying so low&mdash;<br />
+Rockaby, lullaby, dear little rover!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Down into wonderland&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Down to the under-land&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Go, oh go!</span><br />
+Down into wonderland go!<br />
+<br />
+Rockaby, lullaby, rain on the clover!<br />
+Tears on the eyelids that struggle and weep!<br />
+Rockaby, lullaby&mdash;bending it over!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Down on the mother world,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Down on the other world!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Sleep, oh sleep!</span><br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span>Down on the mother-world sleep!<br />
+<br />
+Rockaby, lullaby, dew on the clover!<br />
+Dew on the eyes that will sparkle at dawn!<br />
+Rockaby, lullaby, dear little rover!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Into the stilly world!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Into the lily world,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Gone! oh gone!</span><br />
+Into the lily world, gone!<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Josiah Gilbert Holland.</div>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Sleep, My Treasure</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sleep, sleep, my treasure,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The long day's pleasure</span><br />
+Has tired the birds, to their nests they creep;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The garden still is</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Alight with lilies,</span><br />
+But all the daisies are fast asleep.<br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sleep, sleep, my darling,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Dawn wakes the starling,</span><br />
+The sparrow stirs when he sees day break;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But all the meadow</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Is wrapped in shadow,</span><br />
+And you must sleep till the daisies wake!<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>E. Nesbit.</div>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Lullaby of an Infant Chief</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+Oh, hush thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight,<br />
+Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright;<br />
+The woods and the glens from the tower which we see,<br />
+They all are belonging, dear babie, to thee.<br />
+<br />
+Oh, fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows,<br />
+It calls but the warders that guard thy repose;<br />
+Their bows would be bended, their blades would be red,<br />
+Ere the step of a foeman draws near to thy bed.<br />
+<br />
+Oh, hush thee, my babie, the time will soon come,<br />
+When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and drum;<br />
+Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while you may,<br />
+For strife comes with manhood, and waking with day.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Sir Walter Scott.</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Sweet and Low</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Sweet and low, sweet and low,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wind of the western sea,</span><br />
+Low, low, breathe and blow,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wind of the western sea!</span><br />
+Over the rolling waters go,<br />
+Come from the dying moon, and blow,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blow him again to me:</span><br />
+While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.<br />
+<br />
+Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Father will come to thee soon;</span><br />
+Rest, rest, on mother's breast,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Father will come to thee soon;</span><br />
+Father will come to his babe in the nest,<br />
+Silver sails all out of the west<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Under the silver moon:</span><br />
+Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Alfred, Lord Tennyson.</div>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Old Gaelic Lullaby</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Hush! the waves are rolling in,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">White with foam, white with foam;</span><br />
+Father toils amid the din;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But baby sleeps at home.</span><br />
+<br />
+Hush! the winds roar hoarse and deep,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On they come, on they come!</span><br />
+Brother seeks the wandering sheep:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But baby sleeps at home.</span><br />
+<br />
+Hush! the rain sweeps o'er the knowes,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where they roam, where they roam;</span><br />
+Sister goes to seek the cows;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But baby sleeps at home.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Unknown.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Sandman</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+The rosy clouds float overhead,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sun is going down;</span><br />
+And now the sandman's gentle tread<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Comes stealing through the town.</span><br />
+"White sand, white sand," he softly cries,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And as he shakes his hand,</span><br />
+Straightway there lies on babies' eyes<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">His gift of shining sand.</span><br />
+Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown,<br />
+As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town.<br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From sunny beaches far away&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yes, in another land&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He gathers up at break of day</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">His store of shining sand.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No tempests beat that shore remote,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">No ships may sail that way;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His little boat alone may float</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Within that lovely bay.</span><br />
+Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown,<br />
+As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town.<br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He smiles to see the eyelids close</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Above the happy eyes;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And every child right well he knows,&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Oh, he is very wise!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But if, as he goes through the land,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A naughty baby cries,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His other hand takes dull gray sand</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To close the wakeful eyes.</span><br />
+Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span>As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town.<br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So when you hear the sandman's song</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sound through the twilight sweet,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be sure you do not keep him long</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A-waiting on the street.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lie softly down, dear little head,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Rest quiet, busy hands,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till, by your bed his good-night said,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He strews the shining sands.</span><br />
+Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown,<br />
+As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Margaret Vandegrift.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Cottager to Her Infant</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+The days are cold, the nights are long,<br />
+The north-wind sings a doleful song;<br />
+Then hush again upon my breast;<br />
+All merry things are now at rest,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Save thee, my pretty Love!</span><br />
+<br />
+The kitten sleeps upon the hearth,<br />
+The crickets long have ceased their mirth;<br />
+There's nothing stirring in the house<br />
+Save one wee, hungry nibbling mouse,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then why so busy thou?</span><br />
+<br />
+Nay! start not at that sparkling light,<br />
+'Tis but the moon that shines so bright<br />
+On the window-pane bedropped with rain;<br />
+There, little darling! sleep again,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And wake when it is day.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Dorothy Wordsworth.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>A Charm to Call Sleep</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Sleep, Sleep, come to me, Sleep,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come to my blankets and come to my bed,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come to my legs and my arms and my head,</span><br />
+Over me, under me, into me creep.<br />
+<br />
+Sleep, Sleep, come to me, Sleep,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blow on my face like a soft breath of air,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lay your cool hand on my forehead and hair,</span><br />
+Carry me down through the dream-waters deep.<br />
+<br />
+Sleep, Sleep, come to me, Sleep,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tell me the secrets that you alone know,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Show me the wonders none other can show,</span><br />
+Open the box where your treasures you keep.<br />
+<br />
+Sleep, Sleep, come to me, Sleep:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Softly I call you; as soft and as slow</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come to me, cuddle me, stay with me so,</span><br />
+Stay till the dawn is beginning to peep.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Henry Johnstone.</div>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Night</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+The snow is white, the wind is cold&mdash;<br />
+The king has sent for my three-year-old.<br />
+Bring the pony and shoe him fast<br />
+With silver shoes that were made to last.<br />
+Bring the saddle trimmed with gold;<br />
+Put foot in stirrup, my three-year-old;<br />
+Jump in the saddle, away, away!<br />
+And hurry back by the break of day;<br />
+By break of day, through dale and down,<br />
+And bring me the news from Slumbertown.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Mary F. Butts.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Bed-Time</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+'Tis bed-time; say your hymn, and bid "Good night,<br />
+"God bless mamma, papa, and dear ones all."<br />
+Your half-shut eyes beneath your eye-lids fall;<br />
+Another minute you will shut them quite.<br />
+Yes, I will carry you, put out the light,<br />
+And tuck you up, although you are so tall.<br />
+What will you give me, Sleepy One, and call<br />
+My wages, if I settle you all right?<br />
+I laid her golden curls upon my arm,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span>I drew her little feet within my hand;<br />
+Her rosy palms were joined in trustful bliss,<br />
+Her heart next mine, beat gently, soft and warm;<br />
+She nestled to me, and, by Love's command,<br />
+Paid me my precious wages,&mdash;Baby's kiss.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Lord Rosslyn.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Nightfall in Dordrecht</i><a name="FNanchor_O_15" id="FNanchor_O_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_O_15" class="fnanchor">[O]</a><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+The mill goes toiling slowly around<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With steady and solemn creak,</span><br />
+And my little one hears in the kindly sound<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The voice of the old mill speak.</span><br />
+While round and round those big white wings<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Grimly and ghostlike creep,</span><br />
+My little one hears that the old mill sings:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Sleep, little tulip, sleep!"</span><br />
+<br />
+The sails are reefed and the nets are drawn,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And, over his pot of beer,</span><br />
+The fisher, against the morrow's dawn,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lustily maketh cheer;</span><br />
+He mocks at the winds that caper along<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the far-off clamorous deep&mdash;</span><br />
+But we&mdash;we love their lullaby song<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of "Sleep, little tulip, sleep!"</span><br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span><br />
+Old dog Fritz in slumber sound<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Groans of the stony mart&mdash;</span><br />
+To-morrow how proudly he'll trot you round,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hitched to our new milk-cart!</span><br />
+And you shall help me blanket the kine<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And fold the gentle sheep</span><br />
+And set the herring a-soak in brine&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But now, little tulip, sleep!</span><br />
+<br />
+A Dream-One comes to button the eyes<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That wearily droop and blink,</span><br />
+While the old mill buffets the frowning skies<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And scolds at the stars that wink;</span><br />
+Over your face the misty wings<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of that beautiful Dream-One sweep,</span><br />
+And rocking your cradle she softly sings:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Sleep, little tulip, sleep!"</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Eugene Field.</div><div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>X</h2>
+
+<h2>FOR SUNDAY'S CHILD</h2>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;">
+<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+<i>Sunday's child is full of grace.</i><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'><i>Old Proverb.</i></div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>FOR SUNDAY'S CHILD</h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;">
+<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>All Things Bright and Beautiful</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+All things bright and beautiful,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All creatures great and small,</span><br />
+All things wise and wonderful,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Lord God made them all.</span><br />
+<br />
+Each little flower that opens,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Each little bird that sings,</span><br />
+He made their glowing colours,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He made their tiny wings.</span><br />
+<br />
+The rich man in his castle,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The poor man at his gate,</span><br />
+God made them, high or lowly,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And order'd their estate.</span><br />
+<br />
+The purple-headed mountain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The river running by,</span><br />
+The sunset and the morning,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That brightens up the sky;&mdash;</span><br />
+<br />
+The cold wind in the winter,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">The pleasant summer sun,</span><br />
+The ripe fruits in the garden,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He made them every one;</span><br />
+<br />
+The tall trees in the greenwood,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The meadows where we play,</span><br />
+The rushes by the water<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We gather every day;&mdash;</span><br />
+<br />
+He gave us eyes to see them,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And lips that we might tell,</span><br />
+How great is God Almighty,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who has made all things well.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Cecil Frances Alexander.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Still Small Voice</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Wee Sandy in the corner<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sits greeting on a stool,</span><br />
+And sair the laddie rues<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Playing truant frae the school;</span><br />
+Then ye'll learn frae silly Sandy,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wha's gotten sic a fright,</span><br />
+To do naething through the day<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That may gar ye greet at night.</span><br />
+<br />
+He durstna venture hame now,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor play, though e'er so fine,</span><br />
+And ilka ane he met wi'<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He thought them sure to ken,</span><br />
+And started at ilk whin bush,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though it was braid daylight&mdash;</span><br />
+Sae do nothing through the day<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That may gar ye greet at night.</span><br />
+<br />
+Wha winna be advised<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are sure to rue ere lang;</span><br />
+And muckle pains it costs them<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To do the thing that's wrang,</span><br />
+When they wi' half the fash o't<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Might aye be in the right,</span><br />
+And do naething through the day<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That would gar them greet at night.</span><br />
+<br />
+What fools are wilfu' bairns,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who misbehave frae hame!</span><br />
+There's something in the breast aye<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That tells them they're to blame;</span><br />
+And then when comes the gloamin',<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They're in a waefu' plight!</span><br />
+Sae do naething through the day<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That may gar ye greet at night.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Alexander Smart.</div>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Camel's Nose</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Once in his shop a workman wrought,<br />
+With languid head and listless thought,<br />
+When, through the open window's space,<br />
+Behold, a camel thrust his face!<br />
+"My nose is cold," he meekly cried;<br />
+"Oh, let me warm it by thy side!"<br />
+<br />
+Since no denial word was said,<br />
+In came the nose, in came the head:<br />
+As sure as sermon follows text,<br />
+The long and scraggy neck came next;<br />
+And then, as falls the threatening storm,<br />
+In leaped the whole ungainly form.<br />
+<br />
+Aghast the owner gazed around,<br />
+And on the rude invader frowned,<br />
+Convinced, as closer still he pressed,<br />
+There was no room for such a guest;<br />
+Yet more astonished, heard him say,<br />
+"If thou art troubled, go away,<br />
+For in this place I choose to stay."<br />
+<br />
+O youthful hearts to gladness born,<br />
+Treat not this Arab lore with scorn!<br />
+To evil habits' earliest wile<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span>Lend neither ear, nor glance, nor smile.<br />
+Choke the dark fountain ere it flows,<br />
+Nor e'en admit the camel's nose!<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Lydia H. Sigourney.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>A Child's Grace</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Some hae meat and canna eat,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And some wad eat that want it;</span><br />
+But we hae meat and we can eat,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sae the Lord be thankit.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Robert Burns.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>A Child's Thought of God</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+They say that God lives very high!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But if you look above the pines</span><br />
+You cannot see our God. And why?<br />
+<br />
+And if you dig down in the mines<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You never see Him in the gold,</span><br />
+Though from Him all that's glory shines.<br />
+<br />
+God is so good, He wears a fold<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of heaven and earth across His face&mdash;</span><br />
+Like secrets kept, for love, untold.<br />
+<br />
+But still I feel that His embrace<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Slides down by thrills, through all things made,</span><br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span>Through sight and sound of every place:<br />
+<br />
+As if my tender mother laid<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On my shut lids, her kisses' pressure,</span><br />
+Half-waking me at night; and said<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Who kissed you through the dark, dear guesser?"</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Elizabeth Barrett Browning.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Lamb</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Little lamb, who made thee?<br />
+Dost thou know who made thee,<br />
+Gave thee life and bade thee feed<br />
+By the stream and o'er the mead;<br />
+Gave thee clothing of delight,<br />
+Softest clothing, woolly, bright;<br />
+Gave thee such a tender voice,<br />
+Making all the vales rejoice?<br />
+Little lamb, who made thee?<br />
+Dost thou know who made thee?<br />
+<br />
+Little lamb, I'll tell thee;<br />
+Little lamb, I'll tell thee.<br />
+He is call&egrave;d by thy name,<br />
+For He calls himself a Lamb.<br />
+He is meek and He is mild,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span>He became a little child.<br />
+I a child and thou a lamb,<br />
+We are called by His name.<br />
+Little lamb, God bless thee!<br />
+Little lamb, God bless thee!<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>William Blake.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Night and Day</i><a name="FNanchor_P_16" id="FNanchor_P_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_P_16" class="fnanchor">[P]</a><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+When I run about all day,<br />
+When I kneel at night to pray,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">God sees.</span><br />
+<br />
+When I'm dreaming in the dark,<br />
+When I lie awake and hark,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">God sees.</span><br />
+<br />
+Need I ever know a fear?<br />
+Night and day my Father's near:&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">God sees.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Mary Mapes Dodge.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span></p>
+<div class='center'><br /><i>High and Low</i> <a name="FNanchor_Q_17" id="FNanchor_Q_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_Q_17" class="fnanchor">[Q]</a><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+The showers fall as softly<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Upon the lowly grass</span><br />
+As on the stately roses<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">That tremble as they pass.</span><br />
+<br />
+The sunlight shines as brightly<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">On fern-leaves bent and torn</span><br />
+As on the golden harvest,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">The fields of waving corn.</span><br />
+<br />
+The wild birds sing as sweetly<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">To rugged, jagged pines,</span><br />
+As to the blossomed orchards,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And to the cultured vines.</span><br />
+<br />
+<b>. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;.</b><br />
+<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Dora Read Goodale.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>By Cool Siloam's Shady Rill</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+By cool Siloam's shady rill<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How sweet the lily grows!</span><br />
+How sweet the breath beneath the hill<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of Sharon's dewy rose!</span><br />
+<br />
+Lo, such the child whose early feet<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">The paths of peace have trod;</span><br />
+Whose secret heart, with influence sweet,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is upward drawn to God.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Reginald Heber.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Sheep and Lambs</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+All in the April morning,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">April airs were abroad;</span><br />
+The sheep with their little lambs<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pass'd me by on the road.</span><br />
+<br />
+The sheep with their little lambs<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pass'd me by on the road;</span><br />
+All in an April evening<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I thought on the Lamb of God.</span><br />
+<br />
+The lambs were weary, and crying<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a weak human cry,</span><br />
+I thought on the Lamb of God<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Going meekly to die.</span><br />
+<br />
+Up in the blue, blue mountains<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dewy pastures are sweet:</span><br />
+Rest for the little bodies,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rest for the little feet.</span><br />
+<br />
+<b>. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;.</b>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span>
+<br /><br />
+All in the April evening,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">April airs were abroad;</span><br />
+I saw the sheep with their lambs,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And thought on the Lamb of God.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Katharine Tynan Hinkson.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>To His Saviour, a Child; A Present by a Child</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Go, pretty child, and bear this flower<br />
+Unto thy little Saviour;<br />
+And tell him, by that bud now blown,<br />
+He is the Rose of Sharon known.<br />
+When thou hast said so, stick it there<br />
+Upon his bib or stomacher;<br />
+And tell him, for good hansel too,<br />
+That thou hast brought a whistle new,<br />
+Made of a clean strait oaten reed,<br />
+To charm his cries at time of need.<br />
+Tell him, for coral thou hast none,<br />
+But if thou hadst, he should have one;<br />
+But poor thou art, and known to be<br />
+Even as moneyless as he.<br />
+Lastly, if thou canst win a kiss<br />
+From those mellifluous lips of his;<br />
+Then never take a second on,<br />
+To spoil the first impression.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Robert Herrick.</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>What Would You See?</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+What would you see if I took you up<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To my little nest in the air?</span><br />
+You would see the sky like a clear blue cup<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Turned upside downwards there.</span><br />
+<br />
+What would you do if I took you there<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To my little nest in the tree?</span><br />
+My child with cries would trouble the air,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To get what she could but see.</span><br />
+<br />
+What would you get in the top of the tree<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For all your crying and grief?</span><br />
+Not a star would you clutch of all you see&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You could only gather a leaf.</span><br />
+<br />
+But when you had lost your greedy grief,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Content to see from afar,</span><br />
+You would find in your hand a withering leaf,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In your heart a shining star.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>George Macdonald.</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Corn-Fields</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+When on the breath of Autumn's breeze,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From pastures dry and brown,</span><br />
+Goes floating, like an idle thought,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The fair, white thistle-down,&mdash;</span><br />
+Oh, then what joy to walk at will<br />
+Upon the golden harvest-hill!<br />
+<br />
+What joy in dreaming ease to lie<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Amid a field new shorn;</span><br />
+And see all round, on sunlit slopes,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The piled-up shocks of corn;</span><br />
+And send the fancy wandering o'er<br />
+All pleasant harvest-fields of yore!<br />
+<br />
+I feel the day; I see the field;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The quivering of the leaves;</span><br />
+And good old Jacob, and his horse,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Binding the yellow sheaves!</span><br />
+And at this very hour I seem<br />
+To be with Joseph in his dream!<br />
+<br />
+I see the fields of Bethlehem,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And reapers many a one</span><br />
+Bending unto their sickles' stroke,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Boaz looking on;</span><br />
+And Ruth, the Moabitess fair,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span>Among the gleaners stooping there!<br />
+<br />
+Again, I see a little child,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His mother's sole delight,&mdash;</span><br />
+God's living gift of love unto<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The kind, good Shunamite;</span><br />
+To mortal pangs I see him yield,<br />
+And the lad bear him from the field.<br />
+<br />
+The sun-bathed quiet of the hills,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The fields of Galilee,</span><br />
+That eighteen hundred years ago<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were full of corn, I see;</span><br />
+And the dear Saviour take his way<br />
+'Mid ripe ears on the Sabbath-day.<br />
+<br />
+Oh golden fields of bending corn,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How beautiful they seem!</span><br />
+The reaper-folk, the piled-up sheaves,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To me are like a dream;</span><br />
+The sunshine, and the very air<br />
+Seem of old time, and take me there!<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Mary Howitt.</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Little Christel</i></div>
+
+<div class='center'><br />I<br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Slowly forth from the village church,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The voice of the choristers hushed overhead,&mdash;</span><br />
+Came little Christel. She paused in the porch,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pondering what the preacher had said.</span><br />
+<br />
+<i>Even the youngest, humblest child</i><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Something may do to please the Lord;</i></span><br />
+"Now, what," thought she, and half-sadly smiled,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Can I, so little and poor, afford?&mdash;</span><br />
+<br />
+<i>"Never, never a day should pass,</i><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Without some kindness, kindly shown,</i></span><br />
+The preacher said"&mdash;Then down to the grass<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A skylark dropped, like a brown-winged stone.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Well, a day is before me now;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yet, what," thought she, "can I do, if I try?</span><br />
+If an angel of God would show me how!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But silly am I, and the hours they fly."</span><br />
+<br />
+Then the lark sprang singing up from the sod,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the maiden thought, as he rose to the blue,</span><br />
+"He says he will carry my prayer to God;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But who would have thought the little lark knew?"</span><br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span></div>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />II<br /><br /></div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Now she entered the village street,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With book in hand and face demure,</span><br />
+And soon she came, with sober feet,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To a crying babe at a cottage door.</span><br />
+<br />
+It wept at a windmill that would not move,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It puffed with round red cheeks in vain,</span><br />
+One sail stuck fast in a puzzling groove,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And baby's breath could not stir it again.</span><br />
+<br />
+So baby beat the sail and cried,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While no one came from the cottage door;</span><br />
+But little Christel knelt down by its side,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And set the windmill going once more.</span><br />
+<br />
+Then babe was pleased, and the little girl<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was glad when she heard it laugh and crow;</span><br />
+Thinking, "Happy windmill, that has but to whirl,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To please the pretty young creature so."</span><br />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />III<br /><br /></div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+No thought of herself was in her head,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As she passed out at the end of the street,</span><br />
+And came to a rose-tree tall and red,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Drooping and faint with the summer heat.</span><br />
+<br />
+She ran to a brook that was flowing by,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She made of her two hands a nice round cup,</span><br />
+And washed the roots of the rose-tree high,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till it lifted its languid blossoms up.</span><br />
+<br />
+"O happy brook!" thought little Christel,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"You have done some good this summer's day,</span><br />
+You have made the flowers look fresh and well!"<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then she rose and went on her way.</span><br />
+<br />
+<b>. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;.</b><br />
+<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>William Brighty Rands.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>A Child's Prayer</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+God make my life a little light,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Within the world to glow&mdash;</span><br />
+A tiny flame that burneth bright,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wherever I may go.</span><br />
+<br />
+God make my life a little flower,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That bringeth joy to all,</span><br />
+Content to bloom in native bower,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Although its place be small.</span><br />
+<br />
+God make my life a little song,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That comforteth the sad,</span><br />
+That helpeth others to be strong,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And makes the singer glad.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>M. Betham Edwards</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span></p>
+<h2>XI</h2>
+
+<h2>BELLS OF CHRISTMAS</h2>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;">
+<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+<i>Then let the holly red be hung,</i><br />
+<i>And all the sweetest carols sung,</i><br />
+<i>While we with joy remember them&mdash;</i><br />
+<i>The journeyers to Bethlehem.</i><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'><i>Frank Dempster Sherman.</i></div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span><br /></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>BELLS OF CHRISTMAS</h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;">
+<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Adoration of the Wise Men</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Saw you never in the twilight,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the sun had left the skies,</span><br />
+Up in heaven the clear stars shining,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through the gloom like silver eyes?</span><br />
+So of old the wise men watching,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Saw a little stranger star,</span><br />
+And they knew the King was given,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And they follow'd it from far.</span><br />
+<br />
+Heard you never of the story,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How they cross'd the desert wild,</span><br />
+Journey'd on by plain and mountain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till they found the Holy Child?</span><br />
+How they open'd all their treasure,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kneeling to that Infant King,</span><br />
+Gave the gold and fragrant incense,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gave the myrrh in offering?</span><br />
+<br />
+Know ye not that lowly Baby<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was the bright and morning star,</span><br />
+He who came to light the Gentiles,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the darken'd isles afar?</span><br />
+<br />
+And we too may seek his cradle,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There our heart's best treasures bring,</span><br />
+Love, and Faith, and true devotion,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For our Saviour, God, and King.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Cecil Frances Alexander.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Cradle Hymn</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Holy angels guard thy bed;</span><br />
+Heavenly blessings without number<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gently falling on thy head.</span><br />
+<br />
+Sleep, my babe, thy food and raiment,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">House and home, thy friends provide;</span><br />
+All without thy care, or payment,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All thy wants are well supplied.</span><br />
+<br />
+How much better thou'rt attended<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than the Son of God could be,</span><br />
+When from heaven He descended,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And became a child like thee!</span><br />
+<br />
+Soft and easy is thy cradle;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay,</span><br />
+When His birthplace was a stable,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And His softest bed was hay.</span><br />
+<br />
+See the kindly shepherds round him,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Telling wonders from the sky!</span><br />
+When they sought Him, there they found Him,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With his Virgin-Mother by.</span><br />
+<br />
+See the lovely babe a-dressing;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lovely infant, how He smiled!</span><br />
+When He wept, the mother's blessing<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Soothed and hushed the holy child.</span><br />
+<br />
+Lo, He slumbers in His manger,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the honest oxen fed;</span><br />
+&mdash;Peace, my darling! here's no danger!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Here's no ox a-near thy bed!</span><br />
+<br />
+Mayst thou live to know and fear Him,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Trust and love Him all thy days;</span><br />
+Then go dwell forever near Him,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">See His face, and sing His praise!</span><br />
+<br />
+I could give thee thousand kisses,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hoping what I most desire;</span><br />
+Not a mother's fondest wishes<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Can to greater joys aspire.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Isaac Watts.</div>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Christmas Silence</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Hushed are the pigeons cooing low<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On dusty rafters of the loft;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And mild-eyed oxen, breathing soft,</span><br />
+Sleep on the fragrant hay below.<br />
+<br />
+Dim shadows in the corner hide;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The glimmering lantern's rays are shed</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where one young lamb just lifts his head,</span><br />
+Then huddles 'gainst his mother's side.<br />
+<br />
+Strange silence tingles in the air;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through the half-open door a bar</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of light from one low-hanging star</span><br />
+Touches a baby's radiant hair.<br />
+<br />
+No sound: the mother, kneeling, lays<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her cheek against the little face.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh human love! Oh heavenly grace!</span><br />
+'Tis yet in silence that she prays!<br />
+<br />
+Ages of silence end to-night;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then to the long-expectant earth</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Glad angels come to greet His birth</span><br />
