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diff --git a/22922-h/22922-h.htm b/22922-h/22922-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d2d3eeb --- /dev/null +++ b/22922-h/22922-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10180 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Posy Ring, edited by Kate Douglas Wiggin and Nora Archibald Smith. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p {margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + text-indent: 1.25em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + img {border: 0;} + .tnote {border: dashed 1px; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} + ins {text-decoration:none; border-bottom: thin dotted gray;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: justify;} + + .bbox {border: solid 2px; margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .unindent {margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .sidenote {width: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; margin-left: 1em; + float: right; clear: right; margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: dashed 1px;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} +.fnanchor {vertical-align:baseline; + position: relative; + bottom: 0.33em; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + .signature {text-align: right; margin-right: 30%;} + .poem {margin-left: 30%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: left;} + .poem2 {margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: left;} + + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Posy Ring, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Posy Ring + A Book of Verse for Children + +Author: Various + +Editor: Kate Douglas Wiggin and Nora Archibald Smith + +Release Date: October 8, 2007 [EBook #22922] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POSY RING *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Emmy and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 251px;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="251" height="400" alt="Cover" title="" /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[i]</a></span></p> + + + +<h1>THE POSY RING</h1> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[ii]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class='center'> +<i>The Posy Ring<br /> +is a companion volume to<br /> +Golden Numbers<br /> +A Book of Verse for Youth<br /> +Edited by<br /> +Kate Douglas Wiggin and<br /> +Nora Archibald Smith</i><br /></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p> +<div class='bbox'><div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/divider.png" width="300" height="62" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +</div><div class='bbox'> +<h1>THE POSY RING</h1> + + +<h3>A BOOK OF VERSE FOR CHILDREN</h3> + +<h3>CHOSEN AND CLASSIFIED BY</h3> + + +<h2>Kate Douglas Wiggin</h2> + + +<h3>AND</h3> + + +<h2>Nora Archibald Smith</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 119px;"> +<img src="images/emblem.png" width="119" height="150" alt="Emblem" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<div class='center'><br /> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="A box of jewels poem"> +<tr><td align='left'><i>"A box of jewels, shop of rarities,</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;"><i>A ring whose posy was 'My pleasure'"</i></span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 13.5em;"><span class="smcap">George Herbert</span></span></td></tr> +</table></div> +<div class='center'><br /><br /> +MCCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO.<br /> +NEW YORK<br /> +MCMVI<br /></div> +</div> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span></p> + +<div class='center'><small> +<i>Copyright, 1903, by</i><br /> +<span class="smcap">McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO.</span><br /> +<br /><br /> +Published, February, 1903, N<br /> +Fifth Impression.<br /></small></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p> + +<h2>A NOTE</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<div class='unindent'><i><big>T</big>HANKS are due to the following publishers for permission +to reprint poems on which they hold copyright:</i></div> + +<p><i>Charles Scribner's Sons, for permission to use the +following poems by Robert Louis Stevenson: "Windy +Nights," "Where Go the Boats?" "The Little Land," +"The Land of Story Books" and "Bed Time"; for +the following poems by Mary Mapes Dodge: "Nearly +Ready," "Now the Noisy Winds are Still," "Snowflakes," +"Birdies with Broken Wings," and "Night +and Day"; for the following poems by Eugene Field: +"Wynken, Blynken, and Nod," and "Nightfall in Dordrecht"; +for "Rockaby, Lullaby," by J. G. Holland; +and for "One, Two, Three," by H. C. Bunner. G. P. +Putnam's Sons, for permission to use "High and Low," +by Dora Goodale. D. Appleton & 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,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span> +by Rudyard Kipling. The "Independent," for permission +to reprint "Baby Corn," Anon. Dana, Estes & +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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span> +Coolidge; and "Summer Days," "A Year's Windfalls," +"The Flower Folk," "There's Nothing Like the Rose," +"Milking Time," "A Chill," and "A Birthday Gift," +by Christina G. Rossetti. St. Nicholas, for permission +to reprint "The Little Elf," by John Kendrick Bangs. +The Macmillan Company, for permission to reprint "O +Lady Moon," by Christina G. Rossetti. Frederick +Warne & 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.</i></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span></p> + +<div class='poem'> +PUBLIC NOTICE.—<i>This is to state,<br /> +That these are the specimens left at the gate<br /> +Of Pinafore Palace, exact to date,<br /> +In the hands of the porter, Curlypate,<br /> +Who sits in his plush on a chair of state,<br /> +By somebody who is a candidate<br /> +For the office of Lilliput Laureate.</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11.5em;"><i>William Brighty Rands.</i></span><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[xi]</a></span></p> + + + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><td align='center'>Page</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Lilliput Notice.</span> By <i>William Brighty Rands</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_ix"><ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'v'">ix</ins></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><br />A YEAR'S WINDFALLS</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Marjorie's Almanac. By <i>Thomas Bailey Aldrich</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">In February. By <i>John Addington Symonds</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_5">5</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">March. By <i>William Wordsworth</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_6">6</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Nearly Ready. By <i>Mary Mapes Dodge</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_7">7</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Spring Song. By <i>George Eliot</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_7">7</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">In April. By <i>Elizabeth Akers</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_8">8</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Spring. By <i>Celia Thaxter</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Voice of Spring. By <i>Mary Howitt</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_10">10</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Coming of Spring. By <i>Nora Perry</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">May. By <i>Frank Dempster Sherman</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_13">13</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Spring and Summer. By "<i>A.</i></span>"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_14">14</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Summer Days. By <i>Christina G. Rossetti</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">September. By <i>H. H.</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_16">16</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">How the Leaves Came Down. By <i>Susan Coolidge</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_17">17</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Winter Night. By <i>Mary F. Butts</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_19">19</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Year's Windfalls. By <i>Christina G. Rossetti</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[xii]</a></span><br />THE CHILD'S WORLD</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Wonderful World. By <i>William Brighty Rands</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_27">27</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Day. By <i>Emily Dickinson</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_28">28</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Good-Morning. By <i>Robert Browning</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_29">29</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">What the Winds Bring. By <i>Edmund Clarence Stedman</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_29">29</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Lady Moon. By <i>Lord Houghton</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">O Lady Moon. By <i>Christina G. Rossetti</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Windy Nights. By <i>Robert Louis Stevenson</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Wild Winds. By <i>Mary F. Butts</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Now the Noisy Winds are Still. By <i>Mary Mapes Dodge</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Wind. <i>Letitia E. Landon</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Fountain. By <i>James Russell Lowell</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Waterfall. By <i>Frank Dempster Sherman</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_35">35</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Voice of the Grass. By <i>Sarah Roberts Boyle</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Wind in a Frolic. By <i>William Howitt</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_38">38</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Clouds. By <i>Frank Dempster Sherman</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_40">40</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Signs of Rain. By <i>Edward Jenner</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_41">41</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Sudden Shower. By <i>James Whitcomb Riley</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Strange Lands. By <i>Laurence Alma Tadema</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_44">44</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Guessing Song. By <i>Henry Johnstone</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_45">45</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Rivulet. By <i>Lucy Larcom</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Jack Frost. By <i>Hannah F. Gould</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_47">47</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Snowflakes. By <i>Mary Mapes Dodge</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Water! The Water. By <i>William Motherwell</i></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[xiii]</a></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><br />HIAWATHA'S CHICKENS</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Swallows. By <i>Edwin Arnold</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Swallow's Nest. By <i>Edwin Arnold</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Birds in Spring. By <i>Thomas Nashe</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_54">54</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Robin Redbreast. By <i>William Allingham</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_54">54</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Lark and the Rook. <i>Unknown</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Snowbird. By <i>Hezekiah Butterworth</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Who Stole the Bird's Nest? By <i>Lydia Maria Child</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_59">59</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Answer to a Child's Question. By <i>Samuel Taylor Coleridge</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Burial of the Linnet. By <i>Juliana H. Ewing</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Titmouse. By <i>Ralph Waldo Emerson</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_64">64</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Birds in Summer. By <i>Mary Howitt</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">An Epitaph on a Robin Redbreast. By <i>Samuel Rogers</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Bluebird. By <i>Emily Huntington Miller</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Song. By <i>John Keats</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_69">69</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">What Does Little Birdie Say? By <i>Alfred, Lord Tennyson</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_69">69</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Owl. By <i>Alfred, Lord Tennyson</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_70">70</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Wild Geese. By <i>Celia Thaxter</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Chanticleer. By <i>Celia Thaxter</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_72">72</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Singer. By <i>Edmund Clarence Stedman</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Blue Jay. By <i>Susan Hartley Swett</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_74">74</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[xiv]</a></span>Robert of Lincoln. By <i>William Cullen Bryant</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">White Butterflies. By <i>Algernon C. Swinburne</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_78">78</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Ant and the Cricket. <i>Unknown</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_78">78</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><br />THE FLOWER FOLK</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little White Lily. By <i>George Macdonald</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Violets. By <i>Dinah Maria Mulock</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_85">85</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Young Dandelion. By <i>Dinah Maria Mulock</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_86">86</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Baby Seed Song. By <i>E. Nesbit</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Violet Bank. By <i>William Shakespeare</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">There's Nothing Like the Rose. By <i>Christina G. Rossetti</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_89">89</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Snowdrops. By <i>Laurence Alma Tadema</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_89">89</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Fern Song. By <i>John B. Tabb</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Violet. By <i>Jane Taylor</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Daffy-Down-Dilly. By <i>Anna B. Warner</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Baby Corn. <i>Unknown</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_93">93</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Child's Fancy. By "<i>A.