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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
+
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