+In burst of music, love, and light!<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Margaret Deland.</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<div class='center'><i>An Offertory</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Oh, the beauty of the Christ Child,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The gentleness, the grace,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The smiling, loving tenderness,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The infantile embrace!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">All babyhood he holdeth,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">All motherhood enfoldeth&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yet who hath seen his face?</span><br />
+<br />
+Oh, the nearness of the Christ Child,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When, for a sacred space,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He nestles in our very homes&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Light of the human race!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">We know him and we love him,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">No man to us need prove him&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yet who hath seen his face?</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Mary Mapes Dodge.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Christmas Song</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Why do bells for Christmas ring?<br />
+Why do little children sing?<br />
+<br />
+Once a lovely, shining star,<br />
+Seen by shepherds from afar,<br />
+Gently moved until its light<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span>Made a manger-cradle bright.<br />
+<br />
+There a darling baby lay<br />
+Pillowed soft upon the hay.<br />
+And his mother sang and smiled,<br />
+"This is Christ, the holy child."<br />
+<br />
+So the bells for Christmas ring,<br />
+So the little children sing.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Lydia Avery Coonley Ward.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>A Visit from St. Nicholas</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house<br />
+Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.<br />
+The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,<br />
+In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.<br />
+The children were nestled all snug in their beds,<br />
+While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;<br />
+And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap,<br />
+Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap&mdash;<br />
+When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter<br />
+I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.<br />
+Away to the window I flew like a flash,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span>Tore open the shutter, and threw up the sash.<br />
+The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow<br />
+Gave a lustre of midday to objects below;<br />
+When what to my wondering eyes should appear<br />
+But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer,<br />
+With a little old driver, so lively and quick,<br />
+I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick!<br />
+More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,<br />
+And he whistled and shouted and called them by name.<br />
+"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!<br />
+On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!&mdash;<br />
+To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall,<br />
+Now, dash away, dash away, dash away all!"<br />
+As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,<br />
+When they meet with an obstacle mount to the sky,<br />
+So, up to the housetop the coursers they flew,<br />
+With a sleigh full of toys&mdash;and St. Nicholas, too.<br />
+And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof<br />
+The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.<br />
+As I drew in my head, and was turning around,<br />
+Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound:<br />
+He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span>And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot:<br />
+A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,<br />
+And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack.<br />
+His eyes, how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!<br />
+His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry;<br />
+His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,<br />
+And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow.<br />
+The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,<br />
+And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath.<br />
+He had a broad face and a little round belly<br />
+That shook, when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.<br />
+He was chubby and plump&mdash;a right jolly old elf:<br />
+And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;<br />
+A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head,<br />
+Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.<br />
+He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,<br />
+And filled all the stockings: then turned with a jerk,<br />
+And laying his finger aside of his nose,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span>And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.<br />
+He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,<br />
+And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.<br />
+But I heard him exclaim, ere they drove out of sight,<br />
+"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Clement C. Moore.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Christmas Trees</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+There's a stir among the trees,<br />
+There's a whisper in the breeze,<br />
+Little ice-points clash and clink,<br />
+Little needles nod and wink,<br />
+Sturdy fir-trees sway and sigh&mdash;<br />
+"Here am I! Here am I!"<br />
+<br />
+"All the summer long I stood<br />
+In the silence of the woods.<br />
+Tall and tapering I grew;<br />
+What might happen well I knew;<br />
+For one day a little bird<br />
+Sang, and in the song I heard<br />
+Many things quite strange to me<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span>Of Christmas and the Christmas tree.<br />
+<br />
+"When the sun was hid from sight<br />
+In the darkness of the night,<br />
+When the wind with sudden fret<br />
+Pulled at my green coronet,<br />
+Staunch I stood, and hid my fears,<br />
+Weeping silent fragrant tears,<br />
+Praying still that I might be<br />
+Fitted for a Christmas tree.<br />
+<br />
+"Now here we stand<br />
+On every hand!<br />
+In us a hoard of summer stored,<br />
+Birds have flown over us,<br />
+Blue sky has covered us,<br />
+Soft winds have sung to us,<br />
+Blossoms have flung to us<br />
+Measureless sweetness,<br />
+Now in completeness<br />
+We wait."<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Mary F. Butts.</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>A Birthday Gift</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+<br />
+<b>. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;.</b><br />
+<br />
+What can I give him,<br />
+Poor as I am?<br />
+If I were a shepherd<br />
+I would bring a lamb,<br />
+If I were a wise man<br />
+I would do my part,&mdash;<br />
+Yet what I can I give him,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Give my heart.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Christina Rossetti.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>A Christmas Lullaby</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Sleep, baby, sleep! The Mother sings:<br />
+Heaven's angels kneel and fold their wings.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Sleep, baby, sleep!</span><br />
+<br />
+With swathes of scented hay Thy bed<br />
+By Mary's hand at eve was spread.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Sleep, baby, sleep!</span><br />
+<br />
+At midnight came the shepherds, they<br />
+Whom seraphs wakened by the way.<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 10em;">Sleep, baby, sleep!</span><br />
+<br />
+And three kings from the East afar,<br />
+Ere dawn came, guided by the star.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Sleep, baby, sleep!</span><br />
+<br />
+They brought Thee gifts of gold and gems,<br />
+Pure orient pearls, rich diadems.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Sleep, baby, sleep!</span><br />
+<br />
+But Thou who liest slumbering there,<br />
+Art King of Kings, earth, ocean, air.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Sleep, baby, sleep!</span><br />
+<br />
+Sleep, baby, sleep! The shepherds sing:<br />
+Through heaven, through earth, hosannas ring.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Sleep, baby, sleep!</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>John Addington Symonds.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>I Saw Three Ships</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+I saw three ships come sailing in,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Christmas day, on Christmas day;</span><br />
+I saw three ships come sailing in,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Christmas day in the morning.</span><br />
+<br />
+<b>. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;.</b><br />
+<br />
+Pray whither sailed those ships all three<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Christmas day, on Christmas day?</span><br />
+Pray whither sailed those ships all three<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Christmas day in the morning?</span><br />
+<br />
+Oh, they sailed into Bethlehem<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Christmas day, on Christmas day;</span><br />
+Oh, they sailed into Bethlehem<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Christmas day in the morning.</span><br />
+<br />
+And all the bells on earth shall ring<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Christmas day, on Christmas day;</span><br />
+And all the bells on earth shall ring<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Christmas day in the morning.</span><br />
+<br />
+And all the angels in heaven shall sing<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Christmas day, on Christmas day;</span><br />
+And all the angels in heaven shall sing<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Christmas day in the morning.</span><br />
+<br />
+And all the souls on earth shall sing<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Christmas day, on Christmas day;</span><br />
+And all the souls on earth shall sing<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Christmas day in the morning.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Old Carol.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Santa Claus</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+He comes in the night! He comes in the night!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He softly, silently comes;</span><br />
+While the little brown heads on the pillows so white<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are dreaming of bugles and drums.</span><br />
+<br />
+He cuts through the snow like a ship through the foam,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">While the white flakes around him whirl;</span><br />
+Who tells him I know not, but he findeth the home<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Of each good little boy and girl.</span><br />
+<br />
+His sleigh it is long, and deep, and wide;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">It will carry a host of things,</span><br />
+While dozens of drums hang over the side,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">With the sticks sticking under the strings.</span><br />
+And yet not the sound of a drum is heard,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Not a bugle blast is blown,</span><br />
+As he mounts to the chimney-top like a bird,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And drops to the hearth like a stone.</span><br />
+<br />
+The little red stockings he silently fills,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Till the stockings will hold no more;</span><br />
+The bright little sleds for the great snow hills<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Are quickly set down on the floor.</span><br />
+Then Santa Claus mounts to the roof like a bird,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And glides to his seat in the sleigh;</span><br />
+Not the sound of a bugle or drum is heard<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">As he noiselessly gallops away.</span><br />
+<br />
+He rides to the East, and he rides to the West,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Of his goodies he touches not one;</span><br />
+He eateth the crumbs of the Christmas feast<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">When the dear little folks are done.</span><br />
+Old Santa Claus doeth all that he can;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">This beautiful mission is his;</span><br />
+Then, children, be good to the little old man,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">When you find who the little man is.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Unknown.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Neighbors of the Christ Night</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Deep in the shelter of the cave,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The ass with drooping head</span><br />
+Stood weary in the shadow, where<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His master's hand had led.</span><br />
+About the manger oxen lay,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bending a wide-eyed gaze</span><br />
+Upon the little new-born Babe,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Half worship, half amaze.</span><br />
+High in the roof the doves were set,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And cooed there, soft and mild,</span><br />
+Yet not so sweet as, in the hay,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Mother to her Child.</span><br />
+The gentle cows breathed fragrant breath<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To keep Babe Jesus warm,</span><br />
+While loud and clear, o'er hill and dale,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">The cocks crowed, "Christ is born!"</span><br />
+Out in the fields, beneath the stars,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The young lambs sleeping lay,</span><br />
+And dreamed that in the manger slept<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Another, white as they.</span><br />
+<br />
+<b>. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;.</b><br />
+<br />
+These were Thy neighbors, Christmas Child;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To Thee their love was given,</span><br />
+For in Thy baby face there shone<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The wonder-light of Heaven.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Nora Archibald Smith.</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>Cradle Hymn</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Away in a manger, no crib for a bed,<br />
+The little Lord Jesus laid down his sweet head.<br />
+The stars in the bright sky looked down where he lay&mdash;<br />
+The little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay.<br />
+<br />
+The cattle are lowing, the baby awakes,<br />
+But little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes.<br />
+I love thee, Lord Jesus! look down from the sky,<br />
+And stay by my cradle till morning is nigh.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Martin Luther.</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><i>The Christmas Holly</i><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+The holly! the holly! oh, twine it with bay&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come give the holly a song;</span><br />
+For it helps to drive stern winter away,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With his garment so sombre and long;</span><br />
+It peeps through the trees with its berries of red,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And its leaves of burnished green,</span><br />
+When the flowers and fruits have long been dead,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And not even the daisy is seen.</span><br />
+Then sing to the holly, the Christmas holly,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That hangs over peasant and king;</span><br />
+While we laugh and carouse 'neath its glittering boughs,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the Christmas holly we'll sing.</span><br />
+<br />
+<b>. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;.</b><br />
+<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>Eliza Cook.</div>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;">
+<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Said I to myself, here's a chance for me<br />
+The Lilliput Laureate for to be!<br />
+And these are the Specimens I sent in<br />
+To Pinafore Palace. Shall I win?<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='signature'>William Brighty Rands.</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>INDEX</h2>
+
+<div>
+Adoration of the Wise Men, The, <a href="#Page_257">257</a><br />
+All Things Bright and Beautiful, <a href="#Page_237">237</a><br />
+Angel's Whisper, The, <a href="#Page_139">139</a><br />
+Answer to a Child's Question, <a href="#Page_62">62</a><br />
+Ant and the Cricket, The, <a href="#Page_78">78</a><br />
+April, In, <a href="#Page_8">8</a><br />
+Auld Daddy Darkness, <a href="#Page_221">221</a><br />
+<br />
+Baby Corn, <a href="#Page_93">93</a><br />
+Baby Seed Song, <a href="#Page_88">88</a><br />
+Beau's Reply, <a href="#Page_112">112</a><br />
+Bed-Time, <a href="#Page_232">232</a><br />
+Bells of Christmas, <a href="#Page_255">255</a><br />
+Birdies with Broken Wings, <a href="#Page_133">133</a><br />
+Birds in Spring, The, <a href="#Page_54">54</a><br />
+Birds in Summer, <a href="#Page_65">65</a><br />
+Bird's Song in Spring, <a href="#Page_102">102</a><br />
+Birthday Gift, A, <a href="#Page_267">267</a><br />
+Blessing for the Blessed, A, <a href="#Page_129">129</a><br />
+Blind Boy, The, <a href="#Page_160">160</a><br />
+Bluebird, The, <a href="#Page_68">68</a><br />
+Blue Jay, The, <a href="#Page_74">74</a><br />
+Boy and the Sheep, The, <a href="#Page_114">114</a><br />
+Boy, The, <a href="#Page_128">128</a><br />
+Boy's Song, A, <a href="#Page_165">165</a><br />
+Breeches, Going Into, <a href="#Page_174">174</a><br />
+Bunch of Roses, A, <a href="#Page_155">155</a><br />
+Butterflies, White, <a href="#Page_78">78</a><br />
+By Cool Siloam's Shady Rill, <a href="#Page_244">244</a><br />
+<br />
+Camel's Nose, The, <a href="#Page_240">240</a><br />
+Chanticleer, <a href="#Page_72">72</a><br />
+Child, A Sleeping, <a href="#Page_132">132</a><br />
+Child at Bethlehem, The, <a href="#Page_155">155</a><br />
+Child's Fancy, A, <a href="#Page_95">95</a><br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span>Child's Grace, A, <a href="#Page_241">241</a><br />
+Child's Laughter, A, <a href="#Page_145">145</a><br />
+Child's Prayer, A, <a href="#Page_252">252</a><br />
+Child's Thought of God, A, <a href="#Page_241">241</a><br />
+Children, Little, <a href="#Page_137">137</a><br />
+Children, Other Little, <a href="#Page_123">123</a><br />
+Chill, A, <a href="#Page_144">144</a><br />
+Christmas Holly, The, <a href="#Page_273">273</a><br />
+Christmas Lullaby, A, <a href="#Page_267">267</a><br />
+Christmas Silence, The, <a href="#Page_260">260</a><br />
+Christmas Song, <a href="#Page_261">261</a><br />
+Christmas Trees, The, <a href="#Page_265">265</a><br />
+City Child, The, <a href="#Page_173">173</a><br />
+Cleanliness, <a href="#Page_126">126</a><br />
+Clouds, <a href="#Page_40">40</a><br />
+Corn-Fields, <a href="#Page_248">248</a><br />
+Cottager to Her Infant, <a href="#Page_230">230</a><br />
+Cow-Boy's Song, The, <a href="#Page_217">217</a><br />
+Cradle Hymn (Watts), <a href="#Page_258">258</a><br />
+Cradle Hymn (Luther), <a href="#Page_272">272</a><br />
+<br />
+Daffy-Down-Dilly, <a href="#Page_91">91</a><br />
+Daisy's Song, The, <a href="#Page_103">103</a><br />
+Dandelions, <a href="#Page_98">98</a><br />
+Day, A, <a href="#Page_28">28</a><br />
+Deaf and Dumb, <a href="#Page_159">159</a><br />
+Dear Little Violets, <a href="#Page_101">101</a><br />
+Discontent, <a href="#Page_193">193</a><br />
+Doll, Dressing the, <a href="#Page_167">167</a><br />
+Doll, The Lost, <a href="#Page_166">166</a><br />
+Dolladine, <a href="#Page_167">167</a><br />
+<br />
+Elf and the Dormouse, The, <a href="#Page_213">213</a><br />
+Elf, The Little, <a href="#Page_188">188</a><br />
+<br />
+Fable, <a href="#Page_206">206</a><br />
+Fairies of the Caldon-Low, The, <a href="#Page_209">209</a><br />
+Fairies' Shopping, The, <a href="#Page_204">204</a><br />
+Fairies, The Child and the, <a href="#Page_187">187</a><br />
+Fairies, The Last Voyage of The, <a href="#Page_184">184</a><br />
+Fairy Folk, The, <a href="#Page_181">181</a><br />
+Fairy in Armor, A, <a href="#Page_183">183</a><br />
+February, In, <a href="#Page_5">5</a><br />
+Fern, A New, <a href="#Page_186">186</a><br />
+Fern Song, <a href="#Page_90">90</a><br />
+Flax Flower, The, <a href="#Page_99">99</a><br />
+Flower Folk, The, <a href="#Page_81">81</a><br />
+Fountain, The, <a href="#Page_34">34</a><br />
+<br />
+Garaine, Little, <a href="#Page_140">140</a><br />
+Garden, In a, <a href="#Page_151">151</a><br />
+Good Luck, For, <a href="#Page_105">105</a><br />
+Good-Morning, <a href="#Page_29">29</a><br />
+Good-Night and Good-Morning, <a href="#Page_136">136</a><br />
+Grass, The Voice of the, <a href="#Page_36">36</a><br />
+Guessing Song, <a href="#Page_45">45</a><br />
+<br />
+Hie Away, <a href="#Page_176">176</a><br />
+High and Low, <a href="#Page_244">244</a><br />
+How the Leaves Came Down, <a href="#Page_17">17</a><br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span>Hunting Song, <a href="#Page_176">176</a><br />
+<br />
+Infant Joy, <a href="#Page_129">129</a><br />
+I Remember, I Remember, <a href="#Page_135">135</a><br />
+I Saw Three Ships, <a href="#Page_268">268</a><br />
+<br />
+Jack Frost, <a href="#Page_47">47</a><br />
+<br />
+Kitten and Falling Leaves, The, <a href="#Page_121">121</a><br />
+<br />
+Lady Moon, <a href="#Page_30">30</a><br />
+Lamb, The, <a href="#Page_242">242</a><br />
+Lamb, The Pet, <a href="#Page_116">116</a><br />
+Lambs in the Meadow, <a href="#Page_115">115</a><br />
+Land of Story-Books, The, <a href="#Page_172">172</a><br />
+Lark and the Rook, The, <a href="#Page_56">56</a><br />
+Letter, A, to Lady Margaret Cavendish Holles-Harley, when a Child, <a href="#Page_141">141</a><br />
+Little Christel, <a href="#Page_250">250</a><br />
+Little Dandelion, <a href="#Page_97">97</a><br />
+Little Gustava, <a href="#Page_152">152</a><br />
+Little Land, The, <a href="#Page_148">148</a><br />
+Little White Lily, <a href="#Page_83">83</a><br />
+Lobster Quadrille, A, <a href="#Page_202">202</a><br />
+Love and the Child, <a href="#Page_142">142</a><br />
+Lucy Gray, <a href="#Page_156">156</a><br />
+Lullaby of an Infant Chief, <a href="#Page_226">226</a><br />
+Lullaby, Old Gaelic, <a href="#Page_228">228</a><br />
+<br />
+Magpie's Nest, The, <a href="#Page_198">198</a><br />
+March, <a href="#Page_6">6</a><br />
+Marjorie's Almanac, <a href="#Page_3">3</a><br />
+May, <a href="#Page_13">13</a><br />
+Meg Merrilies, <a href="#Page_214">214</a><br />
+Midsummer Song, A, <a href="#Page_207">207</a><br />
+Milking Time, <a href="#Page_113">113</a><br />
+My Pony, <a href="#Page_109">109</a><br />
+<br />
+Nearly Ready, <a href="#Page_7">7</a><br />
+Neighbors of the Christ Night, <a href="#Page_271">271</a><br />
+Night, <a href="#Page_232">232</a><br />
+Night and Day, <a href="#Page_243">243</a><br />
+Nightfall in Dordrecht, <a href="#Page_233">233</a><br />
+Nightingale and the Glowworm, The, <a href="#Page_195">195</a><br />
+Now the Noisy Winds Are Still, <a href="#Page_33">33</a><br />
+<br />
+Offertory, An, <a href="#Page_261">261</a><br />
+O Lady Moon, <a href="#Page_31">31</a><br />
+Old Gaelic Lullaby, <a href="#Page_228">228</a><br />
+"One, Two, Three," <a href="#Page_188">188</a><br />
+Owl, The, <a href="#Page_70">70</a><br />
+Owl and the Pussy-Cat, The, <a href="#Page_201">201</a><br />
+<br />
+Pedlar's Caravan, The, <a href="#Page_170">170</a><br />
+Piping Down the Valleys Wild, <a href="#Page_131">131</a><br />
+Play-Time, <a href="#Page_163">163</a><br />
+Polly, <a href="#Page_143">143</a><br />
+<br />
+Rain, Signs of, <a href="#Page_41">41</a><br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span>Rivulet, The, <a href="#Page_46">46</a><br />
+Robert of Lincoln, <a href="#Page_75">75</a><br />
+Robin Redbreast, <a href="#Page_54">54</a><br />
+Robin Redbreast, An Epitaph on a, <a href="#Page_67">67</a><br />
+Rockaby, Lullaby, <a href="#Page_224">224</a><br />
+Romance, <a href="#Page_215">215</a><br />
+<br />
+St. Nicholas, A Visit from, <a href="#Page_262">262</a><br />
+Sandman, The, <a href="#Page_228">228</a><br />
+Santa Claus, <a href="#Page_269">269</a><br />
+Sea-Song from the Shore, A, <a href="#Page_171">171</a><br />
+Seal Lullaby, <a href="#Page_113">113</a><br />
+September, <a href="#Page_16">16</a><br />
+Seven Times One, <a href="#Page_133">133</a><br />
+Sheep and Lambs, <a href="#Page_245">245</a><br />
+Shower, A Sudden, <a href="#Page_43">43</a><br />
+Singer, The, <a href="#Page_73">73</a><br />
+Sleep, A Charm to Call, <a href="#Page_231">231</a><br />
+Sleep, My Treasure, <a href="#Page_225">225</a><br />
+Snowbird, The, <a href="#Page_57">57</a><br />
+Snowdrops, <a href="#Page_89">89</a><br />
+Snowflakes, <a href="#Page_49">49</a><br />
+Song (Keats), <a href="#Page_69">69</a><br />
+Song (Peacock), <a href="#Page_104">104</a><br />
+Spaniel, On a, Called Beau, Killing a Young Bird, <a href="#Page_111">111</a><br />
+Spring, <a href="#Page_9">9</a><br />
+Spring and Summer, <a href="#Page_14">14</a><br />
+Spring Song, <a href="#Page_7">7</a><br />
+Spring, The Coming of, <a href="#Page_11">11</a><br />
+Spring, The Voice of, <a href="#Page_10">10</a><br />
+Storm, After the, <a href="#Page_156">156</a><br />
+Strange Lands, <a href="#Page_44">44</a><br />
+Summer Days, <a href="#Page_15">15</a><br />
+Swallows, The, <a href="#Page_53">53</a><br />
+Sweet and Low, <a href="#Page_227">227</a><br />
+<br />
+Thank You, Pretty Cow, <a href="#Page_114">114</a><br />
+Thanksgiving Day, <a href="#Page_196">196</a><br />
+Thanksgiving Fable, A, <a href="#Page_197">197</a><br />
+The Water! the Water! 49<br />
+There's Nothing Like the Rose, <a href="#Page_89">89</a><br />
+Thimble, What May Happen to a, <a href="#Page_190">190</a><br />
+Titmouse, The, <a href="#Page_64">64</a><br />
+To His Saviour, a Child; A Present by a Child, <a href="#Page_246">246</a><br />
+Tree, The, <a href="#Page_102">102</a><br />
+<br />
+Violet Bank, A, <a href="#Page_88">88</a><br />
+Violet, The, <a href="#Page_90">90</a><br />
+Violets, <a href="#Page_85">85</a><br />
+Voice, The Still Small, <a href="#Page_238">238</a><br />
+<br />
+Waterfall, The, <a href="#Page_35">35</a><br />
+What Does Little Birdie Say? <a href="#Page_69">69</a><br />
+What the Winds Bring, <a href="#Page_29">29</a><br />
+What Would You See? <a href="#Page_247">247</a><br />
+Where Go the Boats? <a href="#Page_125">125</a><br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span>Who Stole the Bird's Nest? <a href="#Page_59">59</a><br />
+Wild Geese, <a href="#Page_71">71</a><br />
+Wild Winds, <a href="#Page_32">32</a><br />
+Wind in a Frolic, The, <a href="#Page_38">38</a><br />
+Wind, The, <a href="#Page_33">33</a><br />
+Windy Nights, <a href="#Page_31">31</a><br />
+Winter Night, <a href="#Page_19">19</a><br />
+Wishing, <a href="#Page_127">127</a><br />
+Wonderful World, The, <a href="#Page_27">27</a><br />
+World's Music, The, <a href="#Page_146">146</a><br />
+Wynken, Blynken, and Nod, <a href="#Page_222">222</a><br />
+<br />
+Year's Windfalls, A (Rossetti), <a href="#Page_20">20</a><br />
+Young Dandelion, <a href="#Page_86">86</a><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> <i>From "Rhymes and Jingles," by Mary Mapes Dodge. By permission
+of Charles Scribner's Sons.</i></p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_B_2" id="Footnote_B_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_B_2"><span class="label">[B]</span></a> <i>From "Sing-Song," by Christina G. Rossetti. By permission of
+the Macmillan Company.</i></p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_C_3" id="Footnote_C_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_C_3"><span class="label">[C]</span></a> <i>From "A Child's Garden of Verses," by Robert Louis Stevenson.
+By permission of Charles Scribner's Sons.</i></p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_D_4" id="Footnote_D_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_D_4"><span class="label">[D]</span></a> <i>From "Along the Way," by Mary Mapes Dodge. By permission
+of Charles Scribner's Sons.</i></p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_E_5" id="Footnote_E_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_E_5"><span class="label">[E]</span></a> <i>From "Along the Way," by permission of Charles Scribner's Sons.</i></p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_F_6" id="Footnote_F_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_F_6"><span class="label">[F]</span></a> <i>Courtesy of D. Appleton &amp; Co., Publishers of Bryant's Complete
+Poetical Works.</i></p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_G_7" id="Footnote_G_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_G_7"><span class="label">[G]</span></a> <i>From "A Child's Garden of Verses." By permission of Charles
+Scribner's Sons.</i></p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_H_8" id="Footnote_H_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_H_8"><span class="label">[H]</span></a> <i>From "Rhymes and Jingles." By permission of Charles Scribner's
+Sons.</i></p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_I_9" id="Footnote_I_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_I_9"><span class="label">[I]</span></a> <i>From "A Child's Garden of Verses." By permission of Charles
+Scribner's Sons.</i></p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_J_10" id="Footnote_J_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_J_10"><span class="label">[J]</span></a> <i>From "A Child's Garden of Verses," by Robert Louis Stevenson.
+By permission of Charles Scribner's Sons.</i></p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_K_11" id="Footnote_K_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_K_11"><span class="label">[K]</span></a> <i>From "The Poems of H. C. Bunner." Copyright, 1889, by Charles
+Scribner's Sons.</i></p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_L_12" id="Footnote_L_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_L_12"><span class="label">[L]</span></a> <i>From "A Child's Garden of Verses," by Robert Louis Stevenson.
+By permission of Charles Scribner's Sons.</i></p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_M_13" id="Footnote_M_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_M_13"><span class="label">[M]</span></a> <i>From "With Trumpet and Drum," by Eugene Field. Copyright,
+1892, by Charles Scribner's Sons.</i></p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_N_14" id="Footnote_N_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_N_14"><span class="label">[N]</span></a> <i>From "The Poetical Works of J. G. Holland." Copyright, 1881, by
+Charles Scribner's Sons.</i></p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_O_15" id="Footnote_O_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_O_15"><span class="label">[O]</span></a> <i>From "With Trumpet and Drum," by Eugene Field. Copyright,
+1892, by Charles Scribner's Sons.</i></p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_P_16" id="Footnote_P_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_P_16"><span class="label">[P]</span></a> <i>From "Rhymes and Jingles," by Mary Mapes Dodge. By permission
+of Charles Scribner's Sons.</i></p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_Q_17" id="Footnote_Q_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_Q_17"><span class="label">[Q]</span></a> <i>From "Apple Blossoms," by Dora Read Goodale. By permission
+of G. P. Putnam's Sons.</i></p></div></div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<div class='tnote'><h3>Transcriber's Notes:</h3>
+<p>Obvious punctuation errors repaired.</p>
+
+<p>Page <a href="#Page_151">151</a>, a break was inserted between the lines:<br /><br />
+Fairer though they be than dreams of ours.<br />
+Baby, hear the birds!</p>
+
+<p>The remaining corrections made are indicated by dotted lines under the corrections. Scroll the mouse over
+the word and the original text will <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'apprear'">appear</ins>.</p></div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
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@@ -0,0 +1,9094 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Posy Ring, by Various
+
+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: The Posy Ring
+       A Book of Verse for Children
+
+Author: Various
+
+Editor: Kate Douglas Wiggin and Nora Archibald Smith
+
+Release Date: October 8, 2007 [EBook #22922]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POSY RING ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Emmy and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE POSY RING
+
+
+        _The Posy Ring
+        is a companion volume to
+        Golden Numbers
+        A Book of Verse for Youth
+        Edited by
+        Kate Douglas Wiggin and
+        Nora Archibald Smith_
+
+
+
+
+THE POSY RING
+
+
+A BOOK OF VERSE FOR CHILDREN
+
+CHOSEN AND CLASSIFIED BY
+
+
+Kate Douglas Wiggin
+
+
+AND
+
+
+Nora Archibald Smith
+
+[Illustration]
+
+        _"A box of jewels, shop of rarities,
+          A ring whose posy was 'My pleasure'"_
+                                   GEORGE HERBERT
+
+
+        MCCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO.
+        NEW YORK
+        MCMVI
+
+        _Copyright, 1903, by_
+        McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO.
+
+        Published, February, 1903, N
+        Fifth Impression.
+
+
+
+
+A NOTE
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+_THANKS are due to the following publishers for permission to reprint
+poems on which they hold copyright:_
+
+_Charles Scribner's Sons, for permission to use the following poems
+by Robert Louis Stevenson: "Windy Nights," "Where Go the Boats?" "The
+Little Land," "The Land of Story Books" and "Bed Time"; for the
+following poems by Mary Mapes Dodge: "Nearly Ready," "Now the Noisy
+Winds are Still," "Snowflakes," "Birdies with Broken Wings," and "Night
+and Day"; for the following poems by Eugene Field: "Wynken, Blynken, and
+Nod," and "Nightfall in Dordrecht"; for "Rockaby, Lullaby," by J. G.
+Holland; and for "One, Two, Three," by H. C. Bunner. G. P. Putnam's
+Sons, for permission to use "High and Low," by Dora Goodale. D. Appleton
+& Son, publishers of Bryant's Complete Poetical Works, for permission to
+reprint "Robert of Lincoln," by W. C. Bryant. E. P. Dutton & Co., for
+permission to reprint "The Birds in Spring," by Thomas Nashe. A. C.
+McClurg & Co., for permission to reprint "Baby Seed Song" and "Bird's
+Song in Spring," by E. Nesbit. The Century Company, for permission to
+reprint the "Seal Lullaby," by Rudyard Kipling. The "Independent," for
+permission to reprint "Baby Corn," Anon. Dana, Estes & Co., for
+permission to reprint "The Blue Jay," by Susan Hartley Swett. Small,
+Maynard & Co., for permission to reprint the following poems by John B.
+Tabb: "The Fern Song," "A Bunch of Roses," "The Child at Bethlehem."
+George Routledge & Sons, for permission to reprint the following poems
+by W. B. Rands: "The Child's World," "The Wonderful World," "Love and
+the Child," "Dolladine," "Dressing the Doll," "The Pedlar's Caravan,"
+and "Little Christel"; also for "Little White Lily" and "What Would You
+See?" by George Macdonald, and "The Wind," by L. E. Landon. Houghton,
+Mifflin & Co., for the right to reprint the following poems: "Marjorie's
+Almanac," by T. B. Aldrich; "Dandelion," by Helen Grey Cone; "The
+Fairies' Shopping" and "The Christmas Silence," by Margaret Deland; "The
+Titmouse" and "Fable," by Ralph Waldo Emerson; "Hiawatha's Chickens" and
+"Hiawatha's Brothers," by Henry W. Longfellow; "The Fountain," by James
+Russell Lowell; "The Rivulet," by Lucy Larcom; "The Coming of Spring,"
+by Nora Perry; "May," "The Waterfall," "Clouds," and "Bells of
+Christmas," by Frank Dempster Sherman; "What the Winds Bring" and "The
+Singer," by E. C. Stedman; "Spring," "Wild Geese," "Chanticleer," and
+"Little Gustava," by Celia Thaxter. Little, Brown & Co., for the right
+to reprint "September," by Helen Hunt Jackson; "When the Leaves Come
+Down," by Susan Coolidge; and "Summer Days," "A Year's Windfalls," "The
+Flower Folk," "There's Nothing Like the Rose," "Milking Time," "A
+Chill," and "A Birthday Gift," by Christina G. Rossetti. St. Nicholas,
+for permission to reprint "The Little Elf," by John Kendrick Bangs. The
+Macmillan Company, for permission to reprint "O Lady Moon," by Christina
+G. Rossetti. Frederick Warne & Co., for permission to reprint "By Cool
+Siloam's Shady Rill," by Reginald Heber. Cassell & Co., Ltd., for
+permission to reprint "The Last Voyage of the Fairies," by W. H.
+Davenport Adams._
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+        PUBLIC NOTICE.--_This is to state,
+        That these are the specimens left at the gate
+        Of Pinafore Palace, exact to date,
+        In the hands of the porter, Curlypate,
+        Who sits in his plush on a chair of state,
+        By somebody who is a candidate
+        For the office of Lilliput Laureate._
+                               _William Brighty Rands._
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+[Illustration]
+
+                                                               Page
+
+  LILLIPUT NOTICE. By _William Brighty Rands_                    ix
+
+A YEAR'S WINDFALLS
+
+  Marjorie's Almanac. By _Thomas Bailey Aldrich_                  3
+  In February. By _John Addington Symonds_                        5
+  March. By _William Wordsworth_                                  6
+  Nearly Ready. By _Mary Mapes Dodge_                             7
+  Spring Song. By _George Eliot_                                  7
+  In April. By _Elizabeth Akers_                                  8
+  Spring. By _Celia Thaxter_                                      9
+  The Voice of Spring. By _Mary Howitt_                          10
+  The Coming of Spring. By _Nora Perry_                          11
+  May. By _Frank Dempster Sherman_                               13
+  Spring and Summer. By "_A._"                                   14
+  Summer Days. By _Christina G. Rossetti_                        15
+  September. By _H. H._                                          16
+  How the Leaves Came Down. By _Susan Coolidge_                  17
+  Winter Night. By _Mary F. Butts_                               19
+  A Year's Windfalls. By _Christina G. Rossetti_                 20
+
+
+THE CHILD'S WORLD
+
+  The Wonderful World. By _William Brighty Rands_                27
+  A Day. By _Emily Dickinson_                                    28
+  Good-Morning. By _Robert Browning_                             29
+  What the Winds Bring. By _Edmund Clarence Stedman_             29
+  Lady Moon. By _Lord Houghton_                                  30
+  O Lady Moon. By _Christina G. Rossetti_                        31
+  Windy Nights. By _Robert Louis Stevenson_                      31
+  Wild Winds. By _Mary F. Butts_                                 32
+  Now the Noisy Winds are Still. By _Mary Mapes Dodge_           33
+  The Wind. _Letitia E. Landon_                                  33
+  The Fountain. By _James Russell Lowell_                        34
+  The Waterfall. By _Frank Dempster Sherman_                     35
+  The Voice of the Grass. By _Sarah Roberts Boyle_               36
+  The Wind in a Frolic. By _William Howitt_                      38
+  Clouds. By _Frank Dempster Sherman_                            40
+  Signs of Rain. By _Edward Jenner_                              41
+  A Sudden Shower. By _James Whitcomb Riley_                     43
+  Strange Lands. By _Laurence Alma Tadema_                       44
+  Guessing Song. By _Henry Johnstone_                            45
+  The Rivulet. By _Lucy Larcom_                                  46
+  Jack Frost. By _Hannah F. Gould_                               47
+  Snowflakes. By _Mary Mapes Dodge_                              49
+  The Water! The Water. By _William Motherwell_                  49
+
+
+HIAWATHA'S CHICKENS
+
+  The Swallows. By _Edwin Arnold_                                53
+  The Swallow's Nest. By _Edwin Arnold_                          53
+  The Birds in Spring. By _Thomas Nashe_                         54
+  Robin Redbreast. By _William Allingham_                        54
+  The Lark and the Rook. _Unknown_                               56
+  The Snowbird. By _Hezekiah Butterworth_                        57
+  Who Stole the Bird's Nest? By _Lydia Maria Child_              59
+  Answer to a Child's Question. By _Samuel Taylor Coleridge_     62
+  The Burial of the Linnet. By _Juliana H. Ewing_                63
+  The Titmouse. By _Ralph Waldo Emerson_                         64
+  Birds in Summer. By _Mary Howitt_                              65
+  An Epitaph on a Robin Redbreast. By _Samuel Rogers_            67
+  The Bluebird. By _Emily Huntington Miller_                     68
+  Song. By _John Keats_                                          69
+  What Does Little Birdie Say? By _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_        69
+  The Owl. By _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_                            70
+  Wild Geese. By _Celia Thaxter_                                 71
+  Chanticleer. By _Celia Thaxter_                                72
+  The Singer. By _Edmund Clarence Stedman_                       73
+  The Blue Jay. By _Susan Hartley Swett_                         74
+  Robert of Lincoln. By _William Cullen Bryant_                  75
+  White Butterflies. By _Algernon C. Swinburne_                  78
+  The Ant and the Cricket. _Unknown_                             78
+
+
+THE FLOWER FOLK
+
+  Little White Lily. By _George Macdonald_                       83
+  Violets. By _Dinah Maria Mulock_                               85
+  Young Dandelion. By _Dinah Maria Mulock_                       86
+  Baby Seed Song. By _E. Nesbit_                                 88
+  A Violet Bank. By _William Shakespeare_                        88
+  There's Nothing Like the Rose. By _Christina G. Rossetti_      89
+  Snowdrops. By _Laurence Alma Tadema_                           89
+  Fern Song. By _John B. Tabb_                                   90
+  The Violet. By _Jane Taylor_                                   90
+  Daffy-Down-Dilly. By _Anna B. Warner_                          91
+  Baby Corn. _Unknown_                                           93
+  A Child's Fancy. By "_A._"                                     95
+  Little Dandelion. By _Helen B. Bostwick_                       97
+  Dandelions. By _Helen Gray Cone_                               98
+  The Flax Flower. By _Mary Howitt_                              99
+  Dear Little Violets. By _John Moultrie_                       101
+  Bird's Song in Spring. By _E. Nesbit_                         102
+  The Tree. By _Bjoernstjerne Bjoernson_                          102
+  The Daisy's Song. By _John Keats_                             103
+  Song. By _Thomas Love Peacock_                                104
+  For Good Luck. By _Juliana Horatia Ewing_                     105
+
+
+HIAWATHA'S BROTHERS
+
+  My Pony. By "_A._"                                            109
+  On a Spaniel, Called Beau, Killing a Young Bird.