</i></span>"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little Dandelion. By <i>Helen B. Bostwick</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_97">97</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Dandelions. By <i>Helen Gray Cone</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_98">98</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Flax Flower. By <i>Mary Howitt</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_99">99</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Dear Little Violets. By <i>John Moultrie</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_101">101</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;"><ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Child's'">Bird's</ins> Song in Spring. By <i>E. Nesbit</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_102">102</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Tree. By <i>Björnstjerne <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Bjoörnson'">Björnson</ins></i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_102">102</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Daisy's Song. By <i>John Keats</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Song. By <i>Thomas Love Peacock</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_104">104</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">For Good Luck. By <i>Juliana Horatia Ewing</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><br />HIAWATHA'S BROTHERS<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv">[xv]</a></span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">My Pony. By "<i>A.</i></span>"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">On a Spaniel, Called Beau, Killing a Young Bird. By <i>William Cowper</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_111">111</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Beau's Reply. By <i>William Cowper</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_112">112</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Seal Lullaby. By <i>Rudyard Kipling</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_113">113</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Milking Time. By <i>Christina G. Rossetti</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_113">113</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Thank You, Pretty Cow. By <i>Jane Taylor</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_114">114</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Boy and the Sheep. By <i>Ann Taylor</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_114">114</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Lambs in the Meadow. By <i>Laurence Alma Tadema</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_115">115</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Pet Lamb. By <i>William Wordsworth</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_116">116</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Kitten, and Falling Leaves. By <i>William Wordsworth</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_121">121</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><br />OTHER LITTLE CHILDREN</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Where Go the Boats? By <i>Robert Louis Stevenson</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_125">125</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Cleanliness. By <i>Charles and Mary Lamb</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Wishing. By <i>William Allingham</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_127">127</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Boy. By <i>William Allingham</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_128">128</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Infant Joy. By <i>William Blake</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_129">129</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Blessing for the Blessed. By <i>Laurence Alma Tadema</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_129">129</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Piping Down the Valleys Wild. By <i>William Blake</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_131">131</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Sleeping Child. By <i>Arthur Hugh Clough</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_132">132</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xvi" id="Page_xvi">[xvi]</a></span>Birdies with Broken Wings. By <i>Mary Mapes Dodge</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_133">133</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Seven Times One. By <i>Jean Ingelow</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_133">133</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">I Remember, I Remember. By <i>Thomas Hood</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_135">135</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Good-Night and Good-Morning. By <i>Lord Houghton</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_136">136</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little Children. By <i>Mary Howitt</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Angel's Whisper. By <i>Samuel Lover</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_139">139</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little Garaine. By <i>Sir Gilbert Parker</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_140">140</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Letter. By <i>Matthew Prior</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_141">141</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Love and the Child. By <i>William Brighty Rands</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_142">142</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Polly. By <i>William Brighty Rands</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_143">143</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Chill. By <i>Christina G. Rossetti</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_144">144</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Child's Laughter. By <i>Algernon C. Swinburne</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_145">145</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The World's Music. By <i>Gabriel Setoun</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_146">146</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Little Land. By <i>Robert Louis Stevenson</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_148">148</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">In a Garden. By <i>Algernon C. Swinburne</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_151">151</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little Gustava. By <i>Celia Thaxter</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_152">152</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Bunch of Roses. By <i>John B. Tabb</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_155">155</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Child at Bethlehem. By <i>John B. Tabb</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_155">155</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">After the Storm. By <i>W. M. Thackeray</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Lucy Gray. By <i>William Wordsworth</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Deaf and Dumb. By "<i>A</i></span>."</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_159">159</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Blind Boy. By <i>Colley Cibber</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_160">160</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><br />PLAY-TIME</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Boy's Song. By <i>James Hogg</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_165">165</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xvii" id="Page_xvii">[xvii]</a></span>The Lost Doll. By <i>Charles Kingsley</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_166">166</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Dolladine. By <i>William Brighty Rands</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_167">167</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Dressing the Doll. By <i>William Brighty Rands</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_167">167</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Pedlar's Caravan. By <i>William Brighty Rands</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_170">170</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Sea-Song from the Shore. <i>James Whitcomb Riley</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_171">171</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Land of Story-Books. By <i>Robert Louis Stevenson</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_172">172</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The City Child. By <i>Alfred, Lord Tennyson</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_173">173</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Going into Breeches. By <i>Charles and Mary Lamb</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_174">174</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Hunting Song. By <i>Samuel Taylor Coleridge</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_176">176</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Hie Away. By <i>Sir Walter Scott</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_176">176</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><br />STORY TIME</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Fairy Folk. By <i>Robert Bird</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_181">181</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Fairy in Armor. By <i>Joseph Rodman Drake</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_183">183</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Last Voyage of the Fairies. By <i>W. H. Davenport Adams</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_184">184</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A New Fern. By "<i>A</i></span>."</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_186">186</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Child and the Fairies. By "<i>A</i></span>."</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_187">187</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Little Elf. By <i>John Kendrick Bangs</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_188">188</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">"One, Two, Three." By <i>Henry C. Bunner</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_188">188</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">What May Happen to a Thimble. By "<i>B</i></span>."