+    By _William Cowper_                                         111
+  Beau's Reply. By _William Cowper_                             112
+  Seal Lullaby. By _Rudyard Kipling_                            113
+  Milking Time. By _Christina G. Rossetti_                      113
+  Thank You, Pretty Cow. By _Jane Taylor_                       114
+  The Boy and the Sheep. By _Ann Taylor_                        114
+  Lambs in the Meadow. By _Laurence Alma Tadema_                115
+  The Pet Lamb. By _William Wordsworth_                         116
+  The Kitten, and Falling Leaves. By _William Wordsworth_       121
+
+
+OTHER LITTLE CHILDREN
+
+  Where Go the Boats? By _Robert Louis Stevenson_               125
+  Cleanliness. By _Charles and Mary Lamb_                       126
+  Wishing. By _William Allingham_                               127
+  The Boy. By _William Allingham_                               128
+  Infant Joy. By _William Blake_                                129
+  A Blessing for the Blessed. By _Laurence Alma Tadema_         129
+  Piping Down the Valleys Wild. By _William Blake_              131
+  A Sleeping Child. By _Arthur Hugh Clough_                     132
+  Birdies with Broken Wings. By _Mary Mapes Dodge_              133
+  Seven Times One. By _Jean Ingelow_                            133
+  I Remember, I Remember. By _Thomas Hood_                      135
+  Good-Night and Good-Morning. By _Lord Houghton_               136
+  Little Children. By _Mary Howitt_                             137
+  The Angel's Whisper. By _Samuel Lover_                        139
+  Little Garaine. By _Sir Gilbert Parker_                       140
+  A Letter. By _Matthew Prior_                                  141
+  Love and the Child. By _William Brighty Rands_                142
+  Polly. By _William Brighty Rands_                             143
+  A Chill. By _Christina G. Rossetti_                           144
+  A Child's Laughter. By _Algernon C. Swinburne_                145
+  The World's Music. By _Gabriel Setoun_                        146
+  The Little Land. By _Robert Louis Stevenson_                  148
+  In a Garden. By _Algernon C. Swinburne_                       151
+  Little Gustava. By _Celia Thaxter_                            152
+  A Bunch of Roses. By _John B. Tabb_                           155
+  The Child at Bethlehem. By _John B. Tabb_                     155
+  After the Storm. By _W. M. Thackeray_                         156
+  Lucy Gray. By _William Wordsworth_                            156
+  Deaf and Dumb. By "_A_."                                      159
+  The Blind Boy. By _Colley Cibber_                             160
+
+
+PLAY-TIME
+
+  A Boy's Song. By _James Hogg_                                 165
+  The Lost Doll. By _Charles Kingsley_                          166
+  Dolladine. By _William Brighty Rands_                         167
+  Dressing the Doll. By _William Brighty Rands_                 167
+  The Pedlar's Caravan. By _William Brighty Rands_              170
+  A Sea-Song from the Shore. _James Whitcomb Riley_             171
+  The Land of Story-Books. By _Robert Louis Stevenson_          172
+  The City Child. By _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_                    173
+  Going into Breeches. By _Charles and Mary Lamb_               174
+  Hunting Song. By _Samuel Taylor Coleridge_                    176
+  Hie Away. By _Sir Walter Scott_                               176
+
+
+STORY TIME
+
+    The Fairy Folk. By _Robert Bird_                            181
+    A Fairy in Armor. By _Joseph Rodman Drake_                  183
+    The Last Voyage of the Fairies. By _W. H. Davenport Adams_  184
+    A New Fern. By "_A_."                                       186
+    The Child and the Fairies. By "_A_."                        187
+    The Little Elf. By _John Kendrick Bangs_                    188
+    "One, Two, Three." By _Henry C. Bunner_                     188
+    What May Happen to a Thimble. By "_B_."                     190
+    Discontent. By _Sarah Orne Jewett_                          193
+    The Nightingale and the Glowworm. By _William Cowper_       195
+    Thanksgiving Day. By _Lydia Maria Child_                    196
+    A Thanksgiving Fable. By _Oliver Herford_                   197
+    The Magpie's Nest. By _Charles and Mary Lamb_               198
+    The Owl and the Pussy-Cat. By _Edward Lear_                 201
+    A Lobster Quadrille. By _Lewis Carroll_                     202
+    The Fairies' Shopping. By _Margaret Deland_                 204
+    Fable. By _Ralph Waldo Emerson_                             206
+    A Midsummer Song. By _Richard Watson Gilder_                207
+    The Fairies of the Caldon-Low. By _Mary Howitt_             209
+    The Elf and the Dormouse. By _Oliver Herford_               213
+    Meg Merrilies. By _John Keats_                              214
+    Romance. By _Gabriel Setoun_                                215
+    The Cow-Boy's Song. By _Anna M. Wells_                      217
+
+
+BED TIME
+
+  Auld Daddy Darkness. By _James Ferguson_                      221
+  Wynken, Blynken, and Nod. By _Eugene Field_                   222
+  Rockaby, Lullaby. By _Josiah Gilbert Holland_                 224
+  Sleep, My Treasure. By _E. Nesbit_                            225
+  Lullaby of an Infant Chief. By _Sir Walter Scott_             226
+  Sweet and Low. By _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_                     227
+  Old Gaelic Lullaby. _Unknown_                                 228
+  The Sandman. By _Margaret Vandegrift_                         228
+  The Cottager to Her Infant. By _Dorothy Wordsworth_           230
+  A Charm to Call Sleep. By _Henry Johnstone_                   231
+  Night. By _Mary F. Butts_                                     232
+  Bed-Time. By _Lord Rosslyn_                                   232
+  Nightfall in Dordrecht. By _Eugene Field_                     233
+
+
+FOR SUNDAY'S CHILD
+
+  All Things Bright and Beautiful. By _Cecil F. Alexander_      237
+  The Still Small Voice. By _Alexander Smart_                   238
+  The Camel's Nose. By _Lydia H. Sigourney_                     240
+  A Child's Grace. By _Robert Burns_                            241
+  A Child's Thought of God. By _Elizabeth B. Browning_          241
+  The Lamb. By _William Blake_                                  242
+  Night and Day. By _Mary Mapes Dodge_                          243
+  High and Low. By _Dora Read Goodale_                          244
+  By Cool Siloam's Shady Rill. By _Reginald Heber_              244
+  Sheep and Lambs. By _Katharine Tynan Hinkson_                 245
+  To His Saviour, a Child; A Present by a Child.
+    By _Robert Herrick_                                         246
+  What Would You See? By _George Macdonald_                     247
+  Corn-Fields. By _Mary Howitt_                                 248
+  Little Christel. By _William Brighty Rands_                   250
+  A Child's Prayer. By _M. Betham Edwards_                      252
+
+
+BELLS OF CHRISTMAS
+
+  The Adoration of the Wise Men. By _Cecil F. Alexander_        257
+  Cradle Hymn. By _Isaac Watts_                                 258
+  The Christmas Silence. By _Margaret Deland_                   260
+  An Offertory. By _Mary Mapes Dodge_                           261
+  Christmas Song. By _Lydia Avery Coonley Ward_                 261
+  A Visit from St. Nicholas. By _Clement C. Moore_              262
+  The Christmas Trees. By _Mary F. Butts_                       265
+  A Birthday Gift. By _Christina G. Rossetti_                   267
+  A Christmas Lullaby. By _John Addington Symonds_              267
+  I Saw Three Ships. _Old Carol_                                268
+  Santa Claus. _Unknown_                                        269
+  Neighbors of the Christ Night. By _Nora Archibald Smith_      271
+  Cradle Hymn. By _Martin Luther_                               272
+  The Christmas Holly. By _Eliza Cook_                          273
+
+  LILLIPUT NOTICE. By _William Brighty Rands_          274
+
+
+
+
+THE POSY RING
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+
+
+
+A YEAR'S WINDFALLS
+
+
+        _Who comes dancing over the snow,
+          His soft little feet all bare and rosy?
+        Open the door, though the wild winds blow,
+          Take the child in and make him cosy.
+          Take him in and hold him dear,
+          He is the wonderful glad New Year._
+
+        _Dinah M. Mulock._
+
+
+
+
+A YEAR'S WINDFALLS
+
+
+
+
+_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.
+
+
+
+
+_In February_
+
+
+        The birds have been singing to-day,
+          And saying: "The spring is near!
+        The sun is as warm as in May,
+          And the deep blue heavens are clear."
+
+        The little bird on the boughs
+          Of the sombre snow-laden pine
+        Thinks: "Where shall I build me my house,
+          And how shall I make it fine?
+
+        "For the season of snow is past;
+          The mild south wind is on high;
+        And the scent of the spring is cast
+          From his wing as he hurries by."
+
+        The little birds twitter and cheep
+          To their loves on the leafless larch;
+        But seven feet deep the snow-wreaths sleep,
+          And the year hath not worn to March.
+
+John Addington Symonds.
+
+
+
+
+_March_
+
+
+          The cock is crowing,
+          The stream is flowing,
+          The small birds twitter,
+          The lake doth glitter,
+        The green field sleeps in the sun;
+          The oldest and youngest
+          Are at work with the strongest;
+          The cattle are grazing,
+          Their heads never raising;
+        There are forty feeding like one.
+
+          Like an army defeated
+          The snow hath retreated,
+          And now doth fare ill
+          On the top of the bare hill;
+        The ploughboy is whooping--anon--anon!
+          There's joy on the mountains;
+          There's life in the fountains;
+          Small clouds are sailing,
+          Blue sky prevailing;
+        The rain is over and gone.
+
+William Wordsworth.
+
+
+
+
+_Nearly Ready_[A]
+
+
+        In the snowing and the blowing,
+          In the cruel sleet,
+        Little flowers begin their growing
+          Far beneath our feet.
+        Softly taps the Spring, and cheerly,
+          "Darlings, are you here?"
+        Till they answer, "We are nearly,
+          Nearly ready, dear."
+
+        "Where is Winter, with his snowing?
+          Tell us, Spring," they say.
+        Then she answers, "He is going,
+          Going on his way.
+        Poor old Winter does not love you;
+          But his time is past;
+        Soon my birds shall sing above you,--
+          Set you free at last."
+
+Mary Mapes Dodge.
+
+
+
+
+_Spring Song_
+
+
+        Spring comes hither,
+          Buds the rose;
+        Roses wither,
+          Sweet spring goes.
+
+        Summer soars,--
+          Wide-winged day;
+        White light pours,
+          Flies away.
+
+        Soft winds blow,
+          Westward born;
+        Onward go,
+          Toward the morn.
+
+George Eliot
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] _From "Rhymes and Jingles," by Mary Mapes Dodge. By permission of
+Charles Scribner's Sons._
+
+
+
+
+_In April_
+
+
+        The poplar drops beside the way
+        Its tasselled plumes of silver-gray;
+        The chestnut pouts its great brown buds
+        Impatient for the laggard May.
+
+        The honeysuckles lace the wall,
+        The hyacinths grow fair and tall;
+        And mellow sun and pleasant wind
+        And odorous bees are over all.
+
+Elizabeth Akers.
+
+
+
+
+_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 Voice of Spring_
+
+
+        I am coming, I am coming!
+        Hark! the little 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.
+
+        See, the yellow catkins cover
+        All the slender willows over!
+        And on the banks of mossy green
+        Star-like primroses are seen;
+        And, their clustering leaves below,
+        White and purple violets blow.
+
+        Hark! the 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 thee, 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 flowers and fruit.
+
+        Turn thine eyes to earth and heaven:
+        God for thee the spring has given,
+        Taught the birds their melodies,
+        Clothed the earth, and cleared the skies,
+        For thy pleasure or thy food:
+        Pour thy soul in gratitude.
+
+Mary Howitt.
+
+
+
+
+_The Coming of Spring_
+
+
+        There's something in the air
+        That's new and sweet and rare--
+        A scent of summer things,
+        A whir as if of wings.
+
+        There's something, too, that's new
+        In the color of the blue
+        That's in the morning sky,
+        Before the sun is high.
+
+        And though on plain and hill
+        'Tis winter, winter still,
+        There's something seems to say
+        That winter's had its day.
+
+        And all this changing tint,
+        This whispering stir and hint
+        Of bud and bloom and wing,
+        Is the coming of the spring.
+
+        And to-morrow or to-day
+        The brooks will break away
+        From their icy, frozen sleep,
+        And run, and laugh, and leap.
+
+        And the next thing, in the woods,
+        The catkins in their hoods
+        Of fur and silk will stand,
+        A sturdy little band.
+
+        And the tassels soft and fine
+        Of the hazel will entwine,
+        And the elder branches show
+        Their buds against the snow.
+
+        So, silently but swift,
+        Above the wintry drift,
+        The long days gain and gain,
+        Until on hill and plain,--
+
+        Once more, and yet once more,
+        Returning as before,
+        We see the bloom of birth
+        Make young again the earth.
+
+Nora Perry.
+
+
+
+
+_May_
+
+
+        May shall make the world anew;
+        Golden sun and silver dew,
+        Money minted in the sky,
+        Shall the earth's new garments buy.
+        May shall make the orchards bloom;
+        And the blossoms' fine perfume
+        Shall set all the honey-bees
+        Murmuring among the trees.
+        May shall make the bud appear
+        Like a jewel, crystal clear,
+        'Mid the leaves upon the limb
+        Where the robin lilts his hymn.
+        May shall make the wild flowers tell
+        Where the shining snowflakes fell;
+        Just as though each snow-flake's heart,
+        By some secret, magic art,
+        Were transmuted to a flower
+        In the sunlight and the shower.
+        Is there such another, pray,
+        Wonder-making month as May?
+
+Frank Dempster Sherman.
+
+
+
+
+_Spring and Summer_
+
+
+        Spring is growing up,
+          Is not it a pity?
+        She was such a little thing,
+          And so very pretty!
+        Summer is extremely grand,
+          We must pay her duty,
+        (But it is to little Spring
+          That she owes her beauty!)
+
+        All the buds are blown,
+          Trees are dark and shady,
+        (It was Spring who dress'd them, though,
+          Such a little lady!)
+        And the birds sing loud and sweet
+          Their enchanting hist'ries,
+        (It was Spring who taught them, though,
+          Such a singing mistress!)
+
+        From the glowing sky
+          Summer shines above us;
+        Spring was such a little dear,
+          But will Summer love us?
+        She is very beautiful,
+          With her grown-up blisses,
+        Summer we must bow before;
+          Spring we coaxed with kisses!
+
+        Spring is growing up,
+          Leaving us so lonely,
+        In the place of little Spring
+          We have Summer only!
+        Summer with her lofty airs,
+          And her stately faces,
+        In the place of little Spring,
+          With her childish graces!
+
+"A."
+
+
+
+
+_Summer Days_
+
+
+        Winter is cold-hearted;
+          Spring is yea and nay;
+        Autumn is a weathercock,
+          Blown every way:
+        Summer days for me,
+        When every leaf is on its tree,
+
+        When Robin's not a beggar,
+          And Jenny Wren's a bride,
+        And larks hang, singing, singing, singing,
+          Over the wheat-fields wide,
+          And anchored lilies ride,
+        And the pendulum spider
+          Swings from side to side,
+
+        And blue-black beetles transact business,
+          And gnats fly in a host,
+        And furry caterpillars hasten
+          That no time be lost,
+        And moths grow fat and thrive,
+        And ladybirds arrive.
+
+        Before green apples blush,
+          Before green nuts embrown,
+        Why, one day in the country
+          Is worth a month in town--
+          Is worth a day and a year
+        Of the dusty, musty, lag-last fashion
+        That days drone elsewhere.
+
+Christina G. Rossetti.
+
+
+
+
+_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.
+
+H. H.
+
+
+
+
+_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 you went 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, just for 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 bed-clothes 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.
+
+
+
+
+_Winter Night_
+
+
+            Blow, wind, blow!
+            Drift the flying snow!
+        Send it twirling, whirling overhead!
+            There's a bedroom in a tree
+            Where, snug as snug can be,
+        The squirrel nests in his cosey bed.
+
+            Shriek, wind, shriek!
+            Make the branches creak!
+        Battle with the boughs till break o' day!
+            In a snow-cave warm and tight,
+            Through the icy winter night
+        The rabbit sleeps the peaceful hours away.
+
+            Call, wind, call,
+            In entry and in hall,
+        Straight from off the mountain white and wild!
+            Soft purrs the pussy-cat
+            On her little fluffy mat,
+        And beside her nestles close her furry child.
+
+            Scold, wind, scold,
+            So bitter and so bold!
+        Shake the windows with your tap, tap, tap!
+            With half-shut, dreamy eyes
+            The drowsy baby lies
+        Cuddled closely in his mother's lap.
+
+Mary F. Butts.
+
+
+
+
+A Year's Windfalls
+
+
+        On the wind of January
+          Down flits the snow,
+        Travelling from the frozen North
+          As cold as it can blow.
+        Poor robin redbreast,
+          Look where he comes;
+        Let him in to feel your fire,
+          And toss him of your crumbs.
+
+        On the wind in February
+          Snowflakes float still,
+        Half inclined to turn to rain,
+          Nipping, dripping, chill.
+        Then the thaws swell the streams,
+          And swollen rivers swell the sea:--
+        If the winter ever ends
+          How pleasant it will be.
+
+        In the wind of windy March
+          The catkins drop down,
+        Curly, caterpillar-like,
+          Curious green and brown.
+        With concourse of nest-building birds
+          And leaf-buds by the way,
+        We begin to think of flowers
+          And life and nuts some day.
+
+        With the gusts of April
+          Rich fruit-tree blossoms fall,
+        On the hedged-in orchard-green,
+          From the southern wall.
+        Apple-trees and pear-trees
+          Shed petals white or pink,
+        Plum-trees and peach-trees;
+          While sharp showers sink and sink.
+
+        Little brings the May breeze
+          Beside pure scent of flowers,
+        While all things wax and nothing wanes
+          In lengthening daylight hours.
+        Across the hyacinth beds
+          The wind lags warm and sweet,
+        Across the hawthorn tops,
+          Across the blades of wheat.
+
+        In the wind of sunny June
+          Thrives the red rose crop,
+        Every day fresh blossoms blow
+          While the first leaves drop;
+        White rose and yellow rose
+          And moss rose choice to find,
+        And the cottage cabbage-rose
+          Not one whit behind.
+
+        On the blast of scorched July
+          Drives the pelting hail,
+        From thunderous lightning-clouds, that blot
+          Blue heaven grown lurid-pale.
+        Weedy waves are tossed ashore,
+          Sea-things strange to sight
+        Gasp upon the barren shore
+          And fade away in light.
+
+        In the parching August wind
+          Corn-fields bow the head,
+        Sheltered in round valley depths,
+          On low hills outspread.
+        Early leaves drop loitering down
+          Weightless on the breeze,
+        First fruits of the year's decay
+          From the withering trees.
+
+        In brisk wind of September
+          The heavy-headed fruits
+        Shake upon their bending boughs
+          And drop from the shoots;
+        Some glow golden in the sun,
+          Some show green and streaked,
+        Some set forth a purple bloom,
+          Some blush rosy-cheeked.
+
+        In strong blast of October
+          At the equinox,
+        Stirred up in his hollow bed
+          Broad ocean rocks;
+        Plunge the ships on his bosom,
+          Leaps and plunges the foam,
+        It's oh! for mothers' sons at sea,
+          That they were safe at home.
+
+        In slack wind of November
+          The fog forms and shifts;
+        All the world comes out again
+          When the fog lifts.
+        Loosened from their sapless twigs
+          Leaves drop with every gust;
+        Drifting, rustling, out of sight
+          In the damp or dust.
+
+        Last of all, December,
+          The year's sands nearly run,
+        Speeds on the shortest day,
+          Curtails the sun;
+        With its bleak raw wind
+          Lays the last leaves low,
+        Brings back the nightly frosts,
+          Brings back the snow.
+
+Christina G. Rossetti.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+THE CHILD'S 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._
+
+_William Brighty Rands._
+
+
+
+
+THE CHILD'S WORLD
+
+
+
+
+_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 top 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 hardly can think of you, World, at all;
+        And yet, when I said my prayers to-day,
+        My mother kissed me, and said, quite gay,
+
+        "If the wonderful World is great to you,
+        And great to father and mother, too,
+        You are more than the Earth, though you are such a dot!
+        You can love and think, and the Earth cannot!"
+
+William Brighty Rands.
+
+
+
+
+_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 I said 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.
+
+
+
+
+_Good-Morning_
+
+
+        The year's at the Spring,
+        And day's at the morn;
+        Morning's at seven;
+        The hill-side's dew-pearled;
+        The lark's on the wing;
+        The snail's on the thorn;
+        God's in his heaven--
+        All's right with the world.
+
+Robert Browning.
+
+
+
+
+_What the Winds Bring_
+
+
+        Which is the Wind that brings the cold?
+          The North-Wind, Freddy, and all the snow;
+        And the sheep will scamper into the fold
+          When the North begins to blow.
+
+        Which is the Wind that brings the heat?
+          The South-Wind, Katy; and corn will grow,
+        And peaches redden for you to eat,
+          When the South begins to blow.
+
+        Which is the Wind that brings the rain?
+          The East-Wind, Arty; and farmers know
+        The cows come shivering up the lane,
+          When the East begins to blow.
+
+        Which is the Wind that brings the flowers?
+          The West-Wind, Bessy; and soft and low
+        The birdies sing in the summer hours,
+          When the West begins to blow.
+
+Edmund Clarence Stedman.
+
+
+
+
+_Lady Moon_
+
+
+        Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving?
+            "Over the sea."
+        Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving?
+            "All that love me."
+
+        Are you not tired with rolling, and never
+            Resting to sleep?
+        Why look so pale and so sad, as forever
+            Wishing to weep?
+
+        "Ask me not this, little child, if you love me:
+            You are too bold:
+        I must obey my dear Father above me,
+            And do as I'm told."
+
+        Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving?
+            "Over the sea."
+        Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving?
+            "All that love me."
+
+Lord Houghton.
+
+
+
+
+_O Lady Moon_[A]
+
+
+        O Lady Moon, your horns point toward the east:
+            Shine, be increased;
+        O Lady Moon, your horns point toward the west:
+            Wane, be at rest.
+
+Christina G. Rossetti.
+
+
+
+
+_Windy Nights_[B]
+
+
+        Whenever the moon and stars are set,
+            Whenever the wind is high,
+        All night long in the dark and wet,
+            A man goes riding by,
+        Late at night when the fires are out,
+        Why does he gallop and gallop about?
+
+        Whenever the trees are crying aloud,
+            And ships are tossed at sea,
+        By, on the highway, low and loud,
+            By at the gallop goes he.
+        By at the gallop he goes, and then
+        By he comes back at the gallop again.
+
+Robert Louis Stevenson.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] _From "Sing-Song," by Christina G. Rossetti. By permission of the
+Macmillan Company._
+
+[B] _From "A Child's Garden of Verses," by Robert Louis Stevenson. By
+permission of Charles Scribner's Sons._
+
+
+
+
+_Wild Winds_
+
+
+        Oh, oh, how the wild winds blow!
+              Blow high,
+              Blow low,
+            And whirlwinds go,
+        To chase the little leaves that fly--
+            Fly low and high,
+        To hollow and to steep hill-side;
+        They shiver in the dreary weather,
+        And creep in little heaps together,
+        And nestle close and try to hide.
+
+        Oh, oh, how the wild winds blow!
+              Blow low,
+              Blow high,
+            And whirlwinds try
+        To find a crevice--to find a crack,
+        They whirl to the front; they whirl to the back.
+        But Tommy and Will and the baby together
+        Are snug and safe from the wintry weather.
+            All the winds that blow
+            Cannot touch a toe--
+            Cannot twist or twirl
+            One silken curl.
+        They may rattle the doors in a noisy pack,
+        But the blazing fires will drive them back.
+
+Mary F. Butts.
+
+
+
+
+_Now the Noisy Winds Are Still_[A]
+
+
+        Now the noisy winds are still;
+        April's coming up the hill!
+        All the spring is in her train,
+        Led by shining ranks of rain;
+            Pit, pat, patter, clatter,
+            Sudden sun, and clatter, patter!--
+        First the blue, and then the shower;
+        Bursting bud, and smiling flower;
+        Brooks set free with tinkling ring;
+        Birds too full of song to sing;
+        Crisp old leaves astir with pride,
+        Where the timid violets hide,--
+        All things ready with a will,--
+        April's coming up the hill!
+
+Mary Mapes Dodge.
+
+
+
+
+_The Wind_
+
+
+        The wind has a language, I would I could learn;
+        Sometimes 'tis soothing, and sometimes 'tis stern;
+        Sometimes it comes like a low, sweet song,
+        And all things grow calm, as the sound floats along;
+        And the forest is lulled by the dreamy strain;
+        And slumber sinks down on the wandering main;
+        And its crystal arms are folded in rest,
+        And the tall ship sleeps on its heaving breast.
+
+Letitia Elizabeth Landon.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] _From "Along the Way," by Mary Mapes Dodge. By permission of Charles
+Scribner's Sons._
+
+
+
+
+_The Fountain_
+
+
+        Into the sunshine,
+          Full of the light,
+        Leaping and flashing
+          From morn till night!
+
+        Into the moonlight,
+          Whiter than snow,
+        Waving so flower-like
+          When the winds blow!
+
+        Into the starlight,
+          Rushing in spray,
+        Happy at midnight,
+          Happy by day;
+
+        Ever in motion,
+          Blithesome and cheery,
+        Still climbing heavenward,
+          Never aweary;
+
+        Glad of all weathers;
+          Still seeming best,
+        Upward or downward;
+          Motion thy rest;
+
+        Full of a nature
+          Nothing can tame,
+        Changed every moment,
+          Ever the same;
+
+        Ceaseless aspiring,
+          Ceaseless content,
+        Darkness or sunshine
+          Thy element;
+
+        Glorious fountain!
+          Let my heart be
+        Fresh, changeful, constant,
+          Upward like thee!
+
+James Russell Lowell.
+
+
+
+
+_The Waterfall_
+
+
+        _Tinkle, tinkle!_
+        Listen well!
+        Like a fairy silver bell
+        In the distance ringing,
+        Lightly swinging
+        In the air;
+        'Tis the water in the dell
+        Where the elfin minstrels dwell,
+        Falling in a rainbow sprinkle,
+        Dropping stars that brightly twinkle,
+        Bright and fair,
+        On the darkling pool below,
+        Making music so;
+        'Tis the water elves who play
+        On their lutes of spray.
+        _Tinkle, tinkle!_
+        Like a fairy silver bell;
+        Like a pebble in a shell;
+        _Tinkle, tinkle!_
+        Listen well!
+
+Frank Dempster Sherman.
+
+
+
+
+_The Voice of the Grass_
+
+
+        Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;
+            By the dusty roadside,
+            On the sunny hill-side,
+            Close by the noisy brook,
+            In every shady nook,
+        I come creeping, creeping everywhere.
+
+        Here I come creeping, smiling everywhere;
+            All around the open door,
+            Where sit the aged poor;
+            Here where the children play,
+            In the bright and merry May,
+        I come creeping, creeping everywhere.
+
+        Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;
+            In the noisy city street
+            My pleasant face you'll meet,
+            Cheering the sick at heart
+            Toiling his busy part,--
+        Silently creeping, creeping everywhere.
+
+        Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;
+            You cannot see me coming,
+            Nor hear my low sweet humming;
+            For in the starry night,
+            And the glad morning light,
+        I come quietly creeping everywhere.
+
+        Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;
+            More welcome than the flowers
+            In summer's pleasant hours;
+            The gentle cow is glad,
+            And the merry bird not sad,
+        To see me creeping, creeping everywhere.
+
+               *       *       *       *       *
+
+        Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;
+            My humble song of praise
+            Most joyfully I raise
+            To him at whose command
+            I beautify the land,
+        Creeping, silently creeping everywhere.
+
+Sarah Roberts Boyle.
+
+
+
+
+_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
+        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 the urchins that stand with their thievish eyes
+        Forever on watch, ran off with each prize.
+
+        Then away to the field 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 the spray,
+        Or the traveller 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 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 their 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.
+
+
+
+
+_Clouds_
+
+
+        The sky is full of clouds to-day,
+          And idly to and fro,
+        Like sheep across the pasture, they
+          Across the heavens go.
+        I hear the wind with merry noise--
+          Around the housetops sweep,
+        And dream it is the shepherd boys,
+          They're driving home their sheep.
+
+        The clouds move faster now; and see!
+          The west is red and gold.
+        Each sheep seems hastening to be
+          The first within the fold.
+        I watch them hurry on until
+          The blue is clear and deep,
+        And dream that far beyond the hill
+          The shepherds fold their sheep.
+
+        Then in the sky the trembling stars
+          Like little flowers shine out,
+        While Night puts up the shadow bars,
+          And darkness falls about.
+        I hear the shepherd wind's good-night--
+          "Good-night and happy sleep!"
+        And dream that in the east, all white,
+          Slumber the clouds, the sheep.
+
+Frank Dempster Sherman.
+
+
+
+
+_Signs of Rain_
+
+
+        The hollow winds begin to blow,
+        The clouds look black, the glass is low,
+        The soot falls down, the spaniels sleep,
+        The spiders from their cobwebs peep:
+        Last night the sun went pale to bed,
+        The moon in halos hid her head;
+        The boding shepherd heaves a sigh,
+        For, see, a rainbow spans the sky:
+        The walls are damp, the ditches smell,
+        Closed is the pink-eyed pimpernel.
+        Hark how the chairs and tables crack!
+        Old Betty's joints are on the rack;
+        Loud quack the ducks, the peacocks cry,
+        The distant hills are seeming nigh.
+        How restless are the snorting swine;
+        The busy flies disturb the kine;
+        Low o'er the grass the swallow wings,
+        The cricket too, how sharp he sings;
+        Puss on the hearth, with velvet paws,
+        Sits wiping o'er her whiskered jaws.
+        Through the clear stream the fishes rise,
+        And nimbly catch the incautious flies.
+        The glow-worms, numerous and bright,
+        Illumed the dewy dell last night.
+        At dusk the squalid toad was seen,
+        Hopping and crawling o'er the green;
+        The whirling wind the dust obeys,
+        And in the rapid eddy plays;
+        The frog has changed his yellow vest,
+        And in a russet coat is dressed.
+        Though June, the air is cold and still,
+        The mellow blackbird's voice is shrill.
+        My dog, so altered in his taste,
+        Quits mutton-bones on grass to feast;
+        And see yon rooks, how odd their flight,
+        They imitate the gliding kite,
+        And seem precipitate to fall,
+        As if they felt the piercing ball.
+        'Twill surely rain, I see with sorrow,
+        Our jaunt must be put off to-morrow.
+
+Edward Jenner.
+
+
+
+
+_A Sudden Shower_
+
+
+        Barefooted boys scud up the street,
+          Or scurry under sheltering sheds;
+        And school-girl faces, pale and sweet,
+          Gleam from the shawls about their heads.
+
+        Doors bang; and mother-voices call
+          From alien homes; and rusty gates
+        Are slammed; and high above it all
+          The thunder grim reverberates.
+
+        And then abrupt,--the rain, the rain!
+          The earth lies gasping; and the eyes
+        Behind the streaming window-panes
+          Smile at the trouble of the skies.
+
+        The highway smokes, sharp echoes ring;
+          The cattle bawl and cow-bells clank;
+        And into town comes galloping
+          The farmer's horse, with steaming flank.
+
+        The swallow dips beneath the eaves,
+          And flirts his plumes and folds his wings;
+        And under the catawba leaves
+          The caterpillar curls and clings.
+
+        The bumble-bee is pelted down
+          The wet stem of the hollyhock;
+        And sullenly in spattered brown
+          The cricket leaps the garden walk.
+
+        Within, the baby claps his hands
+          And crows with rapture strange and vague;
+        Without, beneath the rosebush stands
+          A dripping rooster on one leg.
+
+James Whitcomb Riley.
+
+
+
+
+_Strange Lands_
+
+
+        Where do you come from, Mr. Jay?
+        "From the land of Play, from the land of Play."
+        And where can that be, Mr. Jay?
+            "Far away--far away."
+
+        Where do you come from, Mrs. Dove?
+        "From the land of Love, from the land of Love."
+        And how do you get there, Mrs. Dove?
+            "Look above--look above."
+
+        Where do you come from, Baby Miss?
+        "From the land of Bliss, from the land of Bliss."
+        And what is the way there, Baby Miss?
+            "Mother's kiss--mother's kiss."
+
+Laurence Alma Tadema.
+
+
+
+
+_Guessing Song_
+
+
+        Oh ho! oh ho! Pray, who can I be?
+        I sweep o'er the land, I scour o'er the sea;
+        I cuff the tall trees till they bow down their heads,
+        And I rock the wee birdies asleep in their beds.
+          Oh ho! oh ho! And who can I be,
+          That sweep o'er the land and scour o'er the sea?
+
+        I rumple the breast of the gray-headed daw,
+        I tip the rook's tail up and make him cry "caw";
+        But though I love fun, I'm so big and so strong,
+        At a puff of my breath the great ships sail along.
+          Oh ho! oh ho! And who can I be,
+          That sweep o'er the land and sail o'er the sea?
+
+        I swing all the weather-cocks this way and that,
+        I play hare-and-hounds with a runaway hat;
+        But however I wander, I never can stray,
+        For go where I will, I've a free right of way!
+          Oh ho! oh ho! And who can I be,
+          That sweep o'er the land and scour o'er the sea?
+
+        I skim o'er the heather, I dance up the street,
+        I've foes that I laugh at, and friends that I greet;
+        I'm known in the country, I'm named in the town,
+        For all the world over extends my renown.
+          Oh ho! oh ho! And who can I be,
+          That sweep o'er the land and scour o'er the sea?
+
+Henry Johnstone.
+
+
+
+
+_The Rivulet_
+
+
+            Run, little rivulet, run!
+            Summer is fairly begun.
+        Bear to the meadow the hymn of the pines,
+        And the echo that rings where the waterfall shines;
+            Run, little rivulet, run!
+
+            Run, little rivulet, run!
+            Sing to the fields of the sun
+        That wavers in emerald, shimmers in gold,
+        Where you glide from your rocky ravine, crystal-cold;
+            Run, little rivulet, run!
+
+            Run, little rivulet, run!
+            Sing of the flowers, every one,--
+        Of the delicate harebell and violet blue;
+        Of the red mountain rose-bud, all dripping with dew;
+            Run, little rivulet, run!
+
+            Run, little rivulet, run!
+            Carry the perfume you won
+        From the lily, that woke when the morning was gray,
+        To the white waiting moonbeam adrift on the bay;
+            Run, little rivulet, run!
+
+            Run, little rivulet, run!
+            Stay not till summer is done!
+        Carry the city the mountain-birds' glee;
+        Carry the joy of the hills to the sea;
+            Run, little rivulet, run!
+
+Lucy Larcom.
+
+
+
+
+_Jack Frost_
+
+
+        The Frost looked forth on a 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 dressed
+        With diamonds and pearls; and over the breast
+            Of the quivering lake, he spread
+        A coat of mail, that it need not fear
+        The glittering point of many a spear
+        Which he hung on its margin, far and near,
+            Where a rock could rear its head.
+
+        He went to the window 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 and 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.
+
+
+
+
+_Snowflakes_[A]
+
+
+        Whenever a snowflake leaves the sky,
+        It turns and turns to say "Good-by!
+        Good-by, dear clouds, so cool and gray!"
+        Then lightly travels on its way.
+
+        And when a snowflake finds a tree,
+        "Good-day!" it says--"Good-day to thee!
+        Thou art so bare and lonely, dear,
+        I'll rest and call my comrades here."
+
+        But when a snowflake, brave and meek,
+        Lights on a rosy maiden's cheek,
+        It starts--"How warm and soft the day!
+        'Tis summer!"--and it melts away.
+
+Mary Mapes Dodge.
+
+
+
+
+_The Water! the Water!_
+
+
+        The Water! the Water!
+          The joyous brook for me,
+        That tuneth through the quiet night
+          Its ever-living glee.
+        The Water! the Water!
+          That sleepless, merry heart,
+        Which gurgles on unstintedly,
+          And loveth to impart,
+        To all around it, some small measure
+        Of its own most perfect pleasure.
+
+        The Water! the Water!
+          The gentle stream for me,
+        That gushes from the old gray stone
+          Beside the alder-tree.
+        The Water! the Water!
+          That ever-bubbling spring
+        I loved and look'd on while a child,
+          In deepest wondering,--
+        And ask'd it whence it came and went,
+        And when its treasures would be spent.
+
+        The Water! the Water!
+          The merry, wanton brook
+        That bent itself to pleasure me,
+          Like mine old shepherd crook.
+        The Water! the Water!
+          That sang so sweet at noon,
+        And sweeter still all night, to win
+          Smiles from the pale proud moon,
+        And from the little fairy faces
+        That gleam in heaven's remotest places.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+William Motherwell.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] _From "Along the Way," by permission of Charles Scribner's Sons._
+
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+HIAWATHA'S CHICKENS
+
+
+            _Then the little Hiawatha
+        Learned of every bird its language,
+        Learned their names and all their secrets,
+        How they built their nests in Summer,
+        Where they hid themselves in Winter,
+        Talked with them whene'er he met them,
+        Called them "Hiawatha's Chickens."_
+
+_Henry Wadsworth Longfellow._
+
+
+
+
+HIAWATHA'S CHICKENS
+
+
+
+
+_The Swallows_
+
+
+        Gallant and gay in their doublets gray,
+          All at a flash like the darting of flame,
+        Chattering Arabic, African, Indian--
+          Certain of springtime, the swallows came!
+
+        Doublets of gray silk and surcoats of purple,
+          And ruffs of russet round each little throat,
+        Wearing such garb they had crossed the waters,
+          Mariners sailing with never a boat.
+
+Edwin Arnold.
+
+
+
+
+_The Swallow's Nest_
+
+
+        Day after day her nest she moulded,
+          Building with magic, love and mud,
+        A gray cup made by a thousand journeys,
+          And the tiny beak was trowel and hod.
+
+Edwin Arnold.
+
+
+
+
+_The Birds in Spring_
+
+
+        Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king;
+        Then blooms each thing, then Maids dance in a ring,
+        Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing--
+            Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
+
+        The Palm and May make country houses gay,
+        Lambs frisk and play, the Shepherds pipe all day,
+        And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay--
+            Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
+
+        The Fields breathe sweet, the Daisies kiss our feet,
+        Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit,
+        In every Street these Tunes our ears do greet--
+            Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
+                Spring, the sweet Spring!
+
+Thomas Nashe.
+
+
+
+
+_Robin Redbreast_
+
+(A Child's Song)
+
+
+        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,
+          With ruddy breast-knot gay.
+        Robin, Robin Redbreast,
+          O Robin dear!
+        Robin singing 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 welaway! my Robin,
+          For pinching times are near.
+
+        The fireside for the Cricket,
+          The wheatstack 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 Lark and the Rook_
+
+
+        "Good-night, Sir Rook!" said a little lark.
+        "The daylight fades; it will soon be dark;
+        I've bathed my wings in the sun's last ray;
+        I've sung my hymn to the parting day;
+        So now I haste to my quiet nook
+        In yon dewy meadow--good-night, Sir Rook!"
+
+        "Good-night, poor Lark," said his titled friend
+        With a haughty toss and a distant bend;
+        "I also go to my rest profound,
+        But not to sleep on the cold, damp ground.
+        The fittest place for a bird like me
+        Is the topmost bough of yon tall pine-tree.
+
+        "I opened my eyes at peep of day
+        And saw you taking your upward way,
+        Dreaming your fond romantic dreams,
+        An ugly speck in the sun's bright beams;
+        Soaring too high to be seen or heard;
+        And I said to myself: 'What a foolish bird!'
+
+        "I trod the park with a princely air,
+        I filled my crop with the richest fare;
+        I cawed all day 'mid a lordly crew,
+        And I made more noise in the world than you!
+        The sun shone forth on my ebon wing;
+        I looked and wondered--good-night, poor thing!"
+
+        "Good-night, once more," said the lark's sweet voice.
+        "I see no cause to repent my choice;
+        You build your nest in the lofty pine,
+        But is your slumber more sweet than mine?
+        You make more noise in the world than I,
+        But whose is the sweeter minstrelsy?"
+
+Unknown.
+
+
+
+
+_The Snowbird_
+
+
+        In the rosy light trills the gay swallow,
+        The thrush, in the roses below;
+        The meadow-lark sings in the meadow,
+        But the snowbird sings in the snow.
+              Ah me!
+              Chickadee!
+        The snowbird sings in the snow!
+
+        The blue martin trills in the gable,
+        The wren, in the gourd below;
+        In the elm flutes the golden robin,
+        But the snowbird sings in the snow.
+              Ah me!
+              Chickadee!
+        The snowbird sings in the snow!
+
+        High wheels the gray wing of the osprey,
+        The wing of the sparrow drops low;
+        In the mist dips the wing of the robin,
+        And the snowbird's wing in the snow.
+              Ah me!
+              Chickadee!
+        The snowbird sings in the snow.
+
+        I love the high heart of the osprey,
+        The meek heart of the thrush below,
+        The heart of the lark in the meadow,
+        And the snowbird's heart in the snow.
+              But dearest to me,
+              Chickadee! Chickadee!
+        Is that true little heart in the snow.
+
+Hezekiah Butterworth.
+
+
+
+
+_Who Stole the Bird's Nest?_
+
+
+        "To-whit! to-whit! to-whee!
+        Will you listen to me?
+        Who stole four eggs I laid,
+        And the nice nest I made?"
+
+        "Not I," said the cow, "Moo-oo!
+        Such a thing I'd never do.
+        I gave you a wisp of hay,
+        But didn't take your nest away.
+        Not I," said the cow, "Moo-oo!
+        Such a thing I'd never do."
+
+        "To-whit! to-whit! to-whee!
+        Will you listen to me?
+        Who stole four eggs I laid,
+        And the nice nest I made?"
+
+        "Bob-o'-link! Bob-o'-link!
+        Now what do you think?
+        Who stole a nest away
+        From the plum-tree, to-day?"
+
+        "Not I," said the dog, "Bow-wow!
+        I wouldn't be so mean, anyhow!
+        I gave hairs the nest to make,
+        But the nest I did not take.
+        Not I," said the dog, "Bow-wow!
+        I'm not so mean, anyhow."
+
+        "To-whit! to-whit! to-whee!
+        Will you listen to me?
+        Who stole four eggs I laid,
+        And the nice nest I made?"
+
+        "Bob-o'-link! Bob-o'-link!
+        Now what do you think?
+        Who stole a nest away
+        From the plum-tree, to-day?"
+
+        "Coo-coo! Coo-coo! Coo-coo!
+        Let me speak a word, too!
+        Who stole that pretty nest
+        From little yellow-breast?"
+
+        "Not I," said the sheep; "Oh, no!
+        I wouldn't treat a poor bird so.
+        I gave wool the nest to line,
+        But the nest was none of mine.
+        Baa! Baa!" said the sheep, "Oh, no
+        I wouldn't treat a poor bird so."
+
+        "To-whit! to-whit! to-whee!
+        Will you listen to me?
+        Who stole four eggs I laid,
+        And the nice nest I made?"
+
+        "Bob-o'-link! Bob-o'-link!
+        Now what do you think?
+        Who stole a nest away
+        From the plum-tree, to-day?"
+
+        "Coo-coo! Coo-coo! Coo-coo!
+        Let me speak a word, too!
+        Who stole that pretty nest
+        From little yellow-breast?"
+
+        "Caw! Caw!" cried the crow;
+        "I should like to know
+        What thief took away
+        A bird's nest, to-day?"
+
+        "Cluck! Cluck!" said the hen;
+        "Don't ask me again,
+        Why I haven't a chick
+        Would do such a trick.
+        We all gave her a feather,
+        And she wove them together.
+        I'd scorn to intrude
+        On her and her brood.
+        Cluck! Cluck!" said the hen,
+        "Don't ask me again."
+
+        "Chirr-a-whirr! Chirr-a-whirr!
+        All the birds make a stir!
+        Let us find out his name,
+        And all cry 'For shame!'"
+
+        "I would not rob a bird,"
+        Said little Mary Green;
+        "I think I never heard
+        Of anything so mean."
+
+        "It is very cruel, too,"
+        Said little Alice Neal;
+        "I wonder if he knew
+        How sad the bird would feel?"
+
+        A little boy hung down his head,
+        And went and hid behind the bed,
+        For he stole that pretty nest
+        From poor little yellow-breast;
+        And he felt so full of shame,
+        He didn't like to tell his name.
+
+Lydia Maria Child.
+
+
+
+
+_Answer to a Child's Question_
+
+
+        Do you ask what the birds say? The sparrow, the dove,
+        The linnet, and thrush say, "I love and I love!"
+        In the winter they're silent, the wind is so strong;
+        What it says I don't know, but it sings a loud song.
+        But green leaves and blossoms, and sunny warm weather,
+        And singing and loving, all come back together;
+        Then the lark is so brimful of gladness and love,
+        The green fields below him, the blue sky above,
+        That he sings, and he sings, and forever sings he,
+        "I love my Love, and my Love loves me."
+
+Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
+
+
+
+
+_The Burial of the Linnet_
+
+
+        Found in the garden dead in his beauty--
+          Oh that a linnet should die in the spring!
+        Bury him, comrades, in pitiful duty,
+          Muffle the dinner-bell, solemnly ring.
+
+        Bury him kindly, up in the corner;
+          Bird, beast, and goldfish are sepulchred there
+        Bid the black kitten march as chief mourner,
+          Waving her tail like a plume in the air.
+
+        Bury him nobly--next to the donkey;
+          Fetch the old banner, and wave it about;
+        Bury him deeply--think of the monkey,
+          Shallow his grave, and the dogs got him out.
+
+        Bury him softly--white wool around him,
+          Kiss his poor feathers--the first kiss and last;
+        Tell his poor widow kind friends have found him:
+          Plant his poor grave with whatever grows fast.
+
+        Farewell, sweet singer! dead in thy beauty,
+          Silent through summer, though other birds sing,
+        Bury him, comrades, in pitiful duty,
+          Muffle the dinner-bell, mournfully ring.
+
+Juliana Horatia Ewing.
+
+
+
+
+_The Titmouse_
+
+
+        . . . . Piped a tiny voice hard by,
+        Gay and polite, a cheerful cry,
+        _Chic-chicadeedee!_ saucy note
+        Out of sound heart and merry throat,
+        As if it said, "Good-day, good sir!
+        Fine afternoon, old passenger!
+        Happy to meet you in these places,
+        Where January brings few faces."
+
+        This poet, though he live apart,
+        Moved by his hospitable heart,
+        Sped, when I passed his sylvan fort,
+        To do the honors of his court,
+        As fits a feathered lord of land;
+        Flew near, with soft wing grazed my hand;
+        Hopped on the bough, then, darting low,
+        Prints his small impress on the snow,
+        Shows feats of his gymnastic play,
+        Head downward, clinging to the spray,
+
+               *       *       *       *       *
+
+        Here was this atom in full breath,
+        Hurling defiance at vast death.
+        This scrap of valor, just for play,
+        Fronts the north wind in waistcoat gray.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ralph Waldo Emerson.
+
+
+
+
+_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 unto the bright blue sky,
+        And the frolicsome winds as they wander by!
+
+        They have left their nests in the forest bough;
+        Those homes of delight they need not now;
+        And the young and old they wander out,
+        And traverse the green world round about;
+        And hark at the top of this leafy hall,
+        How, one to another, they lovingly call!
+        "Come up, come up!" they seem to say,
+        "Where the topmost twigs in the breezes play!"
+
+        "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 life of the birds must be,
+        Living above 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 halls aloud:
+        To spread out the wings for a wild, free flight
+        With the upper cloud-winds,--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 gladden some fairy region old!
+        On mountain-tops, on the billowy sea,
+        On the leafy stems of the forest-tree,
+        How pleasant the life of a bird must be!
+
+Mary Howitt.
+
+
+
+
+_An Epitaph on a Robin Redbreast_
+
+
+        Tread lightly here; for here, 'tis said,
+          When piping winds are hush'd around,
+          A small note wakes from underground,
+        Where now his tiny bones are laid.
+
+        No more in lone or leafless groves,
+          With ruffled wing and faded breast,
+        His friendless, homeless spirit roves;
+          Gone to the world where birds are blest!
+
+        Where never cat glides o'er the green,
+        Or school-boy's giant form is seen;
+          But love, and joy, and smiling Spring
+          Inspire their little souls to sing!
+
+Samuel Rogers.
+
+
+
+
+_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 be 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!"
+
+Mrs. Emily Huntington Miller.
+
+
+
+
+_Song_
+
+
+        I had a dove and the sweet dove died;
+            And I have thought it died of grieving:
+        O, what could it grieve for? Its feet were tied
+            With a silken thread of my own hand's weaving;
+        Sweet little red feet! why should you die--
+            Why should 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.
+
+
+
+
+_What Does Little Birdie Say?_
+
+
+        What does little birdie say,
+        In her nest at peep of day?
+          "Let me fly," says little birdie,
+        "Mother, let me fly away."
+
+        Birdie, rest a little longer,
+        Till the little wings are stronger
+        So she rests a little longer,
+          Then she flies away.
+
+        What does little baby say,
+        In her bed at peep of day?
+          Baby says, like little birdie,
+        "Let me rise and fly away."
+
+        Baby, sleep a little longer,
+        Till the little limbs are stronger.
+        If she sleeps a little longer,
+          Baby, too, shall fly away.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+_Wild Geese_
+
+
+        The wild wind blows, the sun shines, the birds sing loud,
+        The blue, blue sky is flecked with fleecy dappled cloud,
+        Over earth's rejoicing fields the children dance and sing,
+        And the frogs pipe in chorus, "It is spring! It is spring!"
+
+        The grass comes, the flower laughs where lately lay the snow,
+        O'er the breezy hill-top hoarsely calls the crow,
+        By the flowing river the alder catkins swing,
+        And the sweet song-sparrow cries, "Spring! It is spring!"
+
+        Hark, what a clamor goes winging through the sky!
+        Look, children! Listen to the sound so wild and high!
+        Like a peal of broken bells,--kling, klang, kling,--
+        Far and high the wild geese cry, "Spring! It is spring!"
+
+        Bear the winter off with you, O wild geese dear!
+        Carry all the cold away, far away from here;
+        Chase the snow into the north, O strong of heart and wing,
+        While we share the robin's rapture, crying "Spring! It is spring!"
+
+Celia Thaxter.
+
+
+
+
+_Chanticleer_
+
+
+        I wake! I feel the day is near;
+          I hear the red cock crowing!
+        He cries "'Tis dawn!" How sweet and clear
+        His cheerful call comes to my ear,
+          While light is slowly growing.
+
+        The white snow gathers flake on flake;
+          I hear the red cock crowing!
+        Is anybody else awake
+        To see the winter morning break,
+          While thick and fast 'tis snowing?
+
+        I think the world is all asleep;
+          I hear the red cock crowing!
+        Out of the frosty pane I peep;
+        The drifts are piled so wide and deep,
+          And wild the wind is blowing!
+
+        Nothing I see has shape or form;
+          I hear the red cock crowing!
+        But that dear voice comes through the storm
+        To greet me in my nest so warm,
+          As if the sky were glowing!
+
+        A happy little child, I lie
+          And hear the red cock crowing.
+        The day is dark. I wonder why
+        His voice rings out so brave and high,
+          With gladness overflowing.
+
+Celia Thaxter.
+
+
+
+
+_The Singer_
+
+
+        O Lark! sweet lark!
+          Where learn you all your minstrelsy?
+        What realms are those to which you fly?
+        While robins feed their young from dawn till dark,
+          You soar on high--
+          Forever in the sky.
+
+        O child! dear child!
+          Above the clouds I lift my wing
+          To hear the bells of Heaven ring;
+        Some of their music, though my flights be wild,
+          To Earth I bring;
+          Then let me soar and sing!
+
+Edmund Clarence Stedman.
+
+
+
+
+_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 bluebell 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 the 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.
+
+
+
+
+_Robert of Lincoln_[A]
+
+
+        Merrily swinging on brier 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 this nest of ours,
+        Hidden among the summer flowers,
+            Chee, chee, chee.
+
+        Robert of Lincoln is gayly drest,
+          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 crone;
+          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.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] _Courtesy of D. Appleton & Co., Publishers of Bryant's Complete
+Poetical Works._
+
+
+
+
+_White Butterflies_
+
+
+        Fly, white butterflies, out to sea,
+        Frail, pale wings for the wind to try,
+        Small white wings that we scarce can see,
+            Fly!
+
+        Some fly light as a laugh of glee,
+        Some fly soft as a long, low sigh;
+        All to the haven where each would be,
+            Fly!
+
+Algernon Charles Swinburne.
+
+
+
+
+_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, 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;
+        But 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 _dance_ 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.
+
+Unknown.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+THE FLOWER FOLK
+
+
+        _Hope is like a harebell, trembling from its birth,
+        Love is like a rose, the joy of all the earth;
+        Faith is like a lily, lifted high and white,
+        Love is like a lovely rose, the world's delight;
+        Harebells and sweet lilies show a thornless growth,
+        But the rose with all its thorns excels them both._
+
+_Christina G. Rossetti._
+
+
+
+
+THE FLOWER FOLK
+
+
+
+
+_Little White Lily_
+
+
+        Little white Lily
+        Sat by a stone,
+        Drooping and waiting
+        Till the sun shone.
+        Little white Lily
+        Sunshine has fed;
+        Little white Lily
+        Is lifting her head.
+
+        Little white Lily
+        Said, "It is good--
+        Little white Lily's
+        Clothing and food."
+        Little white Lily
+        Drest like a bride!
+        Shining with whiteness,
+        And crowned beside!
+
+        Little white Lily
+        Droopeth with pain,
+        Waiting and waiting
+        For the wet rain.
+        Little white Lily
+        Holdeth her cup;
+        Rain is fast falling
+        And filling it up.
+
+        Little white Lily
+        Said, "Good again--
+        When I am thirsty
+        To have fresh rain!
+        Now I am stronger;
+        Now I am cool;
+        Heat cannot burn me,
+        My veins are so full."
+
+        Little white Lily
+        Smells very sweet:
+        On her head sunshine,
+        Rain at her feet.
+        "Thanks to the sunshine,
+        Thanks to the rain!
+        Little white Lily
+        Is happy again!"
+
+George Macdonald.
+
+
+
+
+_Violets_
+
+
+        Violets, violets, sweet March violets,
+        Sure as March comes, they'll come too,
+        First the white and then the blue--
+        Pretty violets!
+
+        White, with just a pinky dye,
+        Blue as little baby's eye,--
+        So like violets.
+
+        Though the rough wind shakes the house,
+        Knocks about the budding boughs,
+        There are violets.
+
+        Though the passing snow-storms come,
+        And the frozen birds sit dumb,
+        Up spring violets.
+
+        One by one among the grass,
+        Saying "Pluck me!" as we pass,--
+        Scented violets.
+
+        By and by there'll be so many,
+        We'll pluck dozens nor miss any:
+        Sweet, sweet violets!
+
+        Children, when you go to play,
+        Look beneath the hedge to-day:--
+        Mamma likes violets.
+
+Dinah Maria Mulock.
+
+
+
+
+_Young Dandelion_
+
+
+        Young Dandelion
+          On a hedge-side,
+        Said young Dandelion,
+          "Who'll be my bride?
+
+        "I'm a bold fellow
+          As ever was seen,
+        With my shield of yellow,
+          In the grass green.
+
+        "You may uproot me
+          From field and from lane,
+        Trample me, cut me,--
+          I spring up again.
+
+        "I never flinch, Sir,
+          Wherever I dwell;
+        Give me an inch, Sir,
+          I'll soon take an ell.
+
+        "Drive me from garden
+          In anger and pride,
+        I'll thrive and harden
+          By the road-side.
+
+        "Not a bit fearful,
+          Showing my face,
+        Always so cheerful
+          In every place."
+
+        Said young Dandelion,
+          With a sweet air,
+        "I have my eye on
+          Miss Daisy fair.
+
+        "Though we may tarry
+          Till past the cold,
+        Her I will marry
+          Ere I grow old.
+
+        "I will protect her
+          From all kinds of harm,
+        Feed her with nectar,
+          Shelter her warm.
+
+        "Whate'er the weather,
+          Let it go by;
+        We'll hold together,
+          Daisy and I.
+
+        "I'll ne'er give in,--no!
+          Nothing I fear:
+        All that I win, oh!
+          I'll keep for my dear."
+
+        Said young Dandelion
+          On his hedge-side,
+        "Who'll me rely on?
+          Who'll be my bride?"
+
+Dinah Maria Mulock.
+
+
+
+
+_Baby Seed Song_
+
+
+        Little brown brother, oh! little brown brother,
+          Are you awake in the dark?
+        Here we lie cosily, close to each other:
+          Hark to the song of the lark--
+          "Waken!" the lark says, "waken and dress you;
+          Put on your green coats and gay,
+        Blue sky will shine on you, sunshine caress you--
+          Waken! 'tis morning--'tis May!"
+
+        Little brown brother, oh! little brown brother,
+          What kind of flower will you be?
+        I'll be a poppy--all white, like my mother;
+          Do be a poppy like me.
+        What! you're a sun-flower? How I shall miss you
+          When you're grown golden and high!
+        But I shall send all the bees up to kiss you;
+          Little brown brother, good-bye.
+
+E. Nesbit.
+
+
+
+
+_A Violet Bank_
+
+
+        I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows,
+        Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows:
+        Quite over-canopied with lush woodbine,
+        With sweet musk roses and with eglantine.
+
+William Shakespeare.
+
+
+
+
+_There's Nothing Like the Rose_
+
+
+        The lily has an air,
+          And the snowdrop a grace,
+        And the sweet-pea a way,
+          And the hearts-ease a face,--
+        Yet there's nothing like the rose
+                When she blows.
+
+Christina G. Rossetti.
+
+
+
+
+_Snowdrops_
+
+
+        Little ladies, white and green,
+          With your spears about you,
+        Will you tell us where you've been
+          Since we lived without you?
+
+        You are sweet, and fresh, and clean,
+          With your pearly faces;
+        In the dark earth where you've been,
+          There are wondrous places:
+
+        Yet you come again, serene,
+          When the leaves are hidden;
+        Bringing joy from where you've been,
+          You return unbidden--
+
+        Little ladies, white and green,
+          Are you glad to cheer us?
+        Hunger not for where you've been,
+          Stay till Spring be near us!
+
+Laurence Alma Tadema.
+
+
+
+
+_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 had laboured, 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 B. Tabb.
+
+
+
+
+_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 color 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.
+
+
+
+
+_Daffy-Down-Dilly_
+
+
+        Daffy-down-dilly
+          Came up in the cold,
+          Through the brown mould,
+        Although the March breezes
+          Blew keen on her face,
+        Although the white snow
+          Lay on many a place.
+
+        Daffy-down-dilly
+          Had heard under ground,
+          The sweet rushing sound
+        Of the streams, as they broke
+          From their white winter chains,
+        Of the whistling spring winds
+          And the pattering rains.
+
+        "Now then," thought Daffy,
+          Deep down in her heart,
+          "It's time I should start."
+        So she pushed her soft leaves
+          Through the hard frozen ground,
+        Quite up to the surface,
+          And then she looked round.
+
+        There was snow all about her,
+          Gray clouds overhead;
+          The trees all looked dead:
+        Then how do you think
+          Poor Daffy-down felt,
+        When the sun would not shine,
+          And the ice would not melt?
+
+        "Cold weather!" thought Daffy,
+          Still working away;
+          "The earth's hard to-day!
+        There's but a half inch
+          Of my leaves to be seen,
+        And two thirds of that
+          Is more yellow than green.
+
+        "I can't do much yet;
+          But I'll do what I can:
+          It's well I began!
+        For, unless I can manage
+          To lift up my head,
+        The people will think
+          That the Spring herself's dead."
+
+        So, little by little,
+          She brought her leaves out,
+          All clustered about;
+        And then her bright flowers
+          Began to unfold,
+        Till Daffy stood robed
+          In her spring green and gold.
+
+        O Daffy-down-dilly,
+          So brave and so true!