</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_190">190</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Discontent. By <i>Sarah Orne Jewett</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_193">193</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Nightingale and the Glowworm. By <i>William Cowper</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_195">195</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xviii" id="Page_xviii">[xviii]</a></span>Thanksgiving Day. By <i>Lydia Maria Child</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_196">196</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Thanksgiving Fable. By <i>Oliver Herford</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_197">197</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Magpie's Nest. By <i>Charles and Mary Lamb</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_198">198</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Owl and the Pussy-Cat. By <i>Edward Lear</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_201">201</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Lobster Quadrille. By <i>Lewis Carroll</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_202">202</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Fairies' Shopping. By <i>Margaret Deland</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_204">204</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Fable. By <i>Ralph Waldo Emerson</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_206">206</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Midsummer Song. By <i>Richard Watson Gilder</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_207">207</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Fairies of the Caldon-Low. By <i>Mary Howitt</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_209">209</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Elf and the Dormouse. By <i>Oliver Herford</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_213">213</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Meg Merrilies. By <i>John Keats</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_214">214</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Romance. By <i>Gabriel Setoun</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_215">215</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Cow-Boy's Song. By <i>Anna M. Wells</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_217">217</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><br />BED TIME</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Auld Daddy Darkness. By <i>James Ferguson</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_221">221</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Wynken, Blynken, and Nod. By <i>Eugene Field</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_222">222</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Rockaby, Lullaby. By <i>Josiah Gilbert Holland</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_224">224</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sleep, My Treasure. By <i>E. Nesbit</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_225">225</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Lullaby of an Infant Chief. By <i>Sir Walter Scott</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_226">226</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sweet and Low. By <i>Alfred, Lord Tennyson</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_227">227</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Old Gaelic Lullaby. <i>Unknown</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_228">228</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Sandman. By <i>Margaret Vandegrift</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_228">228</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Cottager to Her Infant. By <i>Dorothy Wordsworth</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_230">230</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Charm to Call Sleep. By <i>Henry Johnstone</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_231">231</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xix" id="Page_xix">[xix]</a></span>Night. By <i>Mary F. Butts</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_232">232</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Bed-Time. By <i>Lord Rosslyn</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_232">232</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Nightfall in Dordrecht. By <i>Eugene Field</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_233">233</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><br />FOR SUNDAY'S CHILD</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">All Things Bright and Beautiful. By <i>Cecil F. Alexander</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_237">237</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Still Small Voice. By <i>Alexander Smart</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_238">238</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Camel's Nose. By <i>Lydia H. Sigourney</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_240">240</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Child's Grace. By <i>Robert Burns</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_241">241</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Child's Thought of God. By <i>Elizabeth B. Browning</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_241">241</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Lamb. By <i>William Blake</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_242">242</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Night and Day. By <i>Mary Mapes Dodge</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_243">243</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">High and Low. By <i>Dora Read Goodale</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_244">244</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">By Cool Siloam's Shady Rill. By <i>Reginald Heber</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_244">244</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sheep and Lambs. By <i>Katharine Tynan Hinkson</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_245">245</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">To His Saviour, a Child; A Present by a Child. By <i>Robert Herrick</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_246">246</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">What Would You See? By <i>George Macdonald</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_247">247</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Corn-Fields. By <i>Mary Howitt</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_248">248</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little Christel. By <i>William Brighty Rands</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_250">250</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Child's Prayer. By <i>M. Betham Edwards</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_252">252</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><br />BELLS OF CHRISTMAS</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Adoration of the Wise Men. By <i>Cecil F. Alexander</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_257">257</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xx" id="Page_xx">[xx]</a></span>Cradle Hymn. By <i>Isaac Watts</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_258">258</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Christmas Silence. By <i>Margaret Deland</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_260">260</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">An Offertory. By <i>Mary Mapes Dodge</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_261">261</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Christmas Song. By <i>Lydia Avery Coonley Ward</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_261">261</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Visit from St. Nicholas. By <i>Clement C. Moore</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_262">262</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Christmas Trees. By <i>Mary F. Butts</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_265">265</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Birthday Gift. By <i>Christina G. Rossetti</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_267">267</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A Christmas Lullaby. By <i>John Addington Symonds</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_267">267</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">I Saw Three Ships. <i>Old Carol</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_268">268</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Santa Claus. <i>Unknown</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_269">269</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Neighbors of the Christ Night. By <i>Nora Archibald Smith</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_271">271</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Cradle Hymn. By <i>Martin Luther</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_272">272</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Christmas Holly. By <i>Eliza Cook</i></span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_273">273</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Lilliput Notice</span>. By <i>William Brighty Rands</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_274">274</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE POSY RING</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>I</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>A YEAR'S WINDFALLS</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='poem'> +<i>Who comes dancing over the snow,</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>His soft little feet all bare and rosy?</i></span><br /> +<i>Open the door, though the wild winds blow,</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Take the child in and make him cosy.</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Take him in and hold him dear,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>He is the wonderful glad New Year.</i></span><br /> +</div> +<div class='signature'><i>Dinah M. Mulock.</i></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>A YEAR'S WINDFALLS</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Marjorie's Almanac</i><br /><br /></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Robins in the tree-top,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blossoms in the grass,</span><br /> +Green things a-growing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Everywhere you pass;</span><br /> +Sudden little breezes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Showers of silver dew,</span><br /> +Black bough and bent twig<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Budding out anew;</span><br /> +Pine-tree and willow-tree,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fringèd elm and larch,—</span><br /> +Don't you think that May-time's<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pleasanter than March?</span><br /> +<br /> +Apples in the orchard<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mellowing one by one;</span><br /> +Strawberries upturning<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Soft cheeks to the sun;</span><br /> +Roses faint with sweetness,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lilies fair of face,</span><br /> +Drowsy scents and murmurs<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Haunting every place;</span><br /> +Lengths of golden sunshine,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Moonlight bright as day,—</span><br /> +Don't you think that summer's<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pleasanter than May?</span><br /> +<br /> +Roger in the corn-patch<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whistling negro songs;</span><br /> +Pussy by the hearth-side<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Romping with the tongs;</span><br /> +Chestnuts in the ashes<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bursting through the rind;</span><br /> +Red leaf and gold leaf<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rustling down the wind;</span><br /> +Mother "doin' peaches"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All the afternoon,—</span><br /> +Don't you think that autumn's<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pleasanter than June?</span><br /> +<br /> +Little fairy snow-flakes<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dancing in the flue;</span><br /> +Old Mr. Santa Claus,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What is keeping you?</span><br /> +Twilight and firelight<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shadows come and go;</span><br /> +Merry chime of sleigh-bells<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tinkling through the snow;</span><br /> +Mother knitting stockings<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Pussy's got the ball),—</span><br /> +Don't you think that winter's<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pleasanter than all?</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Thomas Bailey Aldrich.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>In February</i><br /><br /></div> + +<div class='poem'> +The birds have been singing to-day,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And saying: "The spring is near!</span><br /> +The sun is as warm as in May,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the deep blue heavens are clear."</span><br /> +<br /> +The little bird on the boughs<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the sombre snow-laden pine</span><br /> +Thinks: "Where shall I build me my house,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And how shall I make it fine?</span><br /> +<br /> +"For the season of snow is past;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The mild south wind is on high;</span><br /> +And the scent of the spring is cast<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From his wing as he hurries by."</span><br /> +<br /> +The little birds twitter and cheep<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To their loves on the leafless larch;</span><br /> +But seven feet deep the snow-wreaths sleep,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the year hath not worn to March.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>John Addington Symonds.</div> + + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></p> +<div class='center'><br /><i>March</i><br /><br /></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The cock is crowing,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The stream is flowing,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The small birds twitter,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The lake doth glitter,</span><br /> +The green field sleeps in the sun;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The oldest and youngest</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are at work with the strongest;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The cattle are grazing,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their heads never raising;</span><br /> +There are forty feeding like one.