+          I wish all were like you!--
+        So ready for duty
+          In all sorts of weather,
+        And loyal to courage
+          And duty together.
+
+Anna B. Warner.
+
+
+
+
+_Baby Corn_
+
+
+        A happy mother stalk of corn
+          Held close a baby ear,
+        And whispered: "Cuddle up to me,
+          I'll keep you warm, my dear.
+        I'll give you petticoats of green,
+          With many a tuck and fold
+        To let out daily as you grow;
+          For you will soon be old."
+
+        A funny little baby that,
+          For though it had no eye,
+        It had a hundred mouths; 'twas well
+          It did not want to cry.
+        The mother put in each small mouth
+          A hollow thread of silk,
+        Through which the sun and rain and air
+          Provided baby's milk.
+
+        The petticoats were gathered close
+          Where all the threadlets hung.
+        And still as summer days went on
+          To mother-stalk it clung;
+        And all the time it grew and grew--
+          Each kernel drank the milk
+        By day, by night, in shade, in sun,
+          From its own thread of silk.
+
+        And each grew strong and full and round,
+          And each was shining white;
+        The gores and seams were all let out,
+          The green skirts fitted tight.
+        The ear stood straight and large and tall,
+          And when it saw the sun,
+        Held up its emerald satin gown
+          To say: "Your work is done."
+
+        "You're large enough," said Mother Stalk,
+          "And now there's no more room
+        For you to grow." She tied the threads
+          Into a soft brown plume--
+        It floated out upon the breeze
+          To greet the dewy morn,
+        And then the baby said: "Now I'm
+          A full-grown ear of corn!"
+
+Unknown.
+
+
+
+
+_A Child's Fancy_
+
+
+        O little flowers, you love me so,
+          You could not do without me;
+        O little birds that come and go,
+          You sing sweet songs about me;
+        O little moss, observed by few,
+          That round the tree is creeping,
+        You like my head to rest on you,
+          When I am idly sleeping.
+
+        O rushes by the river side,
+          You bow when I come near you;
+        O fish, you leap about with pride,
+          Because you think I hear you;
+        O river, you shine clear and bright,
+          To tempt me to look in you;
+        O water-lilies, pure and white,
+          You hope that I shall win you.
+
+        O pretty things, you love me so,
+          I see I must not leave you;
+        You'd find it very dull, I know,
+          I should not like to grieve you.
+        Don't wrinkle up, you silly moss;
+          My flowers, you need not shiver;
+        My little buds, don't look so cross;
+          Don't talk so loud, my river.
+
+        And I will make a promise, dears,
+          That will content you, maybe;
+        I'll love you through the happy years,
+          Till I'm a nice old lady!
+        True love (like yours and mine) they say
+          Can never think of ceasing,
+        But year by year, and day by day,
+          Keeps steadily increasing.
+
+"A."
+
+
+
+
+_Little Dandelion_
+
+
+        Gay little Dandelion
+          Lights up the meads,
+        Swings on her slender foot,
+          Telleth her beads,
+        Lists to the robin's note
+          Poured from above:
+        Wise little Dandelion
+          Asks not for love.
+
+        Cold lie the daisy banks
+          Clothed but in green,
+        Where, in the days agone,
+          Bright hues were seen.
+        Wild pinks are slumbering;
+          Violets delay:
+        True little Dandelion
+          Greeteth the May.
+
+        Brave little Dandelion!
+          Fast falls the snow,
+        Bending the daffodil's
+          Haughty head low.
+        Under that fleecy tent,
+          Careless of cold,
+        Blithe little Dandelion
+          Counteth her gold.
+
+        Meek little Dandelion
+          Groweth more fair,
+        Till dies the amber dew
+          Out from her hair.
+        High rides the thirsty sun,
+          Fiercely and high;
+        Faint little Dandelion
+          Closeth her eye.
+
+        Pale 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 B. Bostwick.
+
+
+
+
+_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 vet'rans 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.
+
+
+
+
+The Flax Flower
+
+        Oh, the little flax flower!
+          It groweth on the hill,
+        And, be the breeze awake or 'sleep
+          It never standeth still.
+        It groweth, and it groweth fast;
+          One day it is a seed
+        And then a little grassy blade
+          Scarce better than a weed.
+        But then out comes the flax flower
+          As blue as is the sky;
+        And "'Tis a dainty little thing,"
+          We say as we go by.
+
+        Ah! 'tis a goodly little thing,
+          It groweth for the poor,
+        And many a peasant blesseth it
+          Beside his cottage door.
+        He thinketh how those slender stems
+          That shimmer in the sun
+        Are rich for him in web and woof
+          And shortly shall be spun.
+        He thinketh how those tender flowers
+          Of seed will yield him store,
+        And sees in thought his next year's crop
+          Blue shining round his door.
+
+        Oh, the little flax flower!
+          The mother then says she,
+        "Go, pull the thyme, the heath, the fern,
+          But let the flax flower be!
+        It groweth for the children's sake,
+          It groweth for our own;
+        There are flowers enough upon the hill,
+          But leave the flax alone!
+        The farmer hath his fields of wheat,
+          Much cometh to his share;
+        We have this little plot of flax
+          That we have tilled with care."
+
+        Oh, the goodly flax flower!
+          It groweth on the hill,
+        And, be the breeze awake or 'sleep,
+          It never standeth still.
+        It seemeth all astir with life
+          As if it loved to thrive,
+        As if it had a merry heart
+          Within its stem alive.
+        Then fair befall the flax-field,
+          And may the kindly showers
+        Give strength unto its shining stem,
+          Give seed unto its flowers!
+
+Mary Howitt.
+
+
+
+
+_Dear Little Violets_
+
+
+        Under the green hedges after the snow,
+        There do the dear little violets grow,
+        Hiding their modest and beautiful heads
+        Under the hawthorn in soft mossy beds.
+
+        Sweet as the roses, and blue as the sky,
+        Down there do the dear little violets lie;
+        Hiding their heads where they scarce may be seen,
+        By the leaves you may know where the violet hath been.
+
+John Moultrie.
+
+
+
+
+_Bird's Song in Spring_
+
+
+        The silver birch is a dainty lady,
+          She wears a satin gown;
+        The elm tree makes the old churchyard shady,
+          She will not live in town.
+
+        The English oak is a sturdy fellow,
+          He gets his green coat late;
+        The willow is smart in a suit of yellow,
+          While brown the beech trees wait.
+
+        Such a gay green gown God gives the larches--
+          As green as He is good!
+        The hazels hold up their arms for arches
+          When Spring rides through the wood.
+
+        The chestnut's proud, and the lilac's pretty,
+          The poplar's gentle and tall,
+        But the plane tree's kind to the poor dull city--
+          I love him best of all!
+
+E. Nesbit.
+
+
+
+
+_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.
+
+Bjoernstjerne Bjoernson.
+
+
+
+
+_The Daisy's Song_
+
+(A Fragment)
+
+
+        The sun, with his great eye,
+        Sees not so much as I;
+        And the moon, all silver-proud
+        Might as well be in a cloud.
+        And O the spring--the spring!
+        I lead the life of a king!
+        Couch'd in the teeming grass,
+        I spy each pretty lass.
+
+        I look where no one dares,
+        And I stare where no one stares,
+        And when the night is nigh
+        Lambs bleat my lullaby.
+
+John Keats.
+
+
+
+
+_Song_
+
+
+        For the tender beech and the sapling oak,
+          That grow by the shadowy rill,
+        You may cut down both at a single stroke,
+          You may cut down which you will.
+
+        But this you must know, that as long as they grow,
+          Whatever change may be,
+        You can never teach either oak or beech
+          To be aught but a greenwood tree.
+
+Thomas Love Peacock.
+
+
+
+
+_For Good Luck_
+
+
+        Little Kings and Queens of the May
+        If you want to be,
+        Every one of you, very good,
+        In this beautiful, beautiful, beautiful wood,
+        Where the little birds' heads get so turned with delight
+        That some of them sing all night:
+        Whatever you pluck,
+        Leave some for good luck!
+
+        Picked from the stalk or pulled by the root,
+        From overhead or under foot,
+        Water-wonders of pond or brook--
+        Wherever you look,
+        And whatever you find,
+        Leave something behind:
+        Some for the Naiads,
+        Some for the Dryads,
+        And a bit for the Nixies and Pixies!
+
+Juliana Horatia Ewing.
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+HIAWATHA'S BROTHERS
+
+
+        _Of all beasts he learned the language,
+        Learned their names and all their secrets,
+        How the beavers built their lodges,
+        Where the squirrels hid their acorns,
+        How the reindeer ran so swiftly,
+        Why the rabbit was so timid,
+        Talked with them whene'er he met them,
+        Called them "Hiawatha's Brothers."_
+
+_Henry Wadsworth Longfellow._
+
+
+
+
+HIAWATHA'S BROTHERS
+
+
+
+
+_My Pony_
+
+
+        My pony toss'd his sprightly head,
+          And would have smiled, if smile he could,
+        To thank me for the slice of bread
+          He thinks so delicate and good;
+        His eye is very bright and wild,
+          He looks as if he loved me so,
+        Although I only am a child
+          And he's a real horse, you know.
+
+        How charming it would be to rear,
+          And have hind legs to balance on;
+        Of hay and oats within the year
+          To leisurely devour a ton;
+        To stoop my head and quench my drouth
+          With water in a lovely pail;
+        To wear a snaffle in my mouth,
+          Fling back my ears, and slash my tail!
+
+        To gallop madly round a field,--
+          Who tries to catch me is a goose,
+        And then with dignity to yield
+          My stately back for rider's use;
+        To feel as only horses can,
+          When matters take their proper course,
+        And no one notices the man,
+          While loud applauses greet the horse!
+
+        He canters fast or ambles slow,
+          And either is a pretty game;
+        His duties are but pleasures--oh,
+          I wish that mine were just the same!
+        Lessons would be another thing
+          If I might turn from book and scroll,
+        And learn to gallop round a ring,
+          As he did when a little foal.
+
+        It must be charming to be shod,
+          And beautiful beyond my praise,
+        When tired of rolling on the sod,
+          To stand upon all-fours and graze!
+        Alas! my dreams are weak and wild,
+          I must not ape my betters so;
+        Alas! I only am a child,
+          And he's a real horse, you know.
+
+"A."
+
+
+
+
+_On a Spaniel, called Beau, Killing a Young Bird_
+
+(July 15, 1793)
+
+
+        A Spaniel, Beau, that fares like you,
+          Well fed, and at his ease,
+        Should wiser be than to pursue
+          Each trifle that he sees.
+
+        But you have kill'd a tiny bird,
+          Which flew not till to-day,
+        Against my orders, whom you heard
+          Forbidding you the prey.
+
+        Nor did you kill that you might eat,
+          And ease a doggish pain,
+        For him, though chas'd with furious heat
+          You left where he was slain.
+
+        Nor was he of the thievish sort,
+          Or one whom blood allures,
+        But innocent was all his sport
+          Whom you have torn for yours.
+
+        My dog! What remedy remains,
+         Since, teach you all I can,
+        I see you, after all my pains,
+          So much resemble Man?
+
+William Cowper.
+
+
+
+
+_Beau's Reply_
+
+
+        Sir, when I flew to seize the bird
+          In spite of your command,
+        A louder voice than yours I heard,
+          And harder to withstand.
+
+        You cried--forbear!--but in my breast
+          A mightier cried--proceed--
+        'Twas Nature, Sir, whose strong behest
+          Impell'd me to the deed.
+
+        Yet much as Nature I respect,
+          I ventur'd once to break,
+        (As you, perhaps, may recollect)
+          Her precept for your sake;
+
+        And when your linnet on a day,
+          Passing his prison door,
+        Had flutter'd all his strength away,
+          And panting press'd the floor,
+
+        Well knowing him a sacred thing,
+          Not destin'd to my tooth,
+        I only kiss'd his ruffled wing,
+          And lick'd the feathers smooth.
+
+        Let my obedience _then_ excuse
+          My disobedience _now_,
+        Nor some reproof yourself refuse
+          From your aggriev'd Bow-wow;
+        If killing birds be such a crime,
+          (Which I can hardly see,)
+        What think you, Sir, of killing Time
+          With verse address'd to me?
+
+William Cowper.
+
+
+
+
+_Seal Lullaby_
+
+
+        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.
+
+
+
+
+_Milking Time_
+
+
+        When the cows come home the milk is coming;
+        Honey's made while the bees are humming;
+        Duck and drake on the rushy lake,
+        And the deer live safe in the breezy brake;
+        And timid, funny, pert little bunny
+        Winks his nose, and sits all sunny.
+
+Christina G. Rossetti.
+
+
+
+
+_Thank You, Pretty Cow_
+
+
+        Thank you, pretty cow, that made
+        Pleasant milk to soak my bread,
+        Every day and every night,
+        Warm, and fresh, and sweet, and white.
+
+        Do not chew the hemlock rank,
+        Growing on the weedy bank;
+        But the yellow cowslip eat,
+        That will make it very sweet.
+
+        Where the purple violet grows,
+        Where the bubbling water flows,
+        Where the grass is fresh and fine,
+        Pretty cow, go there and dine.
+
+Jane Taylor.
+
+
+
+
+_The Boy and the Sheep_
+
+
+        "Lazy sheep, pray tell me why
+         In the pleasant field you lie,
+         Eating grass and daisies white,
+         From the morning till the night:
+         Everything can something do;
+         But what kind of use are you?"
+
+        "Nay, my little master, nay,
+         Do not serve me so, I pray!
+         Don't you see the wool that grows
+         On my back to make your clothes?
+         Cold, ah, very cold you'd be,
+         If you had not wool from me.
+
+        "True, it seems a pleasant thing
+         Nipping daisies in the spring;
+         But what chilly nights I pass
+         On the cold and dewy grass,
+         Or pick my scanty dinner where
+         All the ground is brown and bare!
+
+        "Then the farmer comes at last,
+         When the merry spring is past,
+         Cuts my woolly fleece away,
+         For your coat in wintry day.
+         Little master, this is why
+         In the pleasant fields I lie."
+
+Ann Taylor.
+
+
+
+
+_Lambs in the Meadow_
+
+
+        O little lambs! the month is cold,
+        The sky is very gray;
+        You shiver in the misty grass
+        And bleat at all the winds that pass;
+        Wait! when I'm big--some day--
+        I'll build a roof to every fold.
+
+        But now that I am small I'll pray
+        At mother's knee for you;
+        Perhaps the angels with their wings;
+        Will come and warm you, little things;
+        I'm sure that, if God knew,
+        He'd let the lambs be born in May.
+
+Laurence Alma Tadema.
+
+
+
+
+_The Pet Lamb_
+
+
+   The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink;
+   I heard a voice; it said, "Drink, pretty creature, drink!"
+   And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied
+   A snow-white mountain-lamb, with a maiden at its side.
+
+   Nor sheep nor kine were near; the lamb was all alone,
+   And by a slender cord was tethered to a stone.
+   With one knee on the grass did the little maiden kneel,
+   While to that mountain-lamb she gave its evening meal.
+
+   The lamb, while from her hand he thus his supper took,
+   Seemed to feast, with head and ears, and his tail with pleasure shook.
+   "Drink, pretty creature, drink!" she said, in such a tone
+   That I almost received her heart into my own.
+
+   'Twas little Barbara Lewthwaite, a child of beauty rare!
+   I watched them with delight; they were a lovely pair.
+   Now with her empty can the maiden turned away,
+   But ere ten yards were gone her footsteps did she stay.
+
+   Right toward the lamb she looked; and from a shady place,
+   I, unobserved, could see the workings of her face.
+   If nature to her tongue could measured numbers bring,
+   Thus, thought I, to her lamb that little maid might sing:--
+
+   "What ails thee, young one? what? Why pull so at thy cord?
+   Is it not well with thee? well both for bed and board?
+   Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be;
+   Rest, little young one, rest; what is't that aileth thee?
+
+   "What is it thou would'st seek? What is wanting to thy heart?
+   Thy limbs, are they not strong? and beautiful thou art.
+   This grass is tender grass, these flowers they have no peers,
+   And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears.
+
+   "If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy woollen chain,--
+   This beech is standing by,--its covert thou canst gain.
+   For rain and mountain storms, the like thou need'st not fear;
+   The rain and storm are things that scarcely can come here.
+
+   "Rest, little young one, rest; thou hast forgot the day
+   When my father found thee first, in places far away.
+   Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert owned by none,
+   And thy mother from thy side forevermore was gone.
+
+   "He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee home,--
+   A blessed day for thee!--Then whither would'st thou roam?
+   A faithful nurse thou hast; the dam that did thee yean
+   Upon the mountain-tops no kinder could have been.
+
+   "Thou know'st that twice a day I have brought thee in this can
+   Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran;
+   And twice in the day, when the ground was wet with dew,
+   I bring thee draughts of milk,--warm milk it is, and new.
+
+   "Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they are now;
+   Then I'll yoke thee to my cart, like a pony to the plough,
+   My playmate thou shalt be, and when the wind is cold,
+   Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be thy fold.
+
+   "It will not, will not rest! Poor creature, can it be
+   That 'tis thy mother's heart which is working so in thee?
+   Things that I know not of belike to thee are dear,
+   And dreams of things which thou canst neither see nor hear.
+
+   "Alas, the mountain-tops that look so green and fair!
+   I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come there.
+   The little brooks, that seem all pastime and all play,
+   When they are angry roar like lions for their prey.
+
+   "Here thou need'st not dread the raven in the sky;
+   Night and day thou art safe--our cottage is hard by.
+   Why bleat so after me? why pull so at thy chain?
+   Sleep,--and at break of day I will come to thee again!"
+
+   As homeward through the lane I went with lazy feet,
+   This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat;
+   And it seemed, as I retraced the ballad line by line,
+   That but half of it was hers and one half of it was mine.
+
+   Again and once again did I repeat the song:
+   "Nay," said I, "more than half to the damsel must belong;
+   For she looked with such a look, and she spake with such a tone,
+   That I almost received her heart into my own."
+
+William Wordsworth.
+
+
+
+
+_The Kitten, and Falling Leaves_
+
+
+        See the kitten on the wall,
+        Sporting with the leaves that fall,
+        Withered leaves--one--two--and three--
+        From the lofty elder tree!
+        Through the calm and frosty air
+        Of this morning bright and fair,
+        Eddying round and round they sink
+        Softly, slowly: one might think
+        From the motions that are made,
+        Every little leaf conveyed
+        Sylph or fairy hither tending,
+        To this lower world descending,
+        Each invisible and mute,
+        In his wavering parachute.
+        But the kitten, how she starts,
+        Crouches, stretches, paws and darts!
+        First at one and then its fellow,
+        Just as light and just as yellow;
+        There are many now--now one--
+        Now they stop and there are none:
+        What intenseness of desire
+        In her upward eye of fire!
+        With a tiger-leap, half-way,
+        Now she meets the coming prey;
+        Lets it go as fast and then
+        Has it in her power again.
+        Now she works with three or four,
+        Like an Indian conjuror;
+        Quick as he in feats of art,
+        Far beyond in joy of heart.
+
+               *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+William Wordsworth.
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+OTHER LITTLE CHILDREN
+
+
+        _If thou couldst know thine own sweetness,
+          O little one, perfect and sweet,
+        Thou wouldst be a child forever;
+          Completer whilst incomplete._
+
+_Francis Turner Palgrave._
+
+
+
+
+OTHER LITTLE CHILDREN
+
+
+
+
+_Where Go the Boats?_[A]
+
+
+        Dark brown is the river,
+          Golden is the sand.
+        It flows along forever
+          With trees on either hand.
+
+        Green leaves a-floating,
+          Castles of the foam,
+        Boats of mine a-boating--
+          Where will all come home?
+
+        On goes the river
+          And out past the mill,
+        Away down the valley,
+          Away down the hill.
+
+        Away down the river,
+          A hundred miles or more,
+        Other little children
+          Shall bring my boats ashore.
+
+Robert Louis Stevenson.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] _From "A Child's Garden of Verses." By permission of Charles
+Scribner's Sons._
+
+
+
+
+_Cleanliness_
+
+
+        Come, my little Robert, near--
+        Fie! what filthy hands are here!
+        Who, that e'er could understand
+        The rare structure of a hand,
+        With its branching fingers fine,
+        Work itself of hands divine,
+        Strong, yet delicately knit,
+        For ten thousand uses fit,
+        Overlaid with so clear skin
+        You may see the blood within,--
+        Who this hand would choose to cover
+        With a crust of dirt all over,
+        Till it look'd in hue and shape
+        Like the forefoot of an ape!
+        Man or boy that works or plays
+        In the fields or the highways,
+        May, without offence or hurt,
+        From the soil contract a dirt
+        Which the next clear spring or river
+        Washes out and out for ever--
+        But to cherish stains impure,
+        Soil deliberate to endure,
+        On the skin to fix a stain
+        Till it works into the grain,
+        Argues a degenerate mind,
+        Sordid, slothful, ill-inclined,
+        Wanting in that self-respect
+        Which does virtue best protect.
+        All-endearing cleanliness,
+        Virtue next to godliness,
+        Easiest, cheapest, needfull'st duty,
+        To the body health and beauty;
+        Who that's human would refuse it,
+        When a little water does it?
+
+Charles and Mary Lamb.
+
+
+
+
+_Wishing_
+
+
+        Ring-ting! I wish I were a Primrose,
+        A bright yellow Primrose, blowing in the spring!
+          The stooping bough 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,
+          And 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 sleep in the dark wood or dell?
+          Before the day was over,
+          Home must come the rover,
+        For mother's kiss,--sweeter this
+          Than any other thing.
+
+William Allingham.
+
+
+
+
+_The Boy_
+
+
+        The Boy from his bedroom window
+          Look'd over the little town,
+        And away to the bleak black upland
+          Under a clouded moon.
+
+        The moon came forth from her cavern.
+          He saw the sudden gleam
+        Of a tarn in the swarthy moorland;
+          Or perhaps the whole was a dream.
+
+        For I never could find that water
+          In all my walks and rides:
+        Far-off, in the Land of Memory,
+          That midnight pool abides.
+
+        Many fine things had I glimpse of,
+          And said, "I shall find them one day."
+        Whether within or without me
+          They were, I cannot say.
+
+William Allingham.
+
+
+
+
+_Infant Joy_
+
+
+        "I have no name,
+        I am but two days old."
+        What shall I call thee?
+         "I happy am,
+         Joy is my name."
+        Sweet joy befall thee!
+
+        Pretty joy!
+        Sweet joy but two days old!
+        Sweet joy I call thee.
+         Thou dost smile,
+         I sing the while.
+        Sweet joy befall thee!
+
+William Blake
+
+
+
+
+_A Blessing for the Blessed_
+
+
+        When the sun has left the hill-top
+         And the daisy fringe is furled,
+        When the birds from wood and meadow
+         In their hidden nests are curled,
+        Then I think of all the babies
+         That are sleeping in the world.
+
+        There are babies in the high lands
+         And babies in the low,
+        There are pale ones wrapped in furry skins
+         On the margin of the snow,
+        And brown ones naked in the isles
+         Where all the spices grow.
+
+        And some are in the palace
+         On a white and downy bed,
+        And some are in the garret
+         With a clout beneath their head,
+        And some are on the cold hard earth,
+         Whose mothers have no bread.
+
+        O little men and women,
+         Dear flowers yet unblown--
+        O little kings and beggars
+         Of the pageant yet unshown--
+        Sleep soft and dream pale dreams now,
+         To-morrow is your own.
+
+Laurence Alma Tadema.
+
+
+
+
+_Piping Down the Valleys Wild_
+
+
+        Piping down the valleys wild,
+          Piping songs of pleasant glee,
+        On a cloud I saw a child,
+          And he, laughing, said to me:
+
+        "Pipe a song about a lamb."
+          So I piped with merry cheer.
+        "Piper, pipe that song again."
+          So I piped; he wept to hear.
+
+        "Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe,
+          Sing thy songs of happy cheer."
+        So I sang the same again,
+          While he wept with joy to hear.
+
+        "Piper, sit thee down and write,
+          In a book, that all may read."--
+        So he vanished from my sight,
+          And I plucked a hollow reed,
+
+        And I made a rural pen;
+          And I stained the water clear
+        And I wrote my happy songs
+          Every child may joy to hear.
+
+William Blake.
+
+
+
+
+_A Sleeping Child_
+
+
+        Lips, lips, open!
+        Up comes a little bird that lives inside,
+        Up comes a little bird, and peeps, and out he flies.
+
+        All the day he sits inside, and sometimes he sings;
+        Up he comes and out he goes at night to spread his wings.
+
+        Little bird, little bird, whither will you go?
+        Round about the world while nobody can know.
+
+        Little bird, little bird, whither do you flee?
+        Far away round the world while nobody can see.
+
+        Little bird, little bird, how long will you roam?
+        All round the world and around again home.
+
+        Round the round world, and back through the air,
+        When the morning comes, the little bird is there.
+
+        Back comes the little bird, and looks, and in he flies.
+        Up wakes the little boy, and opens both his eyes.
+
+        Sleep, sleep, little boy, little bird's away,
+        Little bird will come again by the peep of day;
+
+        Sleep, sleep, little boy, little bird must go
+        Round about the world, while nobody can know.
+
+        Sleep, sleep sound, little bird goes round,
+        Round and round he goes,--sleep, sleep sound!
+
+Arthur Hugh Clough.
+
+
+
+
+_Birdies with Broken Wings_[A]
+
+
+        Birdies with broken wings,
+          Hide from each other;
+        But babies in trouble
+          Can run home to mother.
+
+Mary Mapes Dodge.
+
+
+
+
+_Seven Times One_
+
+_Exultation_
+
+
+
+        There's no dew left on the daisies and clover,
+          There's no rain left in heaven;
+        I've said my "seven times" over and over--
+          Seven times one are seven.
+
+        I am old! so old I can write a letter;
+          My birthday lessons are done:
+        The lambs play always, they know no better;
+          They are only one times one.
+
+        O Moon! in the night I have seen you sailing,
+          And shining so round and low;
+        You were bright! ah, bright! but your light is failing;
+          You are nothing now but a bow.
+
+        You Moon! have you done something wrong in heaven,
+          That God has hidden your face?
+        I hope, if you have, you will soon be forgiven,
+          And shine again in your place.
+
+        O velvet Bee! you're a dusty fellow,
+          You've powdered your legs with gold;
+        O brave marsh Mary-buds, rich and yellow!
+          Give me your money to hold.
+
+        O Columbine! open your folded wrapper
+          Where two twin turtle-doves dwell;
+        O Cuckoo-pint! toll me the purple clapper,
+          That hangs in your clear, green bell.
+
+        And show me your nest with the young ones in it--
+          I will not steal them away,
+        I am old! you may trust me, Linnet, Linnet,--
+          I am seven times one to-day.
+
+Jean Ingelow.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] _From "Rhymes and Jingles." By permission of Charles Scribner's
+Sons._
+
+
+
+
+_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 heav'n
+          Than when I was a boy.
+
+Thomas Hood.
+
+
+
+
+_Good-night and Good-morning_
+
+
+        A fair little girl sat under a tree
+        Sewing as long as her eyes could see;
+        Then smoothed her work and folded it right,
+        And said, "Dear work, good-night, good-night!"
+
+        Such a number of rooks came over her head
+        Crying, "Caw, caw!" on their way to bed;
+        She said, as she watched their curious flight,
+        "Little black things, good-night, good-night!"
+
+        The horses neighed, and the oxen lowed;
+        The sheep's "Bleat, bleat!" came over the road.
+        All seeming to say, with a quiet delight,
+        "Good little girl, good-night, good-night!"
+
+        She did not say to the sun, "Good-night!"
+        Though she saw him there like a ball of light;
+        For she knew he had God's own time to keep
+        All over the world, and never could sleep.
+
+        The tall, pink Fox-glove bowed his head--
+        The Violets curtsied, and went to bed;
+        And good little Lucy tied up her hair,
+        And said, on her knees, her favorite prayer.
+
+        And while on her pillow she softly lay,
+        She knew nothing more till again it was day,
+        And all things said to the beautiful sun,
+        "Good-morning, good-morning! our work is begun."
+
+
+Lord Houghton.
+
+(Richard Monckton Milnes.)
+
+
+
+
+_Little Children_
+
+
+        Sporting through the forest wide;
+        Playing by the waterside;
+        Wandering o'er the heathy fells;
+        Down within the woodland dells;
+        All among the mountains wild,
+        Dwelleth many a little child!
+        In the baron's hall of pride;
+        By the poor man's dull fireside:
+        'Mid the mighty, 'mid the mean,
+        Little children may be seen,
+        Like the flowers that spring up fair,
+        Bright and countless everywhere!
+        In the far isles of the main;
+        In the desert's lone domain;
+        In the savage mountain-glen,
+        'Mong the tribes of swarthy men;
+        Whereso'er the sun hath shone
+        On a league of people'd ground,
+        Little children may be found!
+        Blessings on them! they in me
+        Move a kindly sympathy,
+        With their wishes, hopes, and fears;
+        With their laughter and their tears;
+        With their wonder so intense,
+        And their small experience!
+        Little children, not alone
+        On the wide earth are ye known,
+        'Mid its labours and its cares,
+        'Mid its sufferings and its snares;
+        Free from sorrow, free from strife,
+        In the world of love and life,
+        Where no sinful thing hath trod--
+        In the presence of your God,
+        Spotless, blameless, glorified--
+        Little children, ye abide!
+
+Mary Howitt.
+
+
+
+
+_The Angel's Whisper_
+
+
+             A baby was sleeping;
+             Its mother was weeping;
+        For her husband was far on the wild raging sea;
+             And the tempest was swelling
+             Round the fisherman's dwelling,
+        And she cried, "Dermot, darling, Oh, come back to me!"
+
+             Her beads while she numbered
+             The baby still slumbered,
+        And smiled in her face as she bended her knee.
+             "Oh, blest be that warning,
+             Thy sweet sleep adorning,
+        For I know that the angels are whispering to thee!
+
+             "And while they are keeping
+             Bright watch o'er thy sleeping,
+        Oh, pray to them softly, my baby, with me!
+             And say thou would'st rather
+             They'd watch o'er thy father,
+        For I know that the angels are whispering to thee."
+
+             The dawn of the morning
+             Saw Dermot returning,
+        And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see;
+             And closely caressing
+             Her child with a blessing,
+        Said, "I knew that the angels were whispering to thee."
+
+Samuel Lover.
+
+
+
+
+_Little Garaine_
+
+
+        "Where do the stars grow, little Garaine?
+          The garden of moons is it far away?
+        The orchard of suns, my little Garaine,
+          Will you take us there some day?"
+
+        "If you shut your eyes," quoth little Garaine,
+          "I will show you the way to go
+        To the orchard of suns and the garden of moons
+          And the field where the stars do grow.
+
+        "But you must speak soft," quoth little Garaine
+          "And still must your footsteps be,
+        For a great bear prowls in the field of stars,
+          And the moons they have men to see.
+
+        "And the suns have the Children of Signs to guard,
+          And they have no pity at all----
+        You must not stumble, you must not speak,
+          When you come to the orchard wall.
+
+        "The gates are locked," quoth little Garaine,
+          "But the way I am going to tell!
+        The key of your heart it will open them all
+          And there's where the darlings dwell!"
+
+Sir Gilbert Parker.
+
+
+
+
+_A Letter_
+
+_(To Lady Margaret Cavendish Holles-Harley, when a Child)_
+
+
+        My noble, lovely, little Peggy,
+        Let this my First Epistle beg ye,
+        At dawn of morn, and close of even,
+        To lift your heart and hands to Heaven.
+        In double duty say your prayer:
+        _Our Father_ first, then _Notre Pere_.
+
+        And, dearest child, along the day,
+        In every thing you do and say,
+        Obey and please my lord and lady,
+        So God shall love and angels aid ye.
+
+        If to these precepts you attend,
+        No second letter need I send,
+        And so I rest your constant friend.
+
+Matthew Prior.
+
+
+
+
+_Love and the Child_
+
+
+        Toys, and treats, and pleasures pass
+        Like a shadow in a glass,
+        Like the smoke that mounts on high,
+        Like a noonday's butterfly.
+
+        Quick they come and quick they end,
+        Like the money that I spend;
+        Some to-day, to-morrow more,
+        Short, like those that went before.
+
+        Mother, fold me to your knees!
+        How much should I care for these--
+        Little joys that come and go!
+        If you did not love me so?
+
+        And when things are sad or wrong,
+        Then I know that love is strong;
+        When I ache, or when I weep,
+        Then I know that love is deep.
+
+        Father, now my prayer is said,
+        Lay your hand upon my head!
+        Pleasures pass from day to day,
+        But I know that love will stay.
+
+        While I sleep it will be near;
+        I shall wake and find it here;
+        I shall feel it in the air
+        When I say my morning prayer.
+
+        Maker of this little heart!
+        Lord of love I know thou art!
+        Little heart! though thou forget,
+        Still the love is round thee set.
+
+William Brighty Rands.
+
+
+
+
+_Polly_
+
+
+        Brown eyes, straight nose;
+        Dirt pies, rumpled clothes.
+
+        Torn books, spoilt toys:
+        Arch looks, unlike a boy's;
+
+        Little rages, obvious arts;
+        (Three her age is), cakes, tarts;
+
+        Falling down off chairs;
+        Breaking crown down stairs;
+
+        Catching flies on the pane;
+        Deep sighs--cause not plain;
+
+        Bribing you with kisses
+        For a few farthing blisses.
+
+        Wide-a-wake; as you hear,
+        "Mercy's sake, quiet, dear!"
+
+        New shoes, new frock;
+        Vague views of what's o'clock
+
+        When it's time to go to bed,
+        And scorn sublime for what is said.
+
+        Folded hands, saying prayers,
+        Understands not nor cares--
+
+        Thinks it odd, smiles away;
+        Yet may God hear her pray!
+
+        Bed gown white, kiss Dolly;
+        Good night!--that's Polly,
+
+        Fast asleep, as you see,
+        Heaven keep my girl for me!
+
+William Brighty Rands.
+
+
+
+
+_A Chill_
+
+
+        What can lambkins do
+        All the keen night through?
+          Nestle by their woolly mother
+        The careful ewe.
+
+        What can nestlings do
+        In the nightly dew?
+          Sleep beneath their mother's wing
+        Till day breaks anew.
+
+        If in field or tree
+        There might only be
+        Such a warm soft sleeping-place
+        Found for me!
+
+Christina G. Rossetti.
+
+
+
+
+_A Child's Laughter_
+
+
+        All the bells of heaven may ring,
+        All the birds of heaven may sing,
+        All the wells on earth may spring,
+        All the winds on earth may bring
+             All sweet sounds together;
+        Sweeter far than all things heard,
+        Hand of harper, tone of bird,
+        Sound of woods at sundawn stirred,
+        Welling water's winsome word,
+             Wind in warm, wan weather.
+
+        One thing yet there is that none
+        Hearing, ere its chime be done
+        Knows not well the sweetest one
+        Heard of man beneath the sun,
+             Hoped in heaven hereafter;
+        Soft and strong and loud and light,
+        Very sound of very light,
+        Heard from morning's rosiest height,
+        When the soul of all delight
+             Fills a child's clear laughter.
+
+        Golden bells of welcome rolled
+        Never forth such note, nor told
+        Hours so blithe in tones so bold,
+        As the radiant month of gold
+             Here that rings forth heaven.
+        If the golden-crested wren
+        Were a nightingale--why, then
+        Something seen and heard of men
+        Might be half as sweet as when
+             Laughs a child of seven.
+
+Algernon C. Swinburne.
+
+
+
+
+_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.
+
+        And twigs that shake, and boughs that sway;
+          And tall old trees you could not climb;
+        And winds that come, but cannot stay,
+          Are singing gayly 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.
+
+        The brook that flows beside the mill,
+          As happy as a brook can be,
+        Goes singing its old song until
+          It learns the singing of the sea.
+
+        For every wave upon the sands
+          Sings songs you never tire to hear,
+        Of laden ships from sunny lands
+          Where it is summer all the year.
+
+        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.
+
+Gabriel Setoun.
+
+
+
+
+_The Little Land_[A]
+
+
+        When at home alone I sit
+        And am very tired of it,
+        I have just to shut my eyes
+        To go sailing through the skies--
+        To go sailing far away
+        To the pleasant Land of Play;
+        To the fairy land afar
+        Where the Little People are;
+        Where the clover-tops are trees,
+        And the rain-pools are the seas,
+        And the leaves like little ships
+        Sail about on tiny trips;
+        And above the daisy tree
+            Through the grasses,
+        High o'erhead the Bumble Bee
+            Hums and passes.
+
+        In that forest to and fro
+        I can wander, I can go;
+        See the spider and the fly,
+        And the ants go marching by
+        Carrying parcels with their feet
+        Down the green and grassy street.
+        I can in the sorrel sit
+        Where the ladybird alit.
+        I can climb the jointed grass;
+            And on high
+        See the greater swallows pass
+            In the sky,
+        And the round sun rolling by
+        Heeding no such thing as I.
+
+        Through the forest I can pass
+        Till, as in a looking-glass,
+        Humming fly and daisy tree
+        And my tiny self I see,
+        Painted very clear and neat
+        On the rain-pool at my feet.
+        Should a leaflet come to land
+        Drifting near to where I stand,
+        Straight I'll board that tiny boat
+        Round the rain-pool sea to float.
+
+        Little thoughtful creatures sit
+        On the grassy coasts of it;
+        Little things with lovely eyes
+        See me sailing with surprise.
+        Some are clad in armour green--
+        (These have sure to battle been!)
+        Some are pied with ev'ry hue,
+        Black and crimson, gold and blue;
+        Some have wings and swift are gone:--
+        But they all look kindly on.
+
+        When my eyes I once again
+        Open and see all things plain;
+        High bare walls, great bare floor;
+        Great big knobs on drawer and door;
+        Great big people perched on chairs,
+        Stitching tucks and mending tears,
+        Each a hill that I could climb,
+        And talking nonsense all the time--
+            O dear me,
+            That I could be
+        A sailor on the rain-pool sea,
+        A climber in the clover-tree,
+        And just come back, a sleepy-head,
+        Late at night to go to bed.
+
+Robert Louis Stevenson.
+
+
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] _From "A Child's Garden of Verses." By permission of Charles
+Scribner's Sons._
+
+
+
+
+_In a Garden_
+
+
+        Baby, see the flowers!
+                  Baby sees
+        Fairer things than these,
+        Fairer though they be than dreams of ours.
+        Baby, hear the birds!
+                  Baby knows
+        Better songs than those,
+        Sweeter though they sound than sweetest words.
+
+        Baby, see the moon!
+                  Baby's eyes
+        Laugh to watch it rise,
+        Answering light with love and night with noon.
+
+        Baby, hear the sea!
+                  Baby's face
+        Takes a graver grace,
+        Touched with wonder what the sound may be.
+
+        Baby, see the star!
+                  Baby's hand
+        Opens, warm and bland,
+        Calm in claim of all things fair that are.
+
+        Baby, hear the bells!
+                  Baby's head
+        Bows as ripe for bed,
+        Now the flowers curl round and close their cells.
+
+        Baby, flower of light,
+                  Sleep and see
+        Brighter dreams than we,
+        Till good day shall smile away good night.
+
+Algernon Charles Swinburne
+
+
+
+
+_Little Gustava_
+
+
+I
+
+        Little Gustava sits in the sun,
+        Safe in the porch, and the little drops run
+        From the icicles under the eaves so fast,
+        For the bright spring sun shines warm at last,
+            And glad is little Gustava.
+
+
+II
+
+        She wears a quaint little scarlet cap,
+        And a little green bowl she holds in her lap,
+        Filled with bread and milk to the brim,
+        And a wreath of marigolds round the rim.
+            "Ha! ha!" laughs little Gustava.
+
+
+III
+
+        Up comes her little gray coaxing cat
+        With her little pink nose, and she mews, "What's that?"
+        Gustava feeds her,--she begs for more;
+        And a little brown hen walks in at the door
+           "Good day!" cries little Gustava.
+
+
+IV
+
+        She scatters crumbs for the little brown hen.
+        There comes a rush and a flutter, and then
+        Down fly her little white doves so sweet,
+        With their snowy wings and crimson feet:
+            "Welcome!" cries little Gustava.
+
+
+V
+
+        So dainty and eager they pick up the crumbs.
+        But who is this through the doorway comes?
+        Little Scotch terrier, little dog Rags,
+        Looks in her face, and his funny tail wags:
+            "Ha, ha!" laughs little Gustava.
+
+
+VI
+
+        "You want some breakfast too?" and down
+        She sets her bowl on brick floor brown;
+        And little dog Rags drinks up her milk,
+        While she strokes his shaggy locks like silk:
+            "Dear Rags!" says little Gustava.
+
+
+VII
+
+        Waiting without stood sparrow and crow,
+        Cooling their feet in the melting snow:
+        "Won't you come in, good folk?" she cried.
+        But they were too bashful, and stood outside
+            Though "Pray come in!" cried Gustava.
+
+
+VIII
+
+        So the last she threw them, and knelt on the mat
+        With doves and biddy and dog and cat.
+        And her mother came to the open house-door
+        "Dear little daughter, I bring you some more.
+            My merry little Gustava!"
+
+
+IX
+
+        Kitty and terrier, biddy and doves,
+        All things harmless Gustava loves.
+        The shy, kind creatures 'tis joy to feed,
+        And oh her breakfast is sweet indeed
+            To happy little Gustava!
+
+Celia Thaxter.
+
+
+
+
+_A Bunch of Roses_
+
+
+        The rosy mouth and rosy toe
+         Of little baby brother,
+        Until about a month ago
+         Had never met each other;
+        But nowadays the neighbours sweet,
+         In every sort of weather,
+        Half way with rosy fingers meet,
+         To kiss and play together.
+
+John B. Tabb.
+
+
+
+
+_The Child_
+
+_At Bethlehem_
+
+
+        Long, long before the Babe could speak,
+        When he would kiss his mother's cheek
+           And to her bosom press,
+        The brightest angels standing near
+        Would turn away to hide a tear--
+           For they are motherless.
+
+John B. Tabb
+
+
+
+
+_After the Storm_
+
+
+        And when,--its force expended,
+        The harmless storm was ended,
+        And as the sunrise splendid
+         Came blushing o'er the sea--
+        I thought, as day was breaking,
+        My little girls were waking,
+        And smiling and making
+         A prayer at home for me.
+
+William Makepeace Thackeray.
+
+
+
+
+_Lucy Gray_
+
+
+        Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray;
+          And, when I crossed the wild,
+        I chanced to see at break of day
+          The solitary child.
+
+        No mate, no comrade, Lucy knew;
+          She dwelt on a wide moor,--
+        The sweetest thing that ever grew
+          Beside a human door!
+
+        You yet may spy the fawn at play,
+          The hare upon the green;
+        But the sweet face of Lucy Gray
+          Will never more be seen.
+
+        "To-night will be a stormy night--
+          You to the town must go:
+        And take a lantern, child, to light
+          Your mother through the snow."
+
+        "That, father, will I gladly do:
+          'Tis scarcely afternoon--
+        The minster-clock has just struck two;
+          And yonder is the moon."
+
+        At this the father raised his hook,
+          And snapped a faggot-band;
+        He plied his work;--and Lucy took
+          The lantern in her hand.
+
+        Not blither is the mountain roe:
+          With many a wanton stroke
+        Her feet disperse the powdery snow,
+          That rises up like smoke.
+
+        The storm came on before its time
+          She wandered up and down;
+        And many a hill did Lucy climb,
+          But never reached the town.
+
+        The wretched parents all that night
+          Went shouting far and wide;
+        But there was neither sound nor sight
+          To serve them for a guide.
+
+        At daybreak on a hill they stood
+          That overlooked the moor;
+        And thence they saw the bridge of wood,
+          A furlong from their door.
+
+        They wept--and, turning homeward, cried,
+          "In heaven we all shall meet!"
+        When in the snow the mother spied
+          The print of Lucy's feet.
+
+        Then downwards from the steep hill's edge
+          They tracked the footmarks small;
+        And through the broken hawthorn hedge,
+          And by the low stone wall:
+
+        And then an open field they crossed;
+          The marks were still the same;
+        They tracked them on, nor ever lost;
+          And to the bridge they came.
+
+        They follow from the snowy bank
+          Those footmarks, one by one,
+        Into the middle of the plank;
+          And further there were none!
+
+        --Yet some maintain that to this day
+          She is a living child;
+        That you may see sweet Lucy Gray
+          Upon the lonesome wild.
+
+        O'er rough and smooth she trips along,
+          And never looks behind;
+        And sings a solitary song
+          That whistles in the wind.
+
+William Wordsworth
+
+
+
+
+_Deaf and Dumb_
+
+
+        He lies on the grass, looking up to the sky;
+        Blue butterflies pass like a breath or a sigh,
+        The shy little hare runs confidingly near,
+        And wise rabbits stare with inquiry, not fear:
+        Gay squirrels have found him and made him their choice;
+        All creatures flock round him, and seem to rejoice.
+
+        Wild ladybirds leap on his cheek fresh and fair,
+        Young partridges creep, nestling under his hair,
+        Brown honey-bees drop something sweet on his lips,
+        Rash grasshoppers hop on his round finger-tips,
+        Birds hover above him with musical call;
+        All things seem to love him, and he loves them all.
+
+        Is nothing afraid of the boy lying there?
+        Would all nature aid if he wanted its care?
+        Things timid and wild with soft eagerness come.
+        Ah, poor little child!--he is deaf--he is dumb.
+        But what can have brought them? but how can they know?
+        What instinct has taught them to cherish him so?
+
+        Since first he could walk they have served him like this.
+        His lips could not talk, but they found they could kiss.
+        They made him a court, and they crowned him a king;
+        Ah, who could have thought of so lovely a thing?
+        They found him so pretty, they gave him their hearts,
+        And some divine pity has taught them their parts!
+
+"A."
+
+
+
+
+_The Blind Boy_
+
+
+        O, say, what is that thing called Light,
+          Which I must ne'er enjoy?
+        What are the blessings of the sight?
+          O tell your poor blind boy!
+
+        You talk of wondrous things you see;
+          You say the sun shines bright;
+        I feel him warm, but how can he
+          Make either day or night?
+
+        My day and night myself I make,
+          Whene'er I sleep or play,
+        And could I always keep awake,
+          With me 'twere always day.
+
+        With heavy sighs I often hear
+          You mourn my hapless woe;
+        But sure with patience I can bear
+          A loss I ne'er can know.
+
+        Then let not what I cannot have
+          My peace of mind destroy;
+        Whilst thus I sing, I am a king,
+          Although a poor blind boy!
+
+Colley Cibber.
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+PLAY-TIME
+
+
+        _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._
+
+_Gabriel Setoun._
+
+
+
+
+PLAY-TIME
+
+
+
+
+_A Boy's Song_
+
+
+        Where the pools are bright and deep,
+        Where the gray trout lies asleep,
+        Up the river and o'er the lea,
+        That's the way for Billy and me.
+
+        Where the blackbird sings the latest,
+        Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest,
+        Where the nestlings chirp and flee,
+        That's the way for Billy and me.
+
+        Where the mowers mow the cleanest,
+        Where the hay lies thick and greenest,
+        There to trace the homeward bee,
+        That's the way for Billy and me.
+
+        Where the hazel bank is steepest,
+        Where the shadow falls the deepest,
+        Where the clustering nuts fall free,
+        That's the way for Billy and me.
+
+        Why the boys should drive away
+        Little sweet maidens from the play,
+        Or love to banter and fight so well,
+        That's the thing I never could tell.
+
+        But this I know, I love to play,
+        Through the meadow, among the hay,
+        Up the water and o'er the lea,
+        That's the way for Billy and me.
+
+James Hogg (The Ettrick Shepherd).
+
+
+
+
+_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 on 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 on 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 sake's sake, she is still, dears,
+          The prettiest doll in the world.
+
+Charles Kingsley
+
+
+
+
+_Dolladine_
+
+
+        This is her picture--Dolladine--
+        The beautifullest doll that ever was seen!
+        Oh, what nosegays! Oh, what sashes!
+        Oh, what beautiful eyes and lashes!
+
+        Oh, what a precious perfect pet!
+        On each instep a pink rosette;
+        Little blue shoes for her little blue tots;
+        Elegant ribbons in bows and knots.
+
+        Her hair is powdered; her arms are straight,
+        Only feel, she is quite a weight!
+        Her legs are limp, though;--stand up, miss!--
+        What a beautiful buttoned-up mouth to kiss!
+
+William Brighty Rands.
+
+
+
+
+_Dressing the Doll_
+
+
+        This is the way we dress the Doll:--
+        You may make her a shepherdess, the Doll,
+        If you give her a crook with a pastoral hook,
+        But this is the way we dress the Doll.
+
+CHORUS.
+
+        Bless the Doll, you may press the Doll,
+        But do not crumple and mess the Doll!
+        This is the way we dress the Doll.
+        First, you observe her little chemise,
+        As white as milk, with ruches of silk;
+        And the little drawers that cover her knees.
+        As she sits or stands, with golden bands,
+        And lace in beautiful filagrees.
+
+CHORUS.
+
+        Bless the Doll, you may press the Doll,
+        But do not crumple or mess the Doll!
+        This is the way we dress the Doll.
+
+        Now these are the bodies: she has two,
+        One of pink, with ruches of blue,
+        And sweet white lace; be careful, do!
+        And one of green, with buttons of sheen,
+        Buttons and bands of gold, I mean,
+        With lace on the border in lovely order,
+        The most expensive we can afford her!
+
+CHORUS.
+
+        Bless the Doll, you may press the Doll,
+        But do not crumple or mess the Doll!
+        This is the way we dress the Doll.
+
+        Then, with black at the border, jacket
+        And this--and this--she will not lack it;
+        Skirts? Why, there are skirts, of course,
+        And shoes and stockings we shall enforce,
+        With a proper bodice, in the proper place
+        (Stays that lace have had their days
+        And made their martyrs); likewise garters,
+        All entire. But our desire
+        Is to show you her night attire,
+        At least a part of it. Pray admire
+        This sweet white thing that she goes to bed in!
+        It's not the one that's made for her wedding;
+        _That_ is special, a new design,
+        Made with a charm and a countersign,
+        Three times three and nine times nine:
+        These are only her usual clothes:
+        Look, _there's_ a wardrobe! gracious knows
+        It's pretty enough, as far as it goes!
+
+        So you see the way we dress the Doll:
+        You might make her a shepherdess, the Doll,
+        If you gave her a crook with a pastoral hook,
+        With sheep, and a shed, and a shallow brook,
+        And all that, out of the poetry-book.
+
+CHORUS.
+
+        Bless the Doll, you may press the Doll,
+        But do not crumple and mess the Doll!
+        This is the way we dress the Doll;
+        If you had not seen, could you guess the Doll?
+
+William Brighty Rands.
+
+
+
+
+_The Pedlar's Caravan_
+
+
+        I wish I lived in a caravan,
+        With a horse to drive, like a pedlar-man!
+        Where he comes from nobody knows,
+        Or where he goes to, but on he goes!
+
+        His caravan has windows two,
+        And a chimney of tin, that the smoke comes through;
+        He has a wife, with a baby brown,
+        And they go riding from town to town.
+
+        Chairs to mend, and delf to sell!
+        He clashes the basins like a bell;
+        Tea-trays, baskets ranged in order,
+        Plates with the alphabet round the border!
+
+        The roads are brown, and the sea is green,
+        But his house is just like a bathing-machine;
+        The world is round, and he can ride,
+        Rumble and splash, to the other side!
+
+        With the pedlar-man I should like to roam,
+        And write a book when I came home;
+        All the people would read my book,
+        Just like the Travels of Captain Cook!
+
+William Brighty Rands.
+
+
+
+
+_A Sea-Song from the Shore_
+
+
+           Hail! Ho!
+           Sail! Ho!
+        Ahoy! Ahoy! Ahoy!
+           Who calls to me,
+           So far at sea?
+        Only a little boy!
+
+           Sail! Ho!
+           Hail! Ho!
+        The sailor he sails the sea:
+           I wish he would capture a little sea-horse
+        And send him home to me.
+
+           I wish, as he sails
+           Through the tropical gales,
+        He would catch me a sea-bird, too,
+           With its silver wings
+           And the song it sings,
+        And its breast of down and dew!
+
+           I wish he would catch me a
+           Little mermaid,
+        Some island where he lands,
+           With her dripping curls,
+           And her crown of pearls,
+        And the looking-glass in her hands!
+           Hail! Ho!
+           Sail! Ho!
+        Sail far o'er the fabulous main!
+           And if I were a sailor,
+           I'd sail with you,
+        Though I never sailed back again.
+
+James Whitcomb Riley.
+
+
+
+
+_The Land of Story-Books_[A]
+
+
+        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.
+
+Robert Louis Stevenson.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] _From "A Child's Garden of Verses," by Robert Louis Stevenson. By
+permission of Charles Scribner's Sons._
+
+
+
+
+_The City Child_
+
+
+        Dainty little maiden, whither would you wander?
+        Whither from this pretty home, the home where mother dwells?
+        "Far and far away," said the dainty little maiden,
+        "All among the gardens, auriculas, anemones,
+        Roses and lilies and Canterbury bells."
+
+        Dainty little maiden, whither would you wander?
+        Whither from this pretty house, this city-house of ours?
+        "Far and far away," said the dainty little maiden,
+        "All among the meadows, the clover and the clematis,
+        Daisies and kingcups and honeysuckle-flowers."
+
+Alfred, Lord Tennyson.
+
+
+
+
+_Going into Breeches_
+
+
+        Joy to Philip! he this day
+        Has his long coats cast away,
+        And (the childish season gone)
+        Put the manly breeches on.
+        Officer on gay parade,
+        Red-coat in his first cockade,
+        Bridegroom in his wedding-trim,
+        Birthday beau surpassing him,
+        Never did with conscious gait
+        Strut about in half the state
+        Or the pride (yet free from sin)
+        Of my little MANIKIN:
+        Never was there pride or bliss
+        Half so rational as his.
+        Sashes, frocks, to those that need 'em,
+        Philip's limbs have got their freedom--
+        He can run, or he can ride,
+        And do twenty things beside,
+        Which his petticoats forbade;
+        Is he not a happy lad?
+        Now he's under other banners
+        He must leave his former manners;
+        Bid adieu to female games
+        And forget their very names;
+        Puss-in-corners, hide-and-seek,
+        Sports for girls and punies weak!
+        Baste-the-bear he now may play at;
+        Leap-frog, foot-ball sport away at;
+        Show his skill and strength at cricket,
+        Mark his distance, pitch his wicket;
+        Run about in winter's snow
+        Till his cheeks and fingers glow;
+        Climb a tree or scale a wall
+        Without any fear to fall.
+        If he get a hurt or bruise,
+        To complain he must refuse,
+        Though the anguish and the smart
+        Go unto his little heart;
+        He must have his courage ready,
+        Keep his voice and visage steady;
+        Brace his eyeballs stiff as drum,
+        That a tear may never come;
+        And his grief must only speak
+        From the colour in his cheek.
+        This and more he must endure,
+        Hero he in miniature.
+        This and more must now be done,
+        Now the breeches are put on.
+
+Charles and Mary Lamb.
+
+
+
+
+_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 Taylor Coleridge.
+
+
+
+
+_Hie Away_
+
+
+        Hie away, hie away!
+        Over bank and over brae,
+        Where the copsewood is the greenest,
+        Where the fountains glisten sheenest,
+        Where the lady fern grows strongest,
+        Where the morning dew lies longest,
+        Where the blackcock sweetest sips it,
+        Where the fairy latest trips it:
+        Hie to haunts right seldom seen,
+        Lovely, lonesome, cool, and green,
+        Over bank and over brae,
+        Hie away, hie away!
+
+Sir Walter Scott.
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+STORY TIME
+
+
+        _And I made a rural pen;
+          And I stained the water clear
+        And I wrote my happy songs
+          Every child may joy to hear._
+
+_William Blake._
+
+
+
+
+STORY TIME
+
+
+
+
+_The Fairy Folk_
+
+
+        Come cuddle close in daddy's coat
+          Beside the fire so bright,
+        And hear about the fairy folk
+          That wander in the night.
+        For when the stars are shining clear
+          And all the world is still,
+        They float across the silver moon
+          From hill to cloudy hill.
+
+        Their caps of red, their cloaks of green,
+          Are hung with silver bells,
+        And when they're shaken with the wind
+          Their merry ringing swells.
+        And riding on the crimson moth,
+          With black spots on his wings,
+        They guide them down the purple sky
+          With golden bridle rings.
+
+        They love to visit girls and boys
+          To see how sweet they sleep,
+        To stand beside their cosy cots
+          And at their faces peep.
+        For in the whole of fairy land
+          They have no finer sight
+        Than little children sleeping sound
+          With faces rosy bright.
+
+        On tip-toe crowding round their heads,
+          When bright the moonlight beams,
+        They whisper little tender words
+          That fill their minds with dreams;
+        And when they see a sunny smile,
+          With lightest finger tips
+        They lay a hundred kisses sweet
+          Upon the ruddy lips.
+
+        And then the little spotted moths
+          Spread out their crimson wings,
+        And bear away the fairy crowd
+          With shaking bridle rings.
+        Come bairnies, hide in daddy's coat,
+          Beside the fire so bright--
+        Perhaps the little fairy folk
+          Will visit you to-night.
+
+Robert Bird.
+
+
+
+
+_A Fairy in Armor_
+
+
+        He put his acorn helmet on;
+        It was plumed of the silk of the thistle down;
+        The corslet plate that guarded his breast
+        Was once the wild bee's golden vest;
+        His cloak, of a thousand mingled dyes,
+        Was formed of the wings of butterflies;
+        His shield was the shell of a lady-bug green,
+        Studs of gold on a ground of green;
+        And the quivering lance which he brandished bright,
+        Was the sting of a wasp he had slain in fight.
+        Swift he bestrode his fire-fly steed;
+          He bared his blade of the bent-grass blue;
+        He drove his spurs of the cockle-seed,
+          And away like a glance of thought he flew,
+        To skim the heavens, and follow far
+        The fiery trail of the rocket-star.
+
+Joseph Rodman Drake.
+
+
+
+
+_The Last Voyage of the Fairies_
+
+
+        Down the bright stream the Fairies float,--
+        A water-lily is their boat.
+
+        Long rushes they for paddles take,
+        Their mainsail of a bat's wing make;
+
+        The tackle is of cobwebs neat,--
+        With glow-worm lantern all's complete.
+
+        So down the broad'ning stream they float,
+        With Puck as pilot of the boat.
+
+        The Queen on speckled moth-wings lies,
+        And lifts at times her languid eyes
+
+        To mark the green and mossy spots
+        Where bloom the blue forget-me-nots:
+
+        Oberon, on his rose-bud throne,
+        Claims the fair valley as his own:
+
+        And elves and fairies, with a shout
+        Which may be heard a yard about,
+
+        Hail him as Elfland's mighty King;
+        And hazel-nuts in homage bring,
+
+        And bend the unreluctant knee,
+        And wave their wands in loyalty.
+
+        Down the broad stream the Fairies float,
+        An unseen power impels their boat;
+
+        The banks fly past--each wooded scene--
+        The elder copse--the poplars green--
+
+        And soon they feel the briny breeze
+        With salt and savour of the seas--
+
+        Still down the stream the Fairies float,
+        An unseen power impels their boat;
+
+        Until they mark the rushing tide
+        Within the estuary wide.
+
+        And now they're tossing on the sea,
+        Where waves roll high, and winds blow free,--
+
+        Ah, mortal vision nevermore
+        Shall see the Fairies on the shore,
+
+        Or watch upon a summer night
+        Their mazy dances of delight!
+
+        Far, far away upon the sea,
+        The waves roll high, the breeze blows free!
+
+        The Queen on speckled moth-wings lies,
+        Slow gazing with a strange surprise
+
+        Where swim the sea-nymphs on the tide
+        Or on the backs of dolphins ride:
+
+        The King, upon his rose-bud throne,
+        Pales as he hears the waters moan;
+
+        The elves have ceased their sportive play,
+        Hushed by the slowly sinking day:
+
+        And still afar, afar they float,
+        The Fairies in their fragile boat,--
+
+        Further and further from the shore,
+        And lost to mortals evermore!
+
+W. H. Davenport Adams.
+
+
+
+
+_A New Fern_
+
+
+        A Fairy has found a new fern!
+          A lovely surprise of the May!
+        She stamps her wee foot, looks uncommonly stern,
+          And keeps other fairies at bay.
+
+        She watches it flourish and grow--
+          What exquisite pleasure is hers!
+        She kisses it, strokes it and fondles it so--
+          I almost believe that she purrs!
+
+        Of all the most beautiful things,
+          None brighter than this I discern,
+        To be a young fairy, with glittering wings,
+          And then--to discover a fern!
+
+"A."
+
+
+
+
+_The Child and the Fairies_
+
+
+        The woods are full of fairies!
+          The trees are all alive:
+        The river overflows with them,
+          See how they dip and dive!
+        What funny little fellows!
+          What dainty little dears!
+        They dance and leap, and prance and peep,
+          And utter fairy cheers!
+
+               *       *       *       *       *
+
+        I'd like to tame a fairy,
+          To keep it on a shelf,
+        To see it wash its little face,
+          And dress its little self.
+        I'd teach it pretty manners,
+          It always should say "Please;"
+        And then you know I'd make it sew,
+          And curtsey with its knees!
+
+"A."
+
+
+
+
+_The Little Elf_
+
+
+        I met a little Elf-man, once,
+          Down where the lilies blow.
+        I asked him why he was so small
+          And why he didn't grow.
+
+        He slightly frowned, and with his eye
+          He looked me through and through.
+        "I'm quite as big for me," said he,
+          "As you are big for you."
+
+John Kendrick Bangs.
+
+
+
+
+_"One, Two, Three"_[A]
+
+
+        It was an old, old, old, old lady
+          And a boy that was half-past three,
+        And the way that they played together
+          Was beautiful to see.
+
+        She couldn't go romping and jumping,
+          And the boy, no more could he;
+        For he was a thin little fellow,
+          With a thin little twisted knee.
+
+        They sat in the yellow sunlight,
+          Out under the maple tree,
+        And the game that they played I'll tell you,
+          Just as it was told to me.