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like an army defeated</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The snow hath retreated,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And now doth fare ill</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the top of the bare hill;</span><br /> +The ploughboy is whooping—anon—anon!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There's joy on the mountains;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There's life in the fountains;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Small clouds are sailing,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blue sky prevailing;</span><br /> +The rain is over and gone.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>William Wordsworth.</div> + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<div class='center'><i>Nearly Ready</i><a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a><br /><br /></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></p> + +<div class='poem'> +In the snowing and the blowing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the cruel sleet,</span><br /> +Little flowers begin their growing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far beneath our feet.</span><br /> +Softly taps the Spring, and cheerly,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Darlings, are you here?"</span><br /> +Till they answer, "We are nearly,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nearly ready, dear."</span><br /> +<br /> +"Where is Winter, with his snowing?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tell us, Spring," they say.</span><br /> +Then she answers, "He is going,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Going on his way.</span><br /> +Poor old Winter does not love you;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But his time is past;</span><br /> +Soon my birds shall sing above you,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Set you free at last."</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Mary Mapes Dodge.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Spring Song</i><br /><br /></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Spring comes hither,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Buds the rose;</span><br /> +Roses wither,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweet spring goes.</span><br /> +<br /> +Summer soars,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wide-winged day;</span><br /> +White light pours,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Flies away.</span><br /> +<br /> +Soft winds blow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Westward born;</span><br /> +Onward go,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Toward the morn.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>George Eliot</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>In April</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +The poplar drops beside the way<br /> +Its tasselled plumes of silver-gray;<br /> +The chestnut pouts its great brown buds<br /> +Impatient for the laggard May.<br /> +<br /> +The honeysuckles lace the wall,<br /> +The hyacinths grow fair and tall;<br /> +And mellow sun and pleasant wind<br /> +And odorous bees are over all.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Elizabeth Akers.</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Spring</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +The alder by the river<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shakes out her powdery curls;</span><br /> +The willow buds in silver<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For little boys and girls.</span><br /> +<br /> +The little birds fly over,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And oh, how sweet they sing!</span><br /> +To tell the happy children<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That once again 'tis spring.</span><br /> +<br /> +The gay green grass comes creeping<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So soft beneath their feet;</span><br /> +The frogs begin to ripple<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A music clear and sweet.</span><br /> +<br /> +And buttercups are coming,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And scarlet columbine;</span><br /> +And in the sunny meadows<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The dandelions shine.</span><br /> +<br /> +And just as many daisies<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As their soft hands can hold</span><br /> +The little ones may gather,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All fair in white and gold.</span><br /> +<br /> +Here blows the warm red clover,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There peeps the violet blue;</span><br /> +O happy little children,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">God made them all for you!</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Celia Thaxter.</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Voice of Spring</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +I am coming, I am coming!<br /> +Hark! the little bee is humming;<br /> +See, the lark is soaring high<br /> +In the blue and sunny sky;<br /> +And the gnats are on the wing,<br /> +Wheeling round in airy ring.<br /> +<br /> +See, the yellow catkins cover<br /> +All the slender willows over!<br /> +And on the banks of mossy green<br /> +Star-like primroses are seen;<br /> +And, their clustering leaves below,<br /> +White and purple violets blow.<br /> +<br /> +Hark! the new-born lambs are bleating,<br /> +And the cawing rooks are meeting<br /> +In the elms,—a noisy crowd;<br /> +All the birds are singing loud;<br /> +And the first white butterfly<br /> +In the sunshine dances by.<br /> +<br /> +Look around thee, look around!<br /> +Flowers in all the fields abound;<br /> +Every running stream is bright;<br /> +All the orchard trees are white;<br /> +And each small and waving shoot<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>Promises sweet flowers and fruit.<br /> +<br /> +Turn thine eyes to earth and heaven:<br /> +God for thee the spring has given,<br /> +Taught the birds their melodies,<br /> +Clothed the earth, and cleared the skies,<br /> +For thy pleasure or thy food:<br /> +Pour thy soul in gratitude.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Mary Howitt.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Coming of Spring</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +There's something in the air<br /> +That's new and sweet and rare—<br /> +A scent of summer things,<br /> +A whir as if of wings.<br /> +<br /> +There's something, too, that's new<br /> +In the color of the blue<br /> +That's in the morning sky,<br /> +Before the sun is high.<br /> +<br /> +And though on plain and hill<br /> +'Tis winter, winter still,<br /> +There's something seems to say<br /> +That winter's had its day.<br /> +<br /> +And all this changing tint,<br /> +This whispering stir and hint<br /> +Of bud and bloom and wing,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>Is the coming of the spring.<br /> +<br /> +And to-morrow or to-day<br /> +The brooks will break away<br /> +From their icy, frozen sleep,<br /> +And run, and laugh, and leap.<br /> +<br /> +And the next thing, in the woods,<br /> +The catkins in their hoods<br /> +Of fur and silk will stand,<br /> +A sturdy little band.<br /> +<br /> +And the tassels soft and fine<br /> +Of the hazel will entwine,<br /> +And the elder branches show<br /> +Their buds against the snow.<br /> +<br /> +So, silently but swift,<br /> +Above the wintry drift,<br /> +The long days gain and gain,<br /> +Until on hill and plain,—<br /> +<br /> +Once more, and yet once more,<br /> +Returning as before,<br /> +We see the bloom of birth<br /> +Make young again the earth.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Nora Perry.</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>May</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +May shall make the world anew;<br /> +Golden sun and silver dew,<br /> +Money minted in the sky,<br /> +Shall the earth's new garments buy.<br /> +May shall make the orchards bloom;<br /> +And the blossoms' fine perfume<br /> +Shall set all the honey-bees<br /> +Murmuring among the trees.<br /> +May shall make the bud appear<br /> +Like a jewel, crystal clear,<br /> +'Mid the leaves upon the limb<br /> +Where the robin lilts his hymn.<br /> +May shall make the wild flowers tell<br /> +Where the shining snowflakes fell;<br /> +Just as though each snow-flake's heart,<br /> +By some secret, magic art,<br /> +Were transmuted to a flower<br /> +In the sunlight and the shower.<br /> +Is there such another, pray,<br /> +Wonder-making month as May?<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Frank Dempster Sherman.</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Spring and Summer</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Spring is growing up,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is not it a pity?</span><br /> +She was such a little thing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And so very pretty!</span><br /> +Summer is extremely grand,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We must pay her duty,</span><br /> +(But it is to little Spring<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That she owes her beauty!)</span><br /> +<br /> +All the buds are blown,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Trees are dark and shady,</span><br /> +(It was Spring who dress'd them, though,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Such a little lady!)</span><br /> +And the birds sing loud and sweet<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their enchanting hist'ries,</span><br /> +(It was Spring who taught them, though,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Such a singing mistress!)</span><br /> +<br /> +From the glowing sky<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Summer shines above us;</span><br /> +Spring was such a little dear,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But will Summer love us?</span><br /> +She is very beautiful,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With her grown-up blisses,</span><br /> +Summer we must bow before;<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Spring we coaxed with kisses!</span><br /> +<br /> +Spring is growing up,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Leaving us so lonely,</span><br /> +In the place of little Spring<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We have Summer only!</span><br /> +Summer with her lofty airs,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And her stately faces,</span><br /> +In the place of little Spring,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With her childish graces!</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>"A."</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Summer Days</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Winter is cold-hearted;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Spring is yea and nay;</span><br /> +Autumn is a weathercock,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blown every way:</span><br /> +Summer days for me,<br /> +When every leaf is on its tree,<br /> +<br /> +When Robin's not a beggar,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Jenny Wren's a bride,</span><br /> +And larks hang, singing, singing, singing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Over the wheat-fields wide,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And anchored lilies ride,</span><br /> +And the pendulum spider<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Swings from side to side,</span><br /> +<br /> +And blue-black beetles transact business,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And gnats fly in a host,</span><br /> +And furry caterpillars hasten<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That no time be lost,</span><br /> +And moths grow fat and thrive,<br /> +And ladybirds arrive.<br /> +<br /> +Before green apples blush,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Before green nuts embrown,</span><br /> +Why, one day in the country<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is worth a month in town—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is worth a day and a year</span><br /> +Of the dusty, musty, lag-last fashion<br /> +That days drone elsewhere.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Christina G. Rossetti.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>September</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +The goldenrod is yellow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The corn is turning brown,</span><br /> +The trees in apple orchards<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With fruit are bending down;</span><br /> +<br /> +The gentian's bluest fringes<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are curling in the sun;</span><br /> +In dusty pods the milkweed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Its hidden silk has spun;</span><br /> +<br /> +The sedges flaunt their harvest<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In every meadow nook,</span><br /> +And asters by the brookside<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Make asters in the brook;</span><br /> +<br /> +From dewy lanes at morning<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The grapes' sweet odors rise;</span><br /> +At noon the roads all flutter<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With yellow butterflies—</span><br /> +<br /> +By all these lovely tokens<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">September days are here,</span><br /> +With summer's best of weather<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And autumn's best of cheer.