+
+        It was Hide-and-Go-Seek they were playing.
+          Though you'd never have known it to be--
+        With an old, old, old, old lady
+          And a boy with a twisted knee.
+
+        The boy would bend his face down
+          On his little sound right knee.
+        And he guessed where she was hiding
+          In guesses One, Two, Three.
+
+        "You are in the china closet!"
+          He would cry and laugh with glee--
+        It wasn't the china closet,
+          But he still had Two and Three.
+
+        "You are up in papa's big bedroom,
+          In the chest with the queer old key,"
+        And she said: "You are warm and warmer;
+          But you are not quite right," said she.
+
+        "It can't be the little cupboard
+          Where mamma's things used to be--
+        So it must be in the clothes press, Gran'ma,"
+          And he found her with his Three.
+
+        Then she covered her face with her fingers,
+          That were wrinkled and white and wee,
+        And she guessed where the boy was hiding,
+          With a One and a Two and a Three.
+
+        And they never had stirred from their places
+          Right under the maple tree--
+        This old, old, old, old lady
+          And the boy with the lame little knee--
+        This dear, dear, dear old lady
+          And the boy who was half-past three.
+
+Henry C. Bunner.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] _From "The Poems of H. C. Bunner." Copyright, 1889, by Charles
+Scribner's Sons._
+
+
+
+
+_What May Happen to a Thimble_
+
+
+        Come about the meadow,
+          Hunt here and there,
+        Where's mother's thimble?
+          Can you tell where?
+        Jane saw her wearing it,
+          Fan saw it fall,
+        Ned isn't sure
+          That she dropp'd it at all.
+
+        Has a mouse carried it
+          Down to her hole--
+        Home full of twilight,
+          Shady, small soul?
+        Can she be darning there,
+          Ere the light fails,
+        Small ragged stockings--
+          Tiny torn tails?
+
+
+        Did a finch fly with it
+          Into the hedge,
+        Or a reed-warbler
+          Down in the sedge?
+        Are they carousing there,
+          All the night through?
+        Such a great goblet,
+          Brimful of dew!
+
+        Have beetles crept with it
+          Where oak roots hide?
+        There have they settled it
+          Down on its side?
+        Neat little kennel,
+          So cosy and dark,
+        Has one crept into it,
+          Trying to bark?
+
+        Have the ants cover'd it
+          With straw and sand?
+        Roomy bell-tent for them,
+          So tall and grand;
+        Where the red soldier-ants
+          Lie, loll, and lean--
+        While the blacks steadily
+          Build for their queen.
+
+        Has a huge dragon-fly
+          Borne it (how cool!)
+        To his snug dressing-room,
+          By the clear pool?
+        There will he try it on,
+          For a new hat--
+        Nobody watching
+          But one water-rat?
+
+        Did the flowers fight for it,
+          While, undecried,
+        One selfish daisy
+          Slipp'd it aside;
+        Now has she plunged it in
+          Close to her feet--
+        Nice private water-tank
+          For summer heat?
+
+        Did spiders snatch at it
+          Wanting to look
+        At the bright pebbles
+          Which lie in the brook?
+        Now are they using it
+          (Nobody knows!)
+        Safe little diving-bell,
+          Shutting so close?
+
+        Hunt for it, hope for it,
+          All through the moss;
+        Dip for it, grope for it--
+          'Tis such a loss!
+        Jane finds a drop of dew,
+          Fan finds a stone;
+        I find the thimble,
+          Which is mother's own!
+
+        Run with it, fly with it--
+          Don't let it fall;
+        All did their best for it--
+          Mother thanks all.
+        Just as we give it her,--
+          Think what a shame!--
+        Ned says he's sure
+          That it isn't the same!
+
+"B."
+
+
+
+
+_Discontent_
+
+
+        Down in a field, one day in June,
+          The flowers all bloomed together,
+        Save one, who tried to hide herself,
+          And drooped that pleasant weather.
+
+        A robin, who had flown too high,
+          And felt a little lazy,
+        Was resting near a buttercup
+          Who wished she were a daisy.
+
+        For daisies grew so trig and tall!
+          She always had a passion
+        For wearing frills around her neck,
+          In just the daisies' fashion.
+
+        And buttercups must always be
+          The same old tiresome color;
+        While daisies dress in gold and white,
+          Although their gold is duller.
+
+        "Dear robin," said the sad young flower,
+          "Perhaps you'd not mind trying
+        To find a nice white frill for me,
+          Some day when you are flying?"
+
+        "You silly thing!" the robin said,
+          "I think you must be crazy:
+        I'd rather be my honest self,
+          Than any made-up daisy.
+
+        "You're nicer in your own bright gown;
+          The little children love you:
+        Be the best buttercup you can,
+          And think no flower above you.
+
+        "Though swallows leave me out of sight,
+          We'd better keep our places:
+        Perhaps the world would all go wrong
+          With one too many daisies.
+
+        "Look bravely up into the sky,
+          And be content with knowing
+        That God wished for a buttercup
+          Just here, where you are growing."
+
+Sarah Orne Jewett.
+
+
+
+
+_The Nightingale and the Glowworm_
+
+
+        A nightingale that all day long
+        Had cheered the village with his song,
+        Nor yet at eve his note suspended,
+        Nor yet when eventide was ended,
+        Began to feel, as well he might,
+        The keen demands of appetite;
+        When looking eagerly around,
+        He spied far off, upon the ground,
+        A something shining in the dark,
+        And knew the glowworm by his spark;
+        So, stooping down from hawthorn top,
+        He thought to put him in his crop.
+
+        The worm, aware of his intent,
+        Harangued him thus, right eloquent:
+        "Did you admire my lamp," quoth he,
+        "As much as I your minstrelsy,
+        You would abhor to do me wrong,
+        As much as I to spoil your song:
+        For 'twas the self-same Power Divine
+        Taught you to sing, and me to shine;
+        That you with music, I with light,
+        Might beautify and cheer the night."
+        The songster heard this short oration,
+        And warbling out his approbation,
+        Released him, as my story tells,
+        And found a supper somewhere else.
+
+William Cowper.
+
+
+
+
+_Thanksgiving Day_
+
+
+        Over the river and through the wood,
+          To grandfather's house we go;
+            The horse knows the way
+            To carry the sleigh
+          Through the white and drifted snow.
+        Over the river and through the wood--
+          Oh, how the wind does blow!
+            It stings the toes
+            And bites the nose,
+          As over the ground we go.
+
+        Over the river and through the wood,
+          To have a first-rate play.
+            Hear the bells ring,
+            "Ting-a-ling-ding!"
+          Hurrah for Thanksgiving Day!
+
+        Over the river and through the wood
+          Trot fast, my dapple-gray!
+            Spring over the ground,
+            Like a hunting-hound!
+          For this is Thanksgiving Day.
+
+        Over the river and through the wood,
+          And straight through the barn-yard gate.
+            We seem to go
+            Extremely slow,--
+          It is so hard to wait!
+
+        Over the river and through the wood--
+          Now grandmother's cap I spy!
+            Hurrah for the fun!
+            Is the pudding done?
+          Hurrah for the pumpkin-pie!
+
+Lydia Maria Child.
+
+
+
+
+_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 Magpie's Nest_
+
+A Fable
+
+
+        When the Arts in their infancy were,
+         In a fable of old 'tis express'd
+        A wise magpie constructed that rare
+         Little house for young birds, call'd a nest.
+
+        This was talk'd of the whole country round;
+         You might hear it on every bough sung,
+        "Now no longer upon the rough ground
+         Will fond mothers brood over their young:
+
+        "For the magpie with exquisite skill
+         Has invented a moss-cover'd cell
+        Within which a whole family will
+         In the utmost security dwell."
+
+        To her mate did each female bird say,
+          "Let us fly to the magpie, my dear;
+        If she will but teach us the way,
+          A nest we will build us up here.
+
+        "It's a thing that's close arch'd overhead,
+          With a hole made to creep out and in;
+        We, my bird, might make just a bed
+          If we only knew how to begin."
+
+               *       *       *       *       *
+
+        To the magpie soon every bird went
+          And in modest terms made their request,
+        That she would be pleased to consent
+          To teach them to build up a nest.
+
+        She replied, "I will show you the way,
+          So observe everything that I do:
+        First two sticks 'cross each other I lay--"
+          "To be sure," said the crow, "why I knew
+
+        "It must be begun with two sticks,
+          And I thought that they crossed should be."
+        Said the pie, "Then some straw and moss mix
+          In the way you now see done by me."
+
+        "O yes, certainly," said the jackdaw,
+          "That must follow, of course, I have thought;
+        Though I never before building saw,
+          I guess'd that, without being taught."
+
+        "More moss, straw, and feathers, I place
+          In this manner," continued the pie.
+        "Yes, no doubt, madam, that is the case;
+          Though no builder myself, so thought I."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+        Whatever she taught them beside,
+          In his turn every bird of them said,
+        Though the nest-making art he ne'er tried
+          He had just such a thought in his head.
+
+        Still the pie went on showing her art,
+          Till a nest she had built up half-way;
+        She no more of her skill would impart,
+         But in her anger went fluttering away.
+
+        And this speech in their hearing she made,
+          As she perch'd o'er their heads on a tree:
+        "If ye all were well skill'd in my trade,
+          Pray, why came ye to learn it of me?"
+
+        When a scholar is willing to learn,
+          He with silent submission should hear;
+        Too late they their folly discern,
+          The effect to this day does appear.
+
+        For whenever a pie's nest you see,
+          Her charming warm canopy view,
+        All birds' nests but hers seem to be
+          A magpie's nest just cut in two.
+
+Charles and Mary Lamb.
+
+
+
+
+_The Owl and the Pussy-Cat_
+
+
+        The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea
+          In a beautiful pea-green boat;
+        They took some honey, and plenty of money
+          Wrapped up in a five-pound note.
+        The Owl looked up to the moon above,
+          And sang to a small guitar,
+        "O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,
+          What a beautiful Pussy you are,--
+                      You are,
+        What a beautiful Pussy you are!"
+
+        Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl!
+          How wonderful sweet you sing!
+        O let us be married,--too long we have tarried,--
+          But what shall we do for a ring?"
+        They sailed away for a year and a day
+          To the land where the Bong tree grows
+        And there in a wood, a piggy-wig stood
+        With a ring at the end of his nose,--
+                    His nose,
+        With a ring at the end of his nose.
+
+        "Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
+          Your ring?" Said the piggy, "I will."
+        So they took it away, and were married next day
+          By the turkey who lives on the hill.
+        They dined upon mince and slices of quince,
+          Which they ate with a runcible spoon,
+        And hand in hand on the edge of the sand
+          They danced by the light of the moon,--
+                     The moon,
+        They danced by the light of the moon.
+
+Edward Lear.
+
+
+
+
+_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.
+
+
+
+
+_The Fairies' Shopping_
+
+
+        Where do you think the Fairies go
+        To buy their blankets ere the snow?
+
+        When Autumn comes, with frosty days
+        The sorry shivering little Fays
+
+        Begin to think it's time to creep
+        Down to their caves for Winter sleep.
+
+        But first they come from far and near
+        To buy, where shops are not too dear.
+
+        (The wind and frost bring prices down,
+        So Fall's their time to come to town!)
+
+        Where on the hill-side rough and steep
+        Browse all day long the cows and sheep,
+
+        The mullein's yellow candles burn
+        Over the heads of dry sweet fern:
+
+        All summer long the mullein weaves
+        His soft and thick and woolly leaves.
+
+        Warmer blankets were never seen
+        Than these broad leaves of fuzzy green--
+
+        (The cost of each is but a shekel
+        Made from the gold of honeysuckle!)
+
+          To buy their sheets and fine white lace
+          (With which to trim a pillow-case),
+
+          They only have to go next door,
+          Where stands a sleek brown spider's store,
+
+          And there they find the misty threads
+          Ready to cut into sheets and spreads;
+
+          Then for a pillow, pluck with care
+          Some soft-winged seeds as light as air;
+
+          Just what they want the thistle brings,
+          But thistles are such surly things--
+
+          And so, though it is somewhat high,
+          The clematis the Fairies buy.
+
+          The only bedsteads that they need
+          Are silky pods of ripe milk-weed,
+
+          With hangings of the dearest things--
+          Autumn leaves, or butterflies' wings!
+
+          And dandelions' fuzzy heads
+          They use to stuff their feather beds;
+
+          And yellow snapdragons supply
+          The nightcaps that the Fairies buy,
+
+          To which some blades of grass they pin,
+          And tie them 'neath each little chin.
+
+        Then, shopping done, the Fairies cry,
+        "Our Summer's gone! oh sweet, good-bye!"
+
+          And sadly to their caves they go,
+          To hide away from Winter's snow--
+
+          And then, though winds and storms may beat,
+          The Fairies' sleep is warm and sweet!
+
+Margaret Deland.
+
+
+
+
+_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.
+
+
+
+
+_A Midsummer Song_
+
+
+        Oh, father's gone to market-town: he was up before the day,
+        And Jamie's after robins, and the man is making hay,
+        And whistling down the hollow goes the boy that minds the mill,
+        While mother from the kitchen-door is calling with a will,
+          "Polly!--Polly!--The cows are in the corn!
+                Oh, where's Polly?"
+
+        From all the misty morning air there comes a summer sound,
+        A murmur as of waters, from skies and trees and ground.
+        The birds they sing upon the wing, the pigeons bill and coo;
+        And over hill and hollow rings again the loud halloo:
+            "Polly!--Polly!--The cows are in the corn!
+                  Oh, where's Polly?"
+
+        Above the trees, the honey-bees swarm by with buzz and boom,
+        And in the field and garden a thousand blossoms bloom.
+        Within the farmer's meadow a brown-eyed daisy blows,
+        And down at the edge of the hollow a red and thorny rose.
+            But Polly!--Polly!--The cows are in the corn!
+                Oh, where's Polly?
+
+        How strange at such a time of day the mill should stop its clatter!
+        The farmer's wife is listening now, and wonders what's the matter.
+        Oh, wild the birds are singing in the wood and on the hill,
+        While whistling up the hollow goes the boy that minds the mill.
+            But Polly!--Polly!--The cows are in the corn!
+                Oh, where's Polly!
+
+Richard Watson Gilder.
+
+
+
+
+_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 blithe 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 water made,
+          And I heard the corn-ears 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 merry was the glee of the harp-strings,
+          And their dancing feet so small;
+        But oh! the sound of their talking
+          Was merrier far than all!"
+
+        "And what were the words, my Mary,
+          That you did hear them say?"
+        "I'll tell you all, my mother,
+          But let me have my way.
+
+        "And some they played with the water
+          And rolled 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 shall the miller be
+          By the 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 into his mouth,
+          And blew so sharp and shrill!
+
+        "'And there,' said they, 'the merry winds go,
+          Away from every horn;
+        And those 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 merry enough when the mildew's gone,
+          And the corn stands stiff and strong!'
+
+        "And some they brought the brown linseed,
+          And flung it down from the Low:
+        'And this,' said they, 'by the sunrise,
+          In the weaver's croft shall grow!
+
+        "'Oh, the poor lame weaver!
+          How will he laugh outright
+        When he sees his dwindling flax-field
+          All full of flowers by night!'
+
+        "And then upspoke 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.'
+
+        "And with that I could not help but laugh,
+          And I laughed 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, as I came down from the hill-top,
+          I heard, afar below,
+        How busy the jolly old miller was,
+          And how merry the wheel did go!
+
+        "And I peeped into the widow's field,
+          And, sure enough, was seen
+        The yellow ears of the mildewed corn
+          All standing stiff and green!
+
+        "And down by the weaver's croft I stole,
+          To see if the flax were high;
+        But I saw the weaver at his gate
+          With the good news in his eye!
+
+        "Now, this is all that I heard, mother,
+          And all that I did see;
+        So, prithee, make my bed, mother,
+          For I'm tired as I can be!"
+
+Mary Howitt.
+
+
+
+
+_The Elf and the Dormouse_
+
+
+        Under a toadstool
+         Crept a wee Elf,
+        Out of the rain,
+         To shelter himself.
+
+        Under the toadstool
+         Sound asleep,
+        Sat a big Dormouse
+         All in a heap.
+
+        Trembled the wee Elf,
+         Frightened, and yet
+        Fearing to fly away
+         Lest he get wet.
+
+        To the next shelter--
+         Maybe a mile!
+        Sudden the wee Elf
+         Smiled a wee smile,
+
+        Tugged till the toadstool
+         Toppled in two.
+        Holding it over him,
+         Gayly he flew.
+
+        Soon he was safe home,
+         Dry as could be.
+        Soon woke the Dormouse--
+         "Good gracious me!
+
+        "Where is my toadstool?"
+         Loud he lamented.
+        --And that's how umbrellas
+         First were invented.
+
+Oliver Herford.
+
+
+
+
+_Meg Merrilies_
+
+
+        Old Meg she was a gipsy,
+          And lived upon the moors;
+        Her bed it was the brown heath turf,
+          And her house was out of doors.
+        Her apples were swart blackberries,
+          Her currants pods o' broom;
+        Her wine was dew of the wild white rose,
+          Her book a churchyard tomb.
+
+        Her brothers were the craggy hills,
+          Her sisters larchen-trees;
+        Alone with her great family
+          She lived as she did please.
+        No breakfast had she many a morn,
+          No dinner many a noon,
+        And 'stead of supper she would stare
+          Full hard against the moon.
+
+        But every morn of woodbine fresh
+          She made her garlanding,
+        And every night the dark glen yew
+          She wore; and she would sing,
+        And with her fingers old and brown
+          She plaited mats of rushes,
+        And gave them to the cottagers
+          She met among the bushes.
+
+        Old Meg was brave as Margaret Queen,
+          And tall as Amazon;
+        An old red blanket cloak she wore,
+          A ship-hat had she on;
+        God rest her aged bones somewhere!
+          She died full long agone!
+
+John Keats.
+
+
+
+
+_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 silvern 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.
+
+Gabriel Setoun.
+
+
+
+
+_The Cow-Boy's Song_
+
+
+        "Mooly cow, mooly cow, home from the wood
+        They sent me to fetch you as fast as I could.
+        The sun has gone down: it is time to go home.
+        Mooly cow, mooly cow, why don't you come?
+        Your udders are full, and the milkmaid is there,
+        And the children are waiting their supper to share.
+        I have let the long bars down,--why don't you pass through?"
+          The mooly cow only said, "Moo-o-o!"
+
+        "Mooly cow, mooly cow, have you not been
+        Regaling all day where the pastures are green?
+        No doubt it was pleasant, dear mooly, to see
+        The clear running brook and the wide-spreading tree,
+        The clover to crop and the streamlet to wade,
+        To drink the cool water and lie in the shade;
+        But now it is night: they are waiting for you."
+          The mooly cow only said, "Moo-o-o!"
+
+        "Mooly cow, mooly cow, where do you go,
+        When all the green pastures are covered with snow?
+        You go to the barn and we feed you with hay,
+        And the maid goes to milk you there, every day;
+        She speaks to you kindly and sits by your side,
+        She pats you, she loves you, she strokes your sleek hide:
+        Then come along home, pretty mooly cow, do."
+          But the mooly cow only said, "Moo-o-o!"
+
+        "Mooly cow, mooly cow, whisking your tail,
+        The milkmaid is waiting, I say, with her pail;
+        She tucks up her petticoats, tidy and neat,
+        And places the three-legged stool for her seat:--
+        What can you be staring at, mooly? You know
+        That we ought to have gone home an hour ago.
+        How dark it is growing! O, what shall I do?"
+          The mooly cow only said, "Moo-o-o!"
+
+Anna M. Wells.
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+BED TIME[A]
+
+
+        _When the golden day is done,
+          Through the closing portal,
+        Child and garden, flower and sun,
+          Vanish all things mortal._
+
+_Robert Louis Stevenson._
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] _From "A Child's Garden of Verses," by Robert Louis Stevenson. By
+permission of Charles Scribner's Sons._
+
+
+
+
+BED-TIME
+
+
+
+
+_Auld Daddy Darkness_
+
+
+        Auld Daddy Darkness creeps frae his hole,
+        Black as a blackamoor, blin' as a mole:
+        Stir the fire till it lowes, let the bairnie sit,
+        Auld Daddy Darkness is no wantit yet.
+
+        See him in the corners hidin' frae the licht,
+        See him at the window gloomin' at the nicht;
+        Turn up the gas licht, close the shutters a',
+        An' Auld Daddy Darkness will flee far awa'.
+
+        Awa' to hide the birdie within its cosy nest,
+        Awa' to lap the wee flooers on their mither's breast,
+        Awa' to loosen Gaffer Toil frae his daily ca',
+        For Auld Daddy Darkness is kindly to a'.
+
+        He comes when we're weary to wean's frae oor waes,
+        He comes when the bairnies are getting aff their claes;
+        To cover them sae cosy, an' bring bonnie dreams,
+        So Auld Daddy Darkness is better than he seems.
+
+        Steek yer een, my wee tot, ye'll see Daddy then;
+        He's in below the bed claes, to cuddle ye he's fain;
+        Noo nestle in his bosie, sleep and dream yer fill,
+        Till Wee Davie Daylicht comes keekin' owre the hill.
+
+James Ferguson.
+
+
+
+
+_Wynken, Blynken, and Nod_[A]
+
+
+        Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night
+          Sailed off in a wooden shoe--
+        Sailed on a river of crystal light,
+          Into a sea of dew.
+        "Where are you going, and what do you wish?"
+          The old moon asked the three.
+        "We have come to fish for the herring fish
+          That live in this beautiful sea;
+          Nets of silver and gold have we!"
+                        Said Wynken,
+                        Blynken,
+                        And Nod.
+
+        The old moon laughed and sang a song,
+          As they rocked in the wooden shoe,
+        And the wind that sped them all night long
+          Ruffled the waves of dew.
+
+        The little stars were the herring fish
+          That lived in that beautiful sea--
+        "Now cast your nets wherever you wish--
+          Never afeard are we";
+          So cried the stars to the fishermen three:
+                        Wynken,
+                        Blynken,
+                        And Nod.
+
+        All night long their nets they threw
+          To the stars in the twinkling foam--
+        Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe,
+          Bringing the fishermen home;
+        'Twas all so pretty a sail it seemed
+          As if it could not be,
+        And some folks thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed
+          Of sailing that beautiful sea--
+          But I shall name you the fishermen three:
+                        Wynken,
+                        Blynken,
+                        And Nod.
+
+        Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,
+          And Nod is a little head,
+        And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
+          Is a wee one's trundle-bed.
+
+        So shut your eyes while mother sings
+          Of wonderful sights that be,
+        And you shall see the beautiful things
+          As you rock in the misty sea,
+          Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three,
+                      Wynken,
+                      Blynken,
+                      And Nod.
+
+Eugene Field.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] _From "With Trumpet and Drum," by Eugene Field. Copyright, 1892, by
+Charles Scribner's Sons._
+
+
+
+
+_Rockaby, Lullaby_[A]
+
+
+        Rockaby, lullaby, bees on the clover!--
+        Crooning so drowsily, crying so low--
+        Rockaby, lullaby, dear little rover!
+           Down into wonderland--
+           Down to the under-land--
+                Go, oh go!
+        Down into wonderland go!
+
+        Rockaby, lullaby, rain on the clover!
+        Tears on the eyelids that struggle and weep!
+        Rockaby, lullaby--bending it over!
+           Down on the mother world,
+           Down on the other world!
+                Sleep, oh sleep!
+        Down on the mother-world sleep!
+
+        Rockaby, lullaby, dew on the clover!
+        Dew on the eyes that will sparkle at dawn!
+        Rockaby, lullaby, dear little rover!
+           Into the stilly world!
+           Into the lily world,
+                Gone! oh gone!
+        Into the lily world, gone!
+
+Josiah Gilbert Holland.
+
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] _From "The Poetical Works of J. G. Holland." Copyright, 1881, by
+Charles Scribner's Sons._
+
+
+
+
+_Sleep, My Treasure_
+
+
+            Sleep, sleep, my treasure,
+            The long day's pleasure
+        Has tired the birds, to their nests they creep;
+            The garden still is
+            Alight with lilies,
+        But all the daisies are fast asleep.
+
+            Sleep, sleep, my darling,
+            Dawn wakes the starling,
+        The sparrow stirs when he sees day break;
+            But all the meadow
+            Is wrapped in shadow,
+        And you must sleep till the daisies wake!
+
+E. Nesbit.
+
+
+
+
+_Lullaby of an Infant Chief_
+
+
+        Oh, hush thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight,
+        Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright;
+        The woods and the glens from the tower which we see,
+        They all are belonging, dear babie, to thee.
+
+        Oh, 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 draws near to thy bed.
+
+        Oh, hush thee, my babie, the time will soon 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.
+
+
+
+
+_Sweet and Low_
+
+
+        Sweet and low, sweet and low,
+          Wind of the western sea,
+        Low, low, breathe and blow,
+          Wind of the western sea!
+        Over the rolling waters go,
+        Come from the dying moon, and blow,
+          Blow him again to me:
+        While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.
+
+        Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,
+          Father will come to thee soon;
+        Rest, rest, on mother's breast,
+          Father will come to thee soon;
+        Father will come to his babe in the nest,
+        Silver sails all out of the west
+          Under the silver moon:
+        Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.
+
+Alfred, Lord Tennyson.
+
+
+
+
+_Old Gaelic Lullaby_
+
+
+        Hush! the waves are rolling in,
+          White with foam, white with foam;
+        Father toils amid the din;
+          But baby sleeps at home.
+
+        Hush! the winds roar hoarse and deep,--
+          On they come, on they come!
+        Brother seeks the wandering sheep:
+          But baby sleeps at home.
+
+        Hush! the rain sweeps o'er the knowes,
+          Where they roam, where they roam;
+        Sister goes to seek the cows;
+          But baby sleeps at home.
+
+Unknown.
+
+
+
+
+_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.
+
+
+
+
+_The Cottager to Her Infant_
+
+
+        The days are cold, the nights are long,
+        The north-wind sings a doleful song;
+        Then hush again upon my breast;
+        All merry things are now at rest,
+          Save thee, my pretty Love!
+
+        The kitten sleeps upon the hearth,
+        The crickets long have ceased their mirth;
+        There's nothing stirring in the house
+        Save one wee, hungry nibbling mouse,
+          Then why so busy thou?
+
+        Nay! start not at that sparkling light,
+        'Tis but the moon that shines so bright
+        On the window-pane bedropped with rain;
+        There, little darling! sleep again,
+          And wake when it is day.
+
+Dorothy Wordsworth.
+
+
+
+
+_A Charm to Call Sleep_
+
+
+        Sleep, Sleep, come to me, Sleep,
+          Come to my blankets and come to my bed,
+          Come to my legs and my arms and my head,
+        Over me, under me, into me creep.
+
+        Sleep, Sleep, come to me, Sleep,
+          Blow on my face like a soft breath of air,
+          Lay your cool hand on my forehead and hair,
+        Carry me down through the dream-waters deep.
+
+        Sleep, Sleep, come to me, Sleep,
+          Tell me the secrets that you alone know,
+          Show me the wonders none other can show,
+        Open the box where your treasures you keep.
+
+        Sleep, Sleep, come to me, Sleep:
+          Softly I call you; as soft and as slow
+          Come to me, cuddle me, stay with me so,
+        Stay till the dawn is beginning to peep.
+
+Henry Johnstone.
+
+
+
+
+_Night_
+
+
+        The snow is white, the wind is cold--
+        The king has sent for my three-year-old.
+        Bring the pony and shoe him fast
+        With silver shoes that were made to last.
+        Bring the saddle trimmed with gold;
+        Put foot in stirrup, my three-year-old;
+        Jump in the saddle, away, away!
+        And hurry back by the break of day;
+        By break of day, through dale and down,
+        And bring me the news from Slumbertown.
+
+Mary F. Butts.
+
+
+
+
+_Bed-Time_
+
+
+        'Tis bed-time; say your hymn, and bid "Good night,
+        "God bless mamma, papa, and dear ones all."
+        Your half-shut eyes beneath your eye-lids fall;
+        Another minute you will shut them quite.
+        Yes, I will carry you, put out the light,
+        And tuck you up, although you are so tall.
+        What will you give me, Sleepy One, and call
+        My wages, if I settle you all right?
+        I laid her golden curls upon my arm,
+        I drew her little feet within my hand;
+        Her rosy palms were joined in trustful bliss,
+        Her heart next mine, beat gently, soft and warm;
+        She nestled to me, and, by Love's command,
+        Paid me my precious wages,--Baby's kiss.
+
+Lord Rosslyn.
+
+
+
+
+_Nightfall in Dordrecht_[A]
+
+
+        The mill goes toiling slowly around
+          With steady and solemn creak,
+        And my little one hears in the kindly sound
+          The voice of the old mill speak.
+        While round and round those big white wings
+          Grimly and ghostlike creep,
+        My little one hears that the old mill sings:
+          "Sleep, little tulip, sleep!"
+
+        The sails are reefed and the nets are drawn,
+          And, over his pot of beer,
+        The fisher, against the morrow's dawn,
+          Lustily maketh cheer;
+        He mocks at the winds that caper along
+          From the far-off clamorous deep--
+        But we--we love their lullaby song
+          Of "Sleep, little tulip, sleep!"
+
+        Old dog Fritz in slumber sound
+          Groans of the stony mart--
+        To-morrow how proudly he'll trot you round,
+          Hitched to our new milk-cart!
+        And you shall help me blanket the kine
+          And fold the gentle sheep
+        And set the herring a-soak in brine--
+          But now, little tulip, sleep!
+
+        A Dream-One comes to button the eyes
+          That wearily droop and blink,
+        While the old mill buffets the frowning skies
+          And scolds at the stars that wink;
+        Over your face the misty wings
+          Of that beautiful Dream-One sweep,
+        And rocking your cradle she softly sings:
+          "Sleep, little tulip, sleep!"
+
+Eugene Field.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] _From "With Trumpet and Drum," by Eugene Field. Copyright, 1892, by
+Charles Scribner's Sons._
+
+
+
+
+X
+
+FOR SUNDAY'S CHILD
+
+
+        _Sunday's child is full of grace._
+
+_Old Proverb._
+
+
+
+
+FOR SUNDAY'S CHILD
+
+
+
+
+_All Things Bright and Beautiful_
+
+
+        All things bright and beautiful,
+          All creatures great and small,
+        All things wise and wonderful,
+          The Lord God made them all.
+
+        Each little flower that opens,
+          Each little bird that sings,
+        He made their glowing colours,
+          He made their tiny wings.
+
+        The rich man in his castle,
+          The poor man at his gate,
+        God made them, high or lowly,
+          And order'd their estate.
+
+        The purple-headed mountain,
+          The river running by,
+        The sunset and the morning,
+          That brightens up the sky;--
+
+        The cold wind in the winter,
+          The pleasant summer sun,
+        The ripe fruits in the garden,--
+          He made them every one;
+
+        The tall trees in the greenwood,
+          The meadows where we play,
+        The rushes by the water
+          We gather every day;--
+
+        He gave us eyes to see them,
+          And lips that we might tell,
+        How great is God Almighty,
+          Who has made all things well.
+
+Cecil Frances Alexander.
+
+
+
+
+_The Still Small Voice_
+
+
+        Wee Sandy in the corner
+          Sits greeting on a stool,
+        And sair the laddie rues
+          Playing truant frae the school;
+        Then ye'll learn frae silly Sandy,
+          Wha's gotten sic a fright,
+        To do naething through the day
+          That may gar ye greet at night.
+
+        He durstna venture hame now,
+          Nor play, though e'er so fine,
+        And ilka ane he met wi'
+          He thought them sure to ken,
+        And started at ilk whin bush,
+          Though it was braid daylight--
+        Sae do nothing through the day
+          That may gar ye greet at night.
+
+        Wha winna be advised
+          Are sure to rue ere lang;
+        And muckle pains it costs them
+          To do the thing that's wrang,
+        When they wi' half the fash o't
+          Might aye be in the right,
+        And do naething through the day
+          That would gar them greet at night.
+
+        What fools are wilfu' bairns,
+          Who misbehave frae hame!
+        There's something in the breast aye
+          That tells them they're to blame;
+        And then when comes the gloamin',
+          They're in a waefu' plight!
+        Sae do naething through the day
+          That may gar ye greet at night.
+
+Alexander Smart.
+
+
+
+
+_The Camel's Nose_
+
+
+        Once in his shop a workman wrought,
+        With languid head and listless thought,
+        When, through the open window's space,
+        Behold, a camel thrust his face!
+        "My nose is cold," he meekly cried;
+        "Oh, let me warm it by thy side!"
+
+        Since no denial word was said,
+        In came the nose, in came the head:
+        As sure as sermon follows text,
+        The long and scraggy neck came next;
+        And then, as falls the threatening storm,
+        In leaped the whole ungainly form.
+
+        Aghast the owner gazed around,
+        And on the rude invader frowned,
+        Convinced, as closer still he pressed,
+        There was no room for such a guest;
+        Yet more astonished, heard him say,
+        "If thou art troubled, go away,
+        For in this place I choose to stay."
+
+        O youthful hearts to gladness born,
+        Treat not this Arab lore with scorn!
+        To evil habits' earliest wile
+        Lend neither ear, nor glance, nor smile.
+        Choke the dark fountain ere it flows,
+        Nor e'en admit the camel's nose!
+
+Lydia H. Sigourney.
+
+
+
+
+_A Child's Grace_
+
+
+        Some hae meat and canna eat,
+          And some wad eat that want it;
+        But we hae meat and we can eat,
+          And sae the Lord be thankit.
+
+Robert Burns.
+
+
+
+
+_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.
+
+
+
+
+_The Lamb_
+
+
+        Little lamb, who made thee?
+        Dost thou know who made thee,
+        Gave thee life and bade thee feed
+        By the stream and o'er the mead;
+        Gave thee clothing of delight,
+        Softest clothing, woolly, bright;
+        Gave thee such a tender voice,
+        Making all the vales rejoice?
+        Little lamb, who made thee?
+        Dost thou know who made thee?
+
+        Little lamb, I'll tell thee;
+        Little lamb, I'll tell thee.
+        He is called by thy name,
+        For He calls himself a Lamb.
+        He is meek and He is mild,
+        He became a little child.
+        I a child and thou a lamb,
+        We are called by His name.
+        Little lamb, God bless thee!
+        Little lamb, God bless thee!
+
+William Blake.
+
+
+
+
+_Night and Day_[A]
+
+
+        When I run about all day,
+        When I kneel at night to pray,
+             God sees.
+
+        When I'm dreaming in the dark,
+        When I lie awake and hark,
+             God sees.
+
+        Need I ever know a fear?
+        Night and day my Father's near:--
+             God sees.
+
+Mary Mapes Dodge.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] _From "Rhymes and Jingles," by Mary Mapes Dodge. By permission of
+Charles Scribner's Sons._
+
+
+
+
+_High and Low_[A]
+
+
+        The showers fall as softly
+         Upon the lowly grass
+        As on the stately roses
+         That tremble as they pass.
+
+        The sunlight shines as brightly
+         On fern-leaves bent and torn
+        As on the golden harvest,
+         The fields of waving corn.
+
+        The wild birds sing as sweetly
+         To rugged, jagged pines,
+        As to the blossomed orchards,
+         And to the cultured vines.
+
+               *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+Dora Read Goodale.
+
+
+
+
+_By Cool Siloam's Shady Rill_
+
+
+        By cool Siloam's shady rill
+          How sweet the lily grows!
+        How sweet the breath beneath the hill
+          Of Sharon's dewy rose!
+
+        Lo, such the child whose early feet
+          The paths of peace have trod;
+        Whose secret heart, with influence sweet,
+          Is upward drawn to God.
+
+Reginald Heber.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] _From "Apple Blossoms," by Dora Read Goodale. By permission of G. P.
+Putnam's Sons._
+
+
+
+
+_Sheep and Lambs_
+
+
+        All in the April morning,
+          April airs were abroad;
+        The sheep with their little lambs
+          Pass'd me by on the road.
+
+        The sheep with their little lambs
+          Pass'd me by on the road;
+        All in an April evening
+          I thought on the Lamb of God.
+
+        The lambs were weary, and crying
+          With a weak human cry,
+        I thought on the Lamb of God
+          Going meekly to die.
+
+        Up in the blue, blue mountains
+          Dewy pastures are sweet:
+        Rest for the little bodies,
+          Rest for the little feet.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+        All in the April evening,
+          April airs were abroad;
+        I saw the sheep with their lambs,
+          And thought on the Lamb of God.
+
+Katharine Tynan Hinkson.
+
+
+
+
+_To His Saviour, a Child; A Present by a Child_
+
+
+        Go, pretty child, and bear this flower
+        Unto thy little Saviour;
+        And tell him, by that bud now blown,
+        He is the Rose of Sharon known.
+        When thou hast said so, stick it there
+        Upon his bib or stomacher;
+        And tell him, for good hansel too,
+        That thou hast brought a whistle new,
+        Made of a clean strait oaten reed,
+        To charm his cries at time of need.
+        Tell him, for coral thou hast none,
+        But if thou hadst, he should have one;
+        But poor thou art, and known to be
+        Even as moneyless as he.
+        Lastly, if thou canst win a kiss
+        From those mellifluous lips of his;
+        Then never take a second on,
+        To spoil the first impression.
+
+Robert Herrick.
+
+
+
+
+_What Would You See?_
+
+
+        What would you see if I took you up
+          To my little nest in the air?
+        You would see the sky like a clear blue cup
+          Turned upside downwards there.
+
+        What would you do if I took you there
+          To my little nest in the tree?
+        My child with cries would trouble the air,
+          To get what she could but see.
+
+        What would you get in the top of the tree
+          For all your crying and grief?
+        Not a star would you clutch of all you see--
+          You could only gather a leaf.
+
+        But when you had lost your greedy grief,
+          Content to see from afar,
+        You would find in your hand a withering leaf,
+          In your heart a shining star.
+
+George Macdonald.
+
+
+
+
+_Corn-Fields_
+
+
+        When on the breath of Autumn's breeze,
+          From pastures dry and brown,
+        Goes floating, like an idle thought,
+          The fair, white thistle-down,--
+        Oh, then what joy to walk at will
+        Upon the golden harvest-hill!
+
+        What joy in dreaming ease to lie
+          Amid a field new shorn;
+        And see all round, on sunlit slopes,
+          The piled-up shocks of corn;
+        And send the fancy wandering o'er
+        All pleasant harvest-fields of yore!
+
+        I feel the day; I see the field;
+          The quivering of the leaves;
+        And good old Jacob, and his horse,--
+          Binding the yellow sheaves!
+        And at this very hour I seem
+        To be with Joseph in his dream!
+
+        I see the fields of Bethlehem,
+          And reapers many a one
+        Bending unto their sickles' stroke,
+          And Boaz looking on;
+        And Ruth, the Moabitess fair,
+        Among the gleaners stooping there!
+
+        Again, I see a little child,
+          His mother's sole delight,--
+        God's living gift of love unto
+          The kind, good Shunamite;
+        To mortal pangs I see him yield,
+        And the lad bear him from the field.
+
+        The sun-bathed quiet of the hills,
+          The fields of Galilee,
+        That eighteen hundred years ago
+          Were full of corn, I see;
+        And the dear Saviour take his way
+        'Mid ripe ears on the Sabbath-day.
+
+        Oh golden fields of bending corn,
+          How beautiful they seem!
+        The reaper-folk, the piled-up sheaves,
+          To me are like a dream;
+        The sunshine, and the very air
+        Seem of old time, and take me there!
+
+Mary Howitt.
+
+
+
+
+_Little Christel_
+
+
+I
+
+        Slowly forth from the village church,--
+          The voice of the choristers hushed overhead,--
+        Came little Christel. She paused in the porch,
+          Pondering what the preacher had said.
+
+        _Even the youngest, humblest child
+          Something may do to please the Lord;_
+        "Now, what," thought she, and half-sadly smiled,
+          "Can I, so little and poor, afford?--
+
+        _"Never, never a day should pass,
+          Without some kindness, kindly shown,_
+        The preacher said"--Then down to the grass
+          A skylark dropped, like a brown-winged stone.
+
+        "Well, a day is before me now;
+          Yet, what," thought she, "can I do, if I try?
+        If an angel of God would show me how!
+          But silly am I, and the hours they fly."
+
+        Then the lark sprang singing up from the sod,
+          And the maiden thought, as he rose to the blue,
+        "He says he will carry my prayer to God;
+          But who would have thought the little lark knew?"
+
+
+II
+
+        Now she entered the village street,
+          With book in hand and face demure,
+        And soon she came, with sober feet,
+          To a crying babe at a cottage door.
+
+        It wept at a windmill that would not move,
+          It puffed with round red cheeks in vain,
+        One sail stuck fast in a puzzling groove,
+          And baby's breath could not stir it again.
+
+        So baby beat the sail and cried,
+          While no one came from the cottage door;
+        But little Christel knelt down by its side,
+          And set the windmill going once more.
+
+        Then babe was pleased, and the little girl
+          Was glad when she heard it laugh and crow;
+        Thinking, "Happy windmill, that has but to whirl,
+          To please the pretty young creature so."
+
+
+III
+
+        No thought of herself was in her head,
+          As she passed out at the end of the street,
+        And came to a rose-tree tall and red,
+          Drooping and faint with the summer heat.
+
+        She ran to a brook that was flowing by,
+          She made of her two hands a nice round cup,
+        And washed the roots of the rose-tree high,
+          Till it lifted its languid blossoms up.
+
+        "O happy brook!" thought little Christel,
+          "You have done some good this summer's day,
+        You have made the flowers look fresh and well!"
+          Then she rose and went on her way.
+
+               *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+William Brighty Rands.
+
+
+
+
+_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 bringeth 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.
+
+M. Betham Edwards
+
+
+
+
+XI
+
+BELLS OF CHRISTMAS
+
+
+        _Then let the holly red be hung,_
+        _And all the sweetest carols sung,_
+        _While we with joy remember them--_
+        _The journeyers to Bethlehem._
+
+_Frank Dempster Sherman._
+
+
+
+
+BELLS OF CHRISTMAS
+
+
+
+
+_The Adoration of the Wise Men_
+
+
+        Saw you never in the twilight,
+          When the sun had left the skies,
+        Up in heaven the clear stars shining,
+          Through the gloom like silver eyes?
+        So of old the wise men watching,
+          Saw a little stranger star,
+        And they knew the King was given,
+          And they follow'd it from far.
+
+        Heard you never of the story,
+          How they cross'd the desert wild,
+        Journey'd on by plain and mountain,
+          Till they found the Holy Child?
+        How they open'd all their treasure,
+          Kneeling to that Infant King,
+        Gave the gold and fragrant incense,
+          Gave the myrrh in offering?
+
+        Know ye not that lowly Baby
+          Was the bright and morning star,
+        He who came to light the Gentiles,
+          And the darken'd isles afar?
+
+        And we too may seek his cradle,
+          There our heart's best treasures bring,
+        Love, and Faith, and true devotion,
+          For our Saviour, God, and King.
+
+Cecil Frances Alexander.
+
+
+
+
+_Cradle Hymn_
+
+
+        Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber;
+          Holy angels guard thy bed;
+        Heavenly blessings without number
+          Gently falling on thy head.
+
+        Sleep, my babe, thy food and raiment,
+          House and home, thy friends provide;
+        All without thy care, or payment,
+          All thy wants are well supplied.
+
+        How much better thou'rt attended
+          Than the Son of God could be,
+        When from heaven He descended,
+          And became a child like thee!
+
+        Soft and easy is thy cradle;
+          Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay,
+        When His birthplace was a stable,
+          And His softest bed was hay.
+
+        See the kindly shepherds round him,
+          Telling wonders from the sky!
+        When they sought Him, there they found Him,
+          With his Virgin-Mother by.
+
+        See the lovely babe a-dressing;
+          Lovely infant, how He smiled!
+        When He wept, the mother's blessing
+          Soothed and hushed the holy child.
+
+        Lo, He slumbers in His manger,
+          Where the honest oxen fed;
+        --Peace, my darling! here's no danger!
+          Here's no ox a-near thy bed!
+
+        Mayst thou live to know and fear Him,
+          Trust and love Him all thy days;
+        Then go dwell forever near Him,
+          See His face, and sing His praise!
+
+        I could give thee thousand kisses,
+          Hoping what I most desire;
+        Not a mother's fondest wishes
+          Can to greater joys aspire.
+
+Isaac Watts.
+
+
+
+
+_The Christmas Silence_
+
+
+        Hushed are the pigeons cooing low
+          On dusty rafters of the loft;
+          And mild-eyed oxen, breathing soft,
+        Sleep on the fragrant hay below.
+
+        Dim shadows in the corner hide;
+          The glimmering lantern's rays are shed
+          Where one young lamb just lifts his head,
+        Then huddles 'gainst his mother's side.
+
+        Strange silence tingles in the air;
+          Through the half-open door a bar
+          Of light from one low-hanging star
+        Touches a baby's radiant hair.
+
+        No sound: the mother, kneeling, lays
+          Her cheek against the little face.
+          Oh human love! Oh heavenly grace!
+        'Tis yet in silence that she prays!
+
+        Ages of silence end to-night;
+          Then to the long-expectant earth
+          Glad angels come to greet His birth
+        In burst of music, love, and light!
+
+Margaret Deland.
+
+
+
+
+An Offertory
+
+        Oh, the beauty of the Christ Child,
+            The gentleness, the grace,
+            The smiling, loving tenderness,
+            The infantile embrace!
+              All babyhood he holdeth,
+              All motherhood enfoldeth--
+            Yet who hath seen his face?
+
+        Oh, the nearness of the Christ Child,
+            When, for a sacred space,
+            He nestles in our very homes--
+            Light of the human race!
+              We know him and we love him,
+              No man to us need prove him--
+            Yet who hath seen his face?
+
+Mary Mapes Dodge.
+
+
+
+
+_Christmas Song_
+
+
+        Why do bells for Christmas ring?
+        Why do little children sing?
+
+        Once a lovely, shining star,
+        Seen by shepherds from afar,
+        Gently moved until its light
+        Made a manger-cradle bright.
+
+        There a darling baby lay
+        Pillowed soft upon the hay.
+        And his mother sang and smiled,
+        "This is Christ, the holy child."
+
+        So the bells for Christmas ring,
+        So the little children sing.
+
+Lydia Avery Coonley Ward.
+
+
+
+
+_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 shutter, and threw up the sash.
+        The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
+        Gave a lustre of midday 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 a 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 pedler 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 good-night!"
+
+Clement C. Moore.
+
+
+
+
+_The Christmas Trees_
+
+
+        There's a stir among the trees,
+        There's a whisper in the breeze,
+        Little ice-points clash and clink,
+        Little needles nod and wink,
+        Sturdy fir-trees sway and sigh--
+        "Here am I! Here am I!"
+
+        "All the summer long I stood
+        In the silence of the woods.
+        Tall and tapering I grew;
+        What might happen well I knew;
+        For one day a little bird
+        Sang, and in the song I heard
+        Many things quite strange to me
+        Of Christmas and the Christmas tree.
+
+        "When the sun was hid from sight
+        In the darkness of the night,
+        When the wind with sudden fret
+        Pulled at my green coronet,
+        Staunch I stood, and hid my fears,
+        Weeping silent fragrant tears,
+        Praying still that I might be
+        Fitted for a Christmas tree.
+
+        "Now here we stand
+        On every hand!
+        In us a hoard of summer stored,
+        Birds have flown over us,
+        Blue sky has covered us,
+        Soft winds have sung to us,
+        Blossoms have flung to us
+        Measureless sweetness,
+        Now in completeness
+        We wait."
+
+Mary F. Butts.
+
+
+
+
+_A Birthday Gift_
+
+
+
+               *       *       *       *       *
+
+        What can I give him,
+        Poor as I am?
+        If I were a shepherd
+        I would bring a lamb,
+        If I were a wise man
+        I would do my part,--
+        Yet what I can I give him,
+             Give my heart.
+
+Christina Rossetti.
+
+
+
+
+_A Christmas Lullaby_
+
+
+        Sleep, baby, sleep! The Mother sings:
+        Heaven's angels kneel and fold their wings.
+                            Sleep, baby, sleep!
+
+        With swathes of scented hay Thy bed
+        By Mary's hand at eve was spread.
+                            Sleep, baby, sleep!
+
+        At midnight came the shepherds, they
+        Whom seraphs wakened by the way.
+                            Sleep, baby, sleep!
+
+        And three kings from the East afar,
+        Ere dawn came, guided by the star.
+                            Sleep, baby, sleep!
+
+        They brought Thee gifts of gold and gems,
+        Pure orient pearls, rich diadems.
+                            Sleep, baby, sleep!
+
+        But Thou who liest slumbering there,
+        Art King of Kings, earth, ocean, air.
+                            Sleep, baby, sleep!
+
+        Sleep, baby, sleep! The shepherds sing:
+        Through heaven, through earth, hosannas ring.
+                            Sleep, baby, sleep!
+
+John Addington Symonds.
+
+
+
+
+_I Saw Three Ships_
+
+
+        I saw three ships come sailing in,
+          On Christmas day, on Christmas day;
+        I saw three ships come sailing in,
+          On Christmas day in the morning.
+
+               *       *       *       *       *
+
+        Pray whither sailed those ships all three
+          On Christmas day, on Christmas day?
+        Pray whither sailed those ships all three
+          On Christmas day in the morning?
+
+        Oh, they sailed into Bethlehem
+          On Christmas day, on Christmas day;
+        Oh, they sailed into Bethlehem
+          On Christmas day in the morning.
+
+        And all the bells on earth shall ring
+          On Christmas day, on Christmas day;
+        And all the bells on earth shall ring
+          On Christmas day in the morning.
+
+        And all the angels in heaven shall sing
+          On Christmas day, on Christmas day;
+        And all the angels in heaven shall sing
+          On Christmas day in the morning.
+
+        And all the souls on earth shall sing
+          On Christmas day, on Christmas day;
+        And all the souls on earth shall sing
+          On Christmas day in the morning.
+
+Old Carol.
+
+
+
+
+_Santa Claus_
+
+
+        He comes in the night! He comes in the night!
+          He softly, silently comes;
+        While the little brown heads on the pillows so white
+          Are dreaming of bugles and drums.
+
+        He cuts through the snow like a ship through the foam,
+           While the white flakes around him whirl;
+        Who tells him I know not, but he findeth the home
+           Of each good little boy and girl.
+
+        His sleigh it is long, and deep, and wide;
+           It will carry a host of things,
+        While dozens of drums hang over the side,
+           With the sticks sticking under the strings.
+        And yet not the sound of a drum is heard,
+           Not a bugle blast is blown,
+        As he mounts to the chimney-top like a bird,
+           And drops to the hearth like a stone.
+
+        The little red stockings he silently fills,
+           Till the stockings will hold no more;
+        The bright little sleds for the great snow hills
+           Are quickly set down on the floor.
+        Then Santa Claus mounts to the roof like a bird,
+           And glides to his seat in the sleigh;
+        Not the sound of a bugle or drum is heard
+           As he noiselessly gallops away.
+
+        He rides to the East, and he rides to the West,
+           Of his goodies he touches not one;
+        He eateth the crumbs of the Christmas feast
+           When the dear little folks are done.
+        Old Santa Claus doeth all that he can;
+           This beautiful mission is his;
+        Then, children, be good to the little old man,
+           When you find who the little man is.
+
+Unknown.
+
+
+
+
+_Neighbors of the Christ Night_
+
+
+        Deep in the shelter of the cave,
+          The ass with drooping head
+        Stood weary in the shadow, where
+          His master's hand had led.
+        About the manger oxen lay,
+          Bending a wide-eyed gaze
+        Upon the little new-born Babe,
+          Half worship, half amaze.
+        High in the roof the doves were set,
+          And cooed there, soft and mild,
+        Yet not so sweet as, in the hay,
+          The Mother to her Child.
+        The gentle cows breathed fragrant breath
+          To keep Babe Jesus warm,
+        While loud and clear, o'er hill and dale,
+          The cocks crowed, "Christ is born!"
+        Out in the fields, beneath the stars,
+          The young lambs sleeping lay,
+        And dreamed that in the manger slept
+          Another, white as they.
+
+               *       *       *       *       *
+
+        These were Thy neighbors, Christmas Child;
+          To Thee their love was given,
+        For in Thy baby face there shone
+          The wonder-light of Heaven.
+
+Nora Archibald Smith.
+
+
+
+
+_Cradle Hymn_
+
+
+        Away in a manger, no crib for a bed,
+        The little Lord Jesus laid down his sweet head.
+        The stars in the bright sky looked down where he lay--
+        The little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay.
+
+        The cattle are lowing, the baby awakes,
+        But little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes.
+        I love thee, Lord Jesus! look down from the sky,
+        And stay by my cradle till morning is nigh.
+
+Martin Luther.
+
+
+
+
+_The Christmas Holly_
+
+
+        The holly! the holly! oh, twine it with bay--
+          Come give the holly a song;
+        For it helps to drive stern winter away,
+          With his garment so sombre and long;
+        It peeps through the trees with its berries of red,
+          And its leaves of burnished green,
+        When the flowers and fruits have long been dead,
+          And not even the daisy is seen.
+        Then sing to the holly, the Christmas holly,
+          That hangs over peasant and king;
+        While we laugh and carouse 'neath its glittering boughs,
+          To the Christmas holly we'll sing.
+
+               *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+Eliza Cook.
+
+
+
+
+        Said I to myself, here's a chance for me
+        The Lilliput Laureate for to be!
+        And these are the Specimens I sent in
+        To Pinafore Palace. Shall I win?
+
+William Brighty Rands.
+
+
+
+
+INDEX
+
+        Adoration of the Wise Men, The, 257
+
+        All Things Bright and Beautiful, 237
+
+        Angel's Whisper, The, 139
+
+        Answer to a Child's Question, 62
+
+        Ant and the Cricket, The, 78
+
+        April, In, 8
+
+        Auld Daddy Darkness, 221
+
+
+        Baby Corn, 93
+
+        Baby Seed Song, 88
+
+        Beau's Reply, 112
+
+        Bed-Time, 232
+
+        Bells of Christmas, 255
+
+        Birdies with Broken Wings, 133
+
+        Birds in Spring, The, 54
+
+        Birds in Summer, 65
+
+        Bird's Song in Spring, 102
+
+        Birthday Gift, A, 267
+
+        Blessing for the Blessed, A, 129
+
+        Blind Boy, The, 160
+
+        Bluebird, The, 68
+
+        Blue Jay, The, 74
+
+        Boy and the Sheep, The, 114
+
+        Boy, The, 128
+
+        Boy's Song, A, 165
+
+        Breeches, Going Into, 174
+
+        Bunch of Roses, A, 155
+
+        Butterflies, White, 78
+
+        By Cool Siloam's Shady Rill, 244
+
+
+        Camel's Nose, The, 240
+
+        Chanticleer, 72
+
+        Child, A Sleeping, 132
+
+        Child at Bethlehem, The, 155
+
+        Child's Fancy, A, 95
+
+        Child's Grace, A, 241
+
+        Child's Laughter, A, 145
+
+        Child's Prayer, A, 252
+
+        Child's Thought of God, A, 241
+
+        Children, Little, 137
+
+        Children, Other Little, 123
+
+        Chill, A, 144
+
+        Christmas Holly, The, 273
+
+        Christmas Lullaby, A, 267
+
+        Christmas Silence, The, 260
+
+        Christmas Song, 261
+
+        Christmas Trees, The, 265
+
+        City Child, The, 173
+
+        Cleanliness, 126
+
+        Clouds, 40
+
+        Corn-Fields, 248
+
+        Cottager to Her Infant, 230
+
+        Cow-Boy's Song, The, 217
+
+        Cradle Hymn (Watts), 258
+
+        Cradle Hymn (Luther), 272
+
+
+        Daffy-Down-Dilly, 91
+
+        Daisy's Song, The, 103
+
+        Dandelions, 98
+
+        Day, A, 28
+
+        Deaf and Dumb, 159
+
+        Dear Little Violets, 101
+
+        Discontent, 193
+
+        Doll, Dressing the, 167
+
+        Doll, The Lost, 166
+
+        Dolladine, 167
+
+
+        Elf and the Dormouse, The, 213
+
+        Elf, The Little, 188
+
+
+        Fable, 206
+
+        Fairies of the Caldon-Low, The, 209
+
+        Fairies' Shopping, The, 204
+
+        Fairies, The Child and the, 187
+
+        Fairies, The Last Voyage of The, 184
+
+        Fairy Folk, The, 181
+
+        Fairy in Armor, A, 183
+
+        February, In, 5
+
+        Fern, A New, 186
+
+        Fern Song, 90
+
+        Flax Flower, The, 99
+
+        Flower Folk, The, 81
+
+        Fountain, The, 34
+
+
+        Garaine, Little, 140
+
+        Garden, In a, 151
+
+        Good Luck, For, 105
+
+        Good-Morning, 29
+
+        Good-Night and Good-Morning, 136
+
+        Grass, The Voice of the, 36
+
+        Guessing Song, 45
+
+
+        Hie Away, 176
+
+        High and Low, 244
+
+        How the Leaves Came Down, 17
+
+        Hunting Song, 176
+
+
+        Infant Joy, 129
+
+        I Remember, I Remember, 135
+
+        I Saw Three Ships, 268
+
+
+        Jack Frost, 47
+
+
+        Kitten and Falling Leaves, The, 121
+
+
+        Lady Moon, 30
+
+        Lamb, The, 242
+
+        Lamb, The Pet, 116
+
+        Lambs in the Meadow, 115
+
+        Land of Story-Books, The, 172
+
+        Lark and the Rook, The, 56
+
+        Letter, A, to Lady Margaret Cavendish Holles-Harley,
+          when a Child, 141
+
+        Little Christel, 250
+
+        Little Dandelion, 97
+
+        Little Gustava, 152
+
+        Little Land, The, 148
+
+        Little White Lily, 83
+
+        Lobster Quadrille, A, 202
+
+        Love and the Child, 142
+
+        Lucy Gray, 156
+
+        Lullaby of an Infant Chief, 226
+
+        Lullaby, Old Gaelic, 228
+
+
+        Magpie's Nest, The, 198
+
+        March, 6
+
+        Marjorie's Almanac, 3
+
+        May, 13
+
+        Meg Merrilies, 214
+
+        Midsummer Song, A, 207
+
+        Milking Time, 113
+
+        My Pony, 109
+
+
+        Nearly Ready, 7
+
+        Neighbors of the Christ Night, 271
+
+        Night, 232
+
+        Night and Day, 243
+
+        Nightfall in Dordrecht, 233
+
+        Nightingale and the Glowworm, The, 195
+
+        Now the Noisy Winds Are Still, 33
+
+
+        Offertory, An, 261
+
+        O Lady Moon, 31
+
+        Old Gaelic Lullaby, 228
+
+        "One, Two, Three," 188
+
+        Owl, The, 70
+
+        Owl and the Pussy-Cat, The, 201
+
+
+        Pedlar's Caravan, The, 170
+
+        Piping Down the Valleys Wild, 131
+
+        Play-Time, 163
+
+        Polly, 143
+
+
+        Rain, Signs of, 41
+
+        Rivulet, The, 46
+
+        Robert of Lincoln, 75
+
+        Robin Redbreast, 54
+
+        Robin Redbreast, An Epitaph on a, 67
+
+        Rockaby, Lullaby, 224
+
+        Romance, 215
+
+
+        St. Nicholas, A Visit from, 262
+
+        Sandman, The, 228
+
+        Santa Claus, 269
+
+        Sea-Song from the Shore, A, 171
+
+        Seal Lullaby, 113
+
+        September, 16
+
+        Seven Times One, 133
+
+        Sheep and Lambs, 245
+
+        Shower, A Sudden, 43
+
+        Singer, The, 73
+
+        Sleep, A Charm to Call, 231
+
+        Sleep, My Treasure, 225
+
+        Snowbird, The, 57
+
+        Snowdrops, 89
+
+        Snowflakes, 49
+
+        Song (Keats), 69
+
+        Song (Peacock), 104
+
+        Spaniel, On a, Called Beau, Killing a Young Bird, 111
+
+        Spring, 9
+
+        Spring and Summer, 14
+
+        Spring Song, 7
+
+        Spring, The Coming of, 11
+
+        Spring, The Voice of, 10
+
+        Storm, After the, 156
+
+        Strange Lands, 44
+
+        Summer Days, 15
+
+        Swallows, The, 53
+
+        Sweet and Low, 227
+
+
+        Thank You, Pretty Cow, 114
+
+        Thanksgiving Day, 196
+
+        Thanksgiving Fable, A, 197
+
+        The Water! the Water! 49
+
+        There's Nothing Like the Rose, 89
+
+        Thimble, What May Happen to a, 190
+
+        Titmouse, The, 64
+
+        To His Saviour, a Child; A Present by a Child, 246
+
+        Tree, The, 102
+
+
+        Violet Bank, A, 88
+
+        Violet, The, 90
+
+        Violets, 85
+
+        Voice, The Still Small, 238
+
+
+        Waterfall, The, 35
+
+        What Does Little Birdie Say? 69
+
+        What the Winds Bring, 29
+
+        What Would You See? 247
+
+        Where Go the Boats? 125
+
+        Who Stole the Bird's Nest? 59
+
+        Wild Geese, 71
+
+        Wild Winds, 32
+
+        Wind in a Frolic, The, 38
+
+        Wind, The, 33
+
+        Windy Nights, 31
+
+        Winter Night, 19
+
+        Wishing, 127
+
+        Wonderful World, The, 27
+
+        World's Music, The, 146
+
+        Wynken, Blynken, and Nod, 222
+
+
+        Year's Windfalls, A (Rossetti), 20
+
+        Young Dandelion, 86
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Transcriber's Notes:
+
+Page xi, "v" changed to "ix" for actual location of poem entitled
+"Lilliput Notice."
+
+Page xiii, "Child's" changed to "Bird's" to conform to text (Bird's Song
+in Spring)
+
+Page xiv, "Bjooernson" changed to "Bjoernson" (Bjoernstjerne Bjoernson)
+
+Page 151, a break was inserted between the lines:
+
+        Fairer though they be than dreams of ours.
+        Baby, hear the birds!
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Posy Ring, by Various
+
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