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>H. H.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>How the Leaves Came Down</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +I'll tell you how the leaves came down.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The great Tree to his children said,</span><br /> +"You're getting sleepy, Yellow and Brown,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yes, very sleepy, little Red;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It is quite time you went to bed."</span><br /> +<br /> +"Ah!" begged each silly, pouting leaf,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Let us a little longer stay;</span><br /> +Dear Father Tree, behold our grief,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Tis such a very pleasant day</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We do not want to go away."</span><br /> +<br /> +So, just for one more merry day<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the great Tree the leaflets clung,</span><br /> +Frolicked and danced and had their way,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon the autumn breezes swung,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whispering all their sports among,</span><br /> +<br /> +"Perhaps the great Tree will forget<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And let us stay until the spring,</span><br /> +If we all beg and coax and fret."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But the great Tree did no such thing;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He smiled to hear their whispering.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Come, children all, to bed," he cried;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And ere the leaves could urge their prayer</span><br /> +He shook his head, and far and wide,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fluttering and rustling everywhere,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Down sped the leaflets through the air.</span><br /> +<br /> +I saw them; on the ground they lay,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Golden and red, a huddled swarm,</span><br /> +Waiting till one from far away,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">White bed-clothes heaped upon her arm,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Should come to wrap them safe and warm.</span><br /> +<br /> +The great bare Tree looked down and smiled.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Good-night, dear little leaves," he said;</span><br /> +And from below each sleepy child<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Replied "Good-night," and murmured,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"It is <i>so</i> nice to go to bed."</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Susan Coolidge.</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Winter Night</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Blow, wind, blow!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Drift the flying snow!</span><br /> +Send it twirling, whirling overhead!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There's a bedroom in a tree</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Where, snug as snug can be,</span><br /> +The squirrel nests in his cosey bed.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Shriek, wind, shriek!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Make the branches creak!</span><br /> +Battle with the boughs till break o' day!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In a snow-cave warm and tight,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Through the icy winter night</span><br /> +The rabbit sleeps the peaceful hours away.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Call, wind, call,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In entry and in hall,</span><br /> +Straight from off the mountain white and wild!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Soft purrs the pussy-cat</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">On her little fluffy mat,</span><br /> +And beside her nestles close her furry child.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Scold, wind, scold,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So bitter and so bold!</span><br /> +Shake the windows with your tap, tap, tap!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With half-shut, dreamy eyes</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The drowsy baby lies</span><br /> +Cuddled closely in his mother's lap.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Mary F. Butts.</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<div class='center'><i>A Year's Windfalls</i><br /><br /></div> + +<div class='poem'> +On the wind of January<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Down flits the snow,</span><br /> +Travelling from the frozen North<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As cold as it can blow.</span><br /> +Poor robin redbreast,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Look where he comes;</span><br /> +Let him in to feel your fire,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And toss him of your crumbs.</span><br /> +<br /> +On the wind in February<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Snowflakes float still,</span><br /> +Half inclined to turn to rain,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nipping, dripping, chill.</span><br /> +Then the thaws swell the streams,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And swollen rivers swell the sea:—</span><br /> +If the winter ever ends<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How pleasant it will be.</span><br /> +<br /> +In the wind of windy March<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The catkins drop down,</span><br /> +Curly, caterpillar-like,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Curious green and brown.</span><br /> +With concourse of nest-building birds<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And leaf-buds by the way,</span><br /> +We begin to think of flowers<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And life and nuts some day.</span><br /> +<br /> +With the gusts of April<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rich fruit-tree blossoms fall,</span><br /> +On the hedged-in orchard-green,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the southern wall.</span><br /> +Apple-trees and pear-trees<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shed petals white or pink,</span><br /> +Plum-trees and peach-trees;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While sharp showers sink and sink.</span><br /> +<br /> +Little brings the May breeze<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beside pure scent of flowers,</span><br /> +While all things wax and nothing wanes<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In lengthening daylight hours.</span><br /> +Across the hyacinth beds<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The wind lags warm and sweet,</span><br /> +Across the hawthorn tops,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Across the blades of wheat.</span><br /> +<br /> +In the wind of sunny June<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thrives the red rose crop,</span><br /> +Every day fresh blossoms blow<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While the first leaves drop;</span><br /> +White rose and yellow rose<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And moss rose choice to find,</span><br /> +And the cottage cabbage-rose<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not one whit behind.</span><br /> +<br /> +On the blast of scorched July<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Drives the pelting hail,</span><br /> +From thunderous lightning-clouds, that blot<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blue heaven grown lurid-pale.</span><br /> +Weedy waves are tossed ashore,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sea-things strange to sight</span><br /> +Gasp upon the barren shore<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And fade away in light.</span><br /> +<br /> +In the parching August wind<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Corn-fields bow the head,</span><br /> +Sheltered in round valley depths,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On low hills outspread.</span><br /> +Early leaves drop loitering down<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Weightless on the breeze,</span><br /> +First fruits of the year's decay<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the withering trees.</span><br /> +<br /> +In brisk wind of September<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The heavy-headed fruits</span><br /> +Shake upon their bending boughs<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And drop from the shoots;</span><br /> +Some glow golden in the sun,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some show green and streaked,</span><br /> +Some set forth a purple bloom,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some blush rosy-cheeked.</span><br /> +<br /> +In strong blast of October<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At the equinox,</span><br /> +Stirred up in his hollow bed<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Broad ocean rocks;</span><br /> +Plunge the ships on his bosom,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Leaps and plunges the foam,</span><br /> +It's oh! for mothers' sons at sea,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That they were safe at home.</span><br /> +<br /> +In slack wind of November<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The fog forms and shifts;</span><br /> +All the world comes out again<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the fog lifts.</span><br /> +Loosened from their sapless twigs<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Leaves drop with every gust;</span><br /> +Drifting, rustling, out of sight<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the damp or dust.</span><br /> +<br /> +Last of all, December,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The year's sands nearly run,</span><br /> +Speeds on the shortest day,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Curtails the sun;</span><br /> +With its bleak raw wind<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lays the last leaves low,</span><br /> +Brings back the nightly frosts,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Brings back the snow.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Christina G. Rossetti.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p> + +<h2>II</h2> + + +<h2>THE CHILD'S WORLD</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<div class='poem'> +<i>Great, wide, beautiful, wonderful World,<br /> +With the wonderful water round you curled,<br /> +And the wonderful grass upon your breast,<br /> +World, you are beautifully drest.</i><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'><i>William Brighty Rands.</i></div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>THE CHILD'S WORLD</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<div class='center'><i>The Wonderful World</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Great, wide, beautiful, wonderful World,<br /> +With the wonderful water round you curled,<br /> +And the wonderful grass upon your breast,<br /> +World, you are beautifully drest.<br /> +<br /> +The wonderful air is over me,<br /> +And the wonderful wind is shaking the tree—<br /> +It walks on the water, and whirls the mills,<br /> +And talks to itself on the top of the hills.<br /> +<br /> +You friendly Earth, how far do you go,<br /> +With the wheat-fields that nod and the rivers that flow,<br /> +With cities and gardens, and cliffs and isles,<br /> +And people upon you for thousands of miles?<br /> +<br /> +Ah! you are so great, and I am so small,<br /> +I hardly can think of you, World, at all;<br /> +And yet, when I said my prayers to-day,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>My mother kissed me, and said, quite gay,<br /> +<br /> +"If the wonderful World is great to you,<br /> +And great to father and mother, too,<br /> +You are more than the Earth, though you are such a dot!<br /> +You can love and think, and the Earth cannot!"<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>William Brighty Rands.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>A Day</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +I'll tell you how the sun rose,<br /> +A ribbon at a time.<br /> +The steeples swam in amethyst,<br /> +The news like squirrels ran.<br /> +<br /> +The hills untied their bonnets,<br /> +The bobolinks begun.<br /> +Then I said softly to myself,<br /> +"That must have been the sun!"<br /> +<br /> +<b>. . . . . . . .</b><br /> +<br /> +But how he set, I know not.<br /> +There seemed a purple stile<br /> +Which little yellow boys and girls<br /> +Were climbing all the while<br /> +<br /> +Till when they reached the other side,<br /> +A dominie in gray<br /> +Put gently up the evening bars,<br /> +And led the flock away.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Emily Dickinson.</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Good-Morning</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +The year's at the Spring,<br /> +And day's at the morn;<br /> +Morning's at seven;<br /> +The hill-side's dew-pearled;<br /> +The lark's on the wing;<br /> +The snail's on the thorn;<br /> +God's in his heaven—<br /> +All's right with the world.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Robert Browning.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>What the Winds Bring</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem2'> +Which is the Wind that brings the cold?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The North-Wind, Freddy, and all the snow;</span><br /> +And the sheep will scamper into the fold<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the North begins to blow.</span><br /> +<br /> +Which is the Wind that brings the heat?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The South-Wind, Katy; and corn will grow,</span><br /> +And peaches redden for you to eat,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the South begins to blow.</span><br /> +<br /> +Which is the Wind that brings the rain?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The East-Wind, Arty; and farmers know</span><br /> +The cows come shivering up the lane,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the East begins to blow.</span><br /> +<br /> +Which is the Wind that brings the flowers?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The West-Wind, Bessy; and soft and low</span><br /> +The birdies sing in the summer hours,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the West begins to blow.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Edmund Clarence Stedman.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Lady Moon</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem2'> +Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Over the sea."</span><br /> +Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"All that love me."</span><br /> +<br /> +Are you not tired with rolling, and never<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Resting to sleep?</span><br /> +Why look so pale and so sad, as forever<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Wishing to weep?</span><br /> +<br /> +"Ask me not this, little child, if you love me:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">You are too bold:</span><br /> +I must obey my dear Father above me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And do as I'm told."</span><br /> +<br /> +Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Over the sea."</span><br /> +Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"All that love me."</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Lord Houghton.</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>O Lady Moon</i><a name="FNanchor_B_2" id="FNanchor_B_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_B_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a><br /><br /></div> + +<div class='poem'> +O Lady Moon, your horns point toward the east:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Shine, be increased;</span><br /> +O Lady Moon, your horns point toward the west:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Wane, be at rest.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Christina G. Rossetti.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Windy Nights</i><a name="FNanchor_C_3" id="FNanchor_C_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_C_3" class="fnanchor">[C]</a><br /><br /></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Whenever the moon and stars are set,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Whenever the wind is high,</span><br /> +All night long in the dark and wet,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A man goes riding by,</span><br /> +Late at night when the fires are out,<br /> +Why does he gallop and gallop about?<br /> +<br /> +Whenever the trees are crying aloud,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And ships are tossed at sea,</span><br /> +By, on the highway, low and loud,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">By at the gallop goes he.</span><br /> +By at the gallop he goes, and then<br /> +By he comes back at the gallop again.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Robert Louis Stevenson.</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span></p> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Wild Winds</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Oh, oh, how the wild winds blow!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Blow high,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Blow low,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And whirlwinds go,</span><br /> +To chase the little leaves that fly—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Fly low and high,</span><br /> +To hollow and to steep hill-side;<br /> +They shiver in the dreary weather,<br /> +And creep in little heaps together,<br /> +And nestle close and try to hide.<br /> +<br /> +Oh, oh, how the wild winds blow!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Blow low,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Blow high,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And whirlwinds try</span><br /> +To find a crevice—to find a crack,<br /> +They whirl to the front; they whirl to the back.<br /> +But Tommy and Will and the baby together<br /> +Are snug and safe from the wintry weather.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">All the winds that blow</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Cannot touch a toe—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Cannot twist or twirl</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">One silken curl.</span><br /> +They may rattle the doors in a noisy pack,<br /> +But the blazing fires will drive them back.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Mary F. Butts.</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Now the Noisy Winds Are Still</i><a name="FNanchor_D_4" id="FNanchor_D_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_D_4" class="fnanchor">[D]</a><br /><br /></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Now the noisy winds are still;<br /> +April's coming up the hill!<br /> +All the spring is in her train,<br /> +Led by shining ranks of rain;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Pit, pat, patter, clatter,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sudden sun, and clatter, patter!—</span><br /> +First the blue, and then the shower;<br /> +Bursting bud, and smiling flower;<br /> +Brooks set free with tinkling ring;<br /> +Birds too full of song to sing;<br /> +Crisp old leaves astir with pride,<br /> +Where the timid violets hide,—<br /> +All things ready with a will,—<br /> +April's coming up the hill!<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Mary Mapes Dodge.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Wind</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +The wind has a language, I would I could learn;<br /> +Sometimes 'tis soothing, and sometimes 'tis stern;<br /> +Sometimes it comes like a low, sweet song,<br /> +And all things grow calm, as the sound floats along;<br /> +And the forest is lulled by the dreamy strain;<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>And slumber sinks down on the wandering main;<br /> +And its crystal arms are folded in rest,<br /> +And the tall ship sleeps on its heaving breast.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Letitia Elizabeth Landon.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Fountain</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Into the sunshine,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Full of the light,</span><br /> +Leaping and flashing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From morn till night!</span><br /> +<br /> +Into the moonlight,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whiter than snow,</span><br /> +Waving so flower-like<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the winds blow!</span><br /> +<br /> +Into the starlight,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rushing in spray,</span><br /> +Happy at midnight,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Happy by day;</span><br /> +<br /> +Ever in motion,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blithesome and cheery,</span><br /> +Still climbing heavenward,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Never aweary;</span><br /> +<br /> +Glad of all weathers;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still seeming best,</span><br /> +Upward or downward;<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Motion thy rest;</span><br /> +<br /> +Full of a nature<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nothing can tame,</span><br /> +Changed every moment,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ever the same;</span><br /> +<br /> +Ceaseless aspiring,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ceaseless content,</span><br /> +Darkness or sunshine<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy element;</span><br /> +<br /> +Glorious fountain!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let my heart be</span><br /> +Fresh, changeful, constant,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upward like thee!</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>James Russell Lowell.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Waterfall</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +<i>Tinkle, tinkle!</i><br /> +Listen well!<br /> +Like a fairy silver bell<br /> +In the distance ringing,<br /> +Lightly swinging<br /> +In the air;<br /> +'Tis the water in the dell<br /> +Where the elfin minstrels dwell,<br /> +Falling in a rainbow sprinkle,<br /> +Dropping stars that brightly twinkle,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>Bright and fair,<br /> +On the darkling pool below,<br /> +Making music so;<br /> +'Tis the water elves who play<br /> +On their lutes of spray.<br /> +<i>Tinkle, tinkle!</i><br /> +Like a fairy silver bell;<br /> +Like a pebble in a shell;<br /> +<i>Tinkle, tinkle!</i><br /> +Listen well!<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Frank Dempster Sherman.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Voice of the Grass</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">By the dusty roadside,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">On the sunny hill-side,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Close by the noisy brook,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In every shady nook,</span><br /> +I come creeping, creeping everywhere.<br /> +<br /> +Here I come creeping, smiling everywhere;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">All around the open door,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Where sit the aged poor;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Here where the children play,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In the bright and merry May,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>I come creeping, creeping everywhere.<br /> +<br /> +Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In the noisy city street</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My pleasant face you'll meet,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Cheering the sick at heart</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Toiling his busy part,—</span><br /> +Silently creeping, creeping everywhere.<br /> +<br /> +Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">You cannot see me coming,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Nor hear my low sweet humming;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For in the starry night,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And the glad morning light,</span><br /> +I come quietly creeping everywhere.<br /> +<br /> +Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">More welcome than the flowers</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In summer's pleasant hours;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The gentle cow is glad,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And the merry bird not sad,</span><br /> +To see me creeping, creeping everywhere.<br /> +<br /> +<b>. . . . . . . .</b><br /> +<br /> +Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My humble song of praise</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Most joyfully I raise</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To him at whose command</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I beautify the land,</span><br /> +Creeping, silently creeping everywhere.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Sarah Roberts Boyle.</div> + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Wind in a Frolic</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem2'> +The wind one morning sprang up from sleep,<br /> +Saying, "Now for a frolic! Now for a leap!<br /> +Now for a madcap, galloping chase!<br /> +I'll make a commotion in every place!"<br /> +So it swept with a bustle right through a great town,<br /> +Creaking the signs, and scattering down<br /> +Shutters, and whisking, with merciless squalls,<br /> +Old women's bonnets and gingerbread stalls.<br /> +There never was heard a much lustier shout,<br /> +As the apples and oranges tumbled about;<br /> +And the urchins that stand with their thievish eyes<br /> +Forever on watch, ran off with each prize.<br /> +<br /> +Then away to the field it went blustering and humming,<br /> +And the cattle all wondered whatever was coming.<br /> +It plucked by their tails the grave matronly cows,<br /> +And tossed the colts' manes all about their brows,<br /> +Till offended at such a familiar salute,<br /> +They all turned their backs and stood silently mute.<br /> +So on it went capering and playing its pranks;<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>Whistling with reeds on the broad river-banks;<br /> +Puffing the birds as they sat on the spray,<br /> +Or the traveller grave on the king's highway.<br /> +It was not too nice to bustle the bags<br /> +Of the beggar and flutter his dirty rags.<br /> +'Twas so bold that it feared not to play its joke<br /> +With the doctor's wig and the gentleman's cloak.<br /> +Through the forest it roared, and cried gayly, "Now,<br /> +You sturdy old oaks, I'll make you bow!"<br /> +And it made them bow without more ado,<br /> +Or it cracked their branches through and through.<br /> +<br /> +Then it rushed like a monster o'er cottage and farm,<br /> +Striking their inmates with sudden alarm;<br /> +And they ran out like bees in a midsummer swarm.<br /> +There were dames with their kerchiefs tied over their caps,<br /> +To see if their poultry were free from mishaps;<br /> +The turkeys they gobbled, the geese screamed aloud,<br /> +And the hens crept to roost in a terrified crowd;<br /> +There was rearing of ladders, and logs laying on,<br /> +Where the thatch from the roof threatened soon to be gone.<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>But the wind had passed on, and had met in a lane<br /> +With a schoolboy, who panted and struggled in vain,<br /> +For it tossed him, and twirled him, then passed, and he stood<br /> +With his hat in a pool and his shoe in the mud.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>William Howitt.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Clouds</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +The sky is full of clouds to-day,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And idly to and fro,</span><br /> +Like sheep across the pasture, they<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Across the heavens go.</span><br /> +I hear the wind with merry noise—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Around the housetops sweep,</span><br /> +And dream it is the shepherd boys,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They're driving home their sheep.</span><br /> +<br /> +The clouds move faster now; and see!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The west is red and gold.</span><br /> +Each sheep seems hastening to be<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The first within the fold.</span><br /> +I watch them hurry on until<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The blue is clear and deep,</span><br /> +And dream that far beyond the hill<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The shepherds fold their sheep.</span><br /> +<br /> +Then in the sky the trembling stars<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like little flowers shine out,</span><br /> +While Night puts up the shadow bars,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And darkness falls about.</span><br /> +I hear the shepherd wind's good-night—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Good-night and happy sleep!"</span><br /> +And dream that in the east, all white,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Slumber the clouds, the sheep.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Frank Dempster Sherman.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Signs of Rain</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +The hollow winds begin to blow,<br /> +The clouds look black, the glass is low,<br /> +The soot falls down, the spaniels sleep,<br /> +The spiders from their cobwebs peep:<br /> +Last night the sun went pale to bed,<br /> +The moon in halos hid her head;<br /> +The boding shepherd heaves a sigh,<br /> +For, see, a rainbow spans the sky:<br /> +The walls are damp, the ditches smell,<br /> +Closed is the pink-eyed pimpernel.<br /> +Hark how the chairs and tables crack!<br /> +Old Betty's joints are on the rack;<br /> +Loud quack the ducks, the peacocks cry,<br /> +The distant hills are seeming nigh.<br /> +How restless are the snorting swine;<br /> +The busy flies disturb the kine;<br /> +Low o'er the grass the swallow wings,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span>The cricket too, how sharp he sings;<br /> +Puss on the hearth, with velvet paws,<br /> +Sits wiping o'er her whiskered jaws.<br /> +Through the clear stream the fishes rise,<br /> +And nimbly catch the incautious flies.<br /> +The glow-worms, numerous and bright,<br /> +Illumed the dewy dell last night.<br /> +At dusk the squalid toad was seen,<br /> +Hopping and crawling o'er the green;<br /> +The whirling wind the dust obeys,<br /> +And in the rapid eddy plays;<br /> +The frog has changed his yellow vest,<br /> +And in a russet coat is dressed.<br /> +Though June, the air is cold and still,<br /> +The mellow blackbird's voice is shrill.<br /> +My dog, so altered in his taste,<br /> +Quits mutton-bones on grass to feast;<br /> +And see yon rooks, how odd their flight,<br /> +They imitate the gliding kite,<br /> +And seem precipitate to fall,<br /> +As if they felt the piercing ball.<br /> +'Twill surely rain, I see with sorrow,<br /> +Our jaunt must be put off to-morrow.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Edward Jenner.</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>A Sudden Shower</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Barefooted boys scud up the street,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or scurry under sheltering sheds;</span><br /> +And school-girl faces, pale and sweet,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gleam from the shawls about their heads.</span><br /> +<br /> +Doors bang; and mother-voices call<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From alien homes; and rusty gates</span><br /> +Are slammed; and high above it all<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The thunder grim reverberates.</span><br /> +<br /> +And then abrupt,—the rain, the rain!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The earth lies gasping; and the eyes</span><br /> +Behind the streaming window-panes<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Smile at the trouble of the skies.</span><br /> +<br /> +The highway smokes, sharp echoes ring;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The cattle bawl and cow-bells clank;</span><br /> +And into town comes galloping<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The farmer's horse, with steaming flank.</span><br /> +<br /> +The swallow dips beneath the eaves,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And flirts his plumes and folds his wings;</span><br /> +And under the catawba leaves<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The caterpillar curls and clings.</span><br /> +<br /> +The bumble-bee is pelted down<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">The wet stem of the hollyhock;</span><br /> +And sullenly in spattered brown<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The cricket leaps the garden walk.</span><br /> +<br /> +Within, the baby claps his hands<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And crows with rapture strange and vague;</span><br /> +Without, beneath the rosebush stands<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A dripping rooster on one leg.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>James Whitcomb Riley.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Strange Lands</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Where do you come from, Mr. Jay?<br /> +"From the land of Play, from the land of Play."<br /> +And where can that be, Mr. Jay?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Far away—far away."</span><br /> +<br /> +Where do you come from, Mrs. Dove?<br /> +"From the land of Love, from the land of Love."<br /> +And how do you get there, Mrs. Dove?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Look above—look above."</span><br /> +<br /> +Where do you come from, Baby Miss?<br /> +"From the land of Bliss, from the land of Bliss."<br /> +And what is the way there, Baby Miss?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Mother's kiss—mother's kiss."</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Laurence Alma Tadema.</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Guessing Song</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Oh ho! oh ho! Pray, who can I be?<br /> +I sweep o'er the land, I scour o'er the sea;<br /> +I cuff the tall trees till they bow down their heads,<br /> +And I rock the wee birdies asleep in their beds.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh ho! oh ho! And who can I be,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That sweep o'er the land and scour o'er the sea?</span><br /> +<br /> +I rumple the breast of the gray-headed daw,<br /> +I tip the rook's tail up and make him cry "caw";<br /> +But though I love fun, I'm so big and so strong,<br /> +At a puff of my breath the great ships sail along.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh ho! oh ho! And who can I be,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That sweep o'er the land and sail o'er the sea?</span><br /> +<br /> +I swing all the weather-cocks this way and that,<br /> +I play hare-and-hounds with a runaway hat;<br /> +But however I wander, I never can stray,<br /> +For go where I will, I've a free right of way!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh ho! oh ho! And who can I be,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That sweep o'er the land and scour o'er the sea?</span><br /> +<br /> +I skim o'er the heather, I dance up the street,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>I've foes that I laugh at, and friends that I greet;<br /> +I'm known in the country, I'm named in the town,<br /> +For all the world over extends my renown.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh ho! oh ho! And who can I be,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That sweep o'er the land and scour o'er the sea?</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Henry Johnstone.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Rivulet</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem2'> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Run, little rivulet, run!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Summer is fairly begun.</span><br /> +Bear to the meadow the hymn of the pines,<br /> +And the echo that rings where the waterfall shines;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Run, little rivulet, run!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Run, little rivulet, run!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sing to the fields of the sun</span><br /> +That wavers in emerald, shimmers in gold,<br /> +Where you glide from your rocky ravine, crystal-cold;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Run, little rivulet, run!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Run, little rivulet, run!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sing of the flowers, every one,—</span><br /> +Of the delicate harebell and violet blue;<br /> +Of the red mountain rose-bud, all dripping with dew;<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Run, little rivulet, run!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Run, little rivulet, run!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Carry the perfume you won</span><br /> +From the lily, that woke when the morning was gray,<br /> +To the white waiting moonbeam adrift on the bay;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Run, little rivulet, run!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Run, little rivulet, run!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Stay not till summer is done!</span><br /> +Carry the city the mountain-birds' glee;<br /> +Carry the joy of the hills to the sea;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Run, little rivulet, run!</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Lucy Larcom.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Jack Frost</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem2'> +The Frost looked forth on a still, clear night,<br /> +And whispered, "Now, I shall be out of sight;<br /> +So, through the valley, and over the height,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In silence I'll take my way.</span><br /> +I will not go on like that blustering train,<br /> +The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain,<br /> +That make such a bustle and noise in vain;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But I'll be as busy as they!"</span><br /> +<br /> +So he flew to the mountain, and powdered its crest.<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>He lit on the trees, and their boughs he dressed<br /> +With diamonds and pearls; and over the breast<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of the quivering lake, he spread</span><br /> +A coat of mail, that it need not fear<br /> +The glittering point of many a spear<br /> +Which he hung on its margin, far and near,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Where a rock could rear its head.</span><br /> +<br /> +He went to the window of those who slept,<br /> +And over each pane like a fairy crept:<br /> +Wherever he breathed, wherever he stepped,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">By the light of the morn were seen</span><br /> +Most beautiful things!—there were flowers and trees,<br /> +There were bevies of birds, and swarms of bees;<br /> +There were cities and temples and towers; and these<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">All pictured in silvery sheen!</span><br /> +<br /> +But he did one thing that was hardly fair—<br /> +He peeped in the cupboard: and finding there<br /> +That all had forgotten for him to prepare.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Now, just to set them a-thinking,</span><br /> +I'll bite this basket of fruit," said he,<br /> +"This costly pitcher I'll burst in three!<br /> +And the glass of water they've left for me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Shall 'tchick' to tell them I'm drinking."</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Hannah F. Gould.</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Snowflakes</i><a name="FNanchor_E_5" id="FNanchor_E_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_E_5" class="fnanchor">[E]</a><br /><br /></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Whenever a snowflake leaves the sky,<br /> +It turns and turns to say "Good-by!<br /> +Good-by, dear clouds, so cool and gray!"<br /> +Then lightly travels on its way.<br /> +<br /> +And when a snowflake finds a tree,<br /> +"Good-day!" it says—"Good-day to thee!<br /> +Thou art so bare and lonely, dear,<br /> +I'll rest and call my comrades here."<br /> +<br /> +But when a snowflake, brave and meek,<br /> +Lights on a rosy maiden's cheek,<br /> +It starts—"How warm and soft the day!<br /> +'Tis summer!"—and it melts away.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Mary Mapes Dodge.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Water! the Water!</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +The Water! the Water!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The joyous brook for me,</span><br /> +That tuneth through the quiet night<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Its ever-living glee.</span><br /> +The Water! the Water!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That sleepless, merry heart,</span><br /> +Which gurgles on unstintedly,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And loveth to impart,</span><br /> +To all around it, some small measure<br /> +Of its own most perfect pleasure.<br /> +<br /> +The Water! the Water!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The gentle stream for me,</span><br /> +That gushes from the old gray stone<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beside the alder-tree.</span><br /> +The Water! the Water!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That ever-bubbling spring</span><br /> +I loved and look'd on while a child,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In deepest wondering,—</span><br /> +And ask'd it whence it came and went,<br /> +And when its treasures would be spent.<br /> +<br /> +The Water! the Water!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The merry, wanton brook</span><br /> +That bent itself to pleasure me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like mine old shepherd crook.</span><br /> +The Water! the Water!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That sang so sweet at noon,</span><br /> +And sweeter still all night, to win<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Smiles from the pale proud moon,</span><br /> +And from the little fairy faces<br /> +That gleam in heaven's remotest places.<br /> +<b>. . . . . . . .</b> +</div> + + +<div class='signature'>William Motherwell.</div> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p> + +<h2>III</h2> + +<h2>HIAWATHA'S CHICKENS</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<div class='poem'> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Then the little Hiawatha</i></span><br /> +<i>Learned of every bird its language,</i><br /> +<i>Learned their names and all their secrets,</i><br /> +<i>How they built their nests in Summer,</i><br /> +<i>Where they hid themselves in Winter,</i><br /> +<i>Talked with them whene'er he met them,</i><br /> +<i>Called them "Hiawatha's Chickens."</i><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'><i>Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.</i></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> + +<h2>HIAWATHA'S CHICKENS</h2> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Swallows</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Gallant and gay in their doublets gray,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All at a flash like the darting of flame,</span><br /> +Chattering Arabic, African, Indian—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Certain of springtime, the swallows came!</span><br /> +<br /> +Doublets of gray silk and surcoats of purple,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And ruffs of russet round each little throat,</span><br /> +Wearing such garb they had crossed the waters,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mariners sailing with never a boat.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Edwin Arnold.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Swallow's Nest</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Day after day her nest she moulded,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Building with magic, love and mud,</span><br /> +A gray cup made by a thousand journeys,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the tiny beak was trowel and hod.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Edwin Arnold.</div> + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Birds in Spring</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem2'> +Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king;<br /> +Then blooms each thing, then Maids dance in a ring,<br /> +Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!</span><br /> +<br /> +The Palm and May make country houses gay,<br /> +Lambs frisk and play, the Shepherds pipe all day,<br /> +And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!</span><br /> +<br /> +The Fields breathe sweet, the Daisies kiss our feet,<br /> +Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit,<br /> +In every Street these Tunes our ears do greet—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Spring, the sweet Spring!</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Thomas Nashe.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Robin Redbreast</i></div> + +<div class='center'>(A Child's Song)<br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Good-bye, good-bye to Summer!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Summer's nearly done;</span><br /> +The garden smiling faintly,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cool breezes in the sun;</span><br /> +<br /> +Our Thrushes now are silent,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our Swallows flown away,—</span><br /> +But Robin's here, in coat of brown,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With ruddy breast-knot gay.</span><br /> +Robin, Robin Redbreast,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O Robin dear!</span><br /> +Robin singing sweetly<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the falling of the year.</span><br /> +<br /> +Bright yellow, red, and orange,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The leaves come down in hosts;</span><br /> +The trees are Indian Princes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But soon they'll turn to Ghosts;</span><br /> +The scanty pears and apples<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hang russet on the bough,</span><br /> +It's Autumn, Autumn, Autumn late,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Twill soon be Winter now.</span><br /> +Robin, Robin Redbreast,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O Robin dear!</span><br /> +And welaway! my Robin,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For pinching times are near.</span><br /> +<br /> +The fireside for the Cricket,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The wheatstack for the Mouse,</span><br /> +When trembling night-winds whistle<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And moan all round the house;</span><br /> +The frosty ways like iron,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">The branches plumed with snow,—</span><br /> +Alas! in Winter, dead and dark,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where can poor Robin go?</span><br /> +Robin, Robin Redbreast,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O Robin dear!</span><br /> +And a crumb of bread for Robin,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His little heart to cheer.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>William Allingham.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Lark and the Rook</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem2'> +"Good-night, Sir Rook!" said a little lark.<br /> +"The daylight fades; it will soon be dark;<br /> +I've bathed my wings in the sun's last ray;<br /> +I've sung my hymn to the parting day;<br /> +So now I haste to my quiet nook<br /> +In yon dewy meadow—good-night, Sir Rook!"<br /> +<br /> +"Good-night, poor Lark," said his titled friend<br /> +With a haughty toss and a distant bend;<br /> +"I also go to my rest profound,<br /> +But not to sleep on the cold, damp ground.<br /> +The fittest place for a bird like me<br /> +Is the topmost bough of yon tall pine-tree.<br /> +<br /> +"I opened my eyes at peep of day<br /> +And saw you taking your upward way,<br /> +Dreaming your fond romantic dreams,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>An ugly speck in the sun's bright beams;<br /> +Soaring too high to be seen or heard;<br /> +And I said to myself: 'What a foolish bird!'<br /> +<br /> +"I trod the park with a princely air,<br /> +I filled my crop with the richest fare;<br /> +I cawed all day 'mid a lordly crew,<br /> +And I made more noise in the world than you!<br /> +The sun shone forth on my ebon wing;<br /> +I looked and wondered—good-night, poor thing!"<br /> +<br /> +"Good-night, once more," said the lark's sweet voice.<br /> +"I see no cause to repent my choice;<br /> +You build your nest in the lofty pine,<br /> +But is your slumber more sweet than mine?<br /> +You make more noise in the world than I,<br /> +But whose is the sweeter minstrelsy?"<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Unknown.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Snowbird</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +In the rosy light trills the gay swallow,<br /> +The thrush, in the roses below;<br /> +The meadow-lark sings in the meadow,<br /> +But the snowbird sings in the snow.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Ah me!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Chickadee!</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>The snowbird sings in the snow!<br /> +<br /> +The blue martin trills in the gable,<br /> +The wren, in the gourd below;<br /> +In the elm flutes the golden robin,<br /> +But the snowbird sings in the snow.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Ah me!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Chickadee!</span><br /> +The snowbird sings in the snow!<br /> +<br /> +High wheels the gray wing of the osprey,<br /> +The wing of the sparrow drops low;<br /> +In the mist dips the wing of the robin,<br /> +And the snowbird's wing in the snow.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Ah me!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Chickadee!</span><br /> +The snowbird sings in the snow.<br /> +<br /> +I love the high heart of the osprey,<br /> +The meek heart of the thrush below,<br /> +The heart of the lark in the meadow,<br /> +And the snowbird's heart in the snow.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">But dearest to me,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Chickadee! Chickadee!</span><br /> +Is that true little heart in the snow.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Hezekiah Butterworth.</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Who Stole the Bird's Nest?</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +"To-whit! to-whit! to-whee!<br /> +Will you listen to me?<br /> +Who stole four eggs I laid,<br /> +And the nice nest I made?"<br /> +<br /> +"Not I," said the cow, "Moo-oo!<br /> +Such a thing I'd never do.<br /> +I gave you a wisp of hay,<br /> +But didn't take your nest away.<br /> +Not I," said the cow, "Moo-oo!<br /> +Such a thing I'd never do."<br /> +<br /> +"To-whit! to-whit! to-whee!<br /> +Will you listen to me?<br /> +Who stole four eggs I laid,<br /> +And the nice nest I made?"<br /> +<br /> +"Bob-o'-link! Bob-o'-link!<br /> +Now what do you think?<br /> +Who stole a nest away<br /> +From the plum-tree, to-day?"<br /> +<br /> +"Not I," said the dog, "Bow-wow!<br /> +I wouldn't be so mean, anyhow!<br /> +I gave hairs the nest to make,<br /> +But the nest I did not take.<br /> +Not I," said the dog, "Bow-wow!<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>I'm not so mean, anyhow."<br /> +<br /> +"To-whit! to-whit! to-whee!<br /> +Will you listen to me?<br /> +Who stole four eggs I laid,<br /> +And the nice nest I made?"<br /> +<br /> +"Bob-o'-link! Bob-o'-link!<br /> +Now what do you think?<br /> +Who stole a nest away<br /> +From the plum-tree, to-day?"<br /> +<br /> +"Coo-coo! Coo-coo! Coo-coo!<br /> +Let me speak a word, too!<br /> +Who stole that pretty nest<br /> +From little yellow-breast?"<br /> +<br /> +"Not I," said the sheep; "Oh, no!<br /> +I wouldn't treat a poor bird so.<br /> +I gave wool the nest to line,<br /> +But the nest was none of mine.<br /> +Baa! Baa!" said the sheep, "Oh, no<br /> +I wouldn't treat a poor bird so."<br /> +<br /> +"To-whit! to-whit! to-whee!<br /> +Will you listen to me?<br /> +Who stole four eggs I laid,<br /> +And the nice nest I made?"<br /> +<br /> +"Bob-o'-link! Bob-o'-link!<br /> +Now what do you think?<br /> +Who stole a nest away<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span>From the plum-tree, to-day?"<br /> +<br /> +"Coo-coo! Coo-coo! Coo-coo!<br /> +Let me speak a word, too!<br /> +Who stole that pretty nest<br /> +From little yellow-breast?"<br /> +<br /> +"Caw! Caw!" cried the crow;<br /> +"I should like to know<br /> +What thief took away<br /> +A bird's nest, to-day?"<br /> +<br /> +"Cluck! Cluck!" said the hen;<br /> +"Don't ask me again,<br /> +Why I haven't a chick<br /> +Would do such a trick.<br /> +We all gave her a feather,<br /> +And she wove them together.<br /> +I'd scorn to intrude<br /> +On her and her brood.<br /> +Cluck! Cluck!" said the hen,<br /> +"Don't ask me again."<br /> +<br /> +"Chirr-a-whirr! Chirr-a-whirr!<br /> +All the birds make a stir!<br /> +Let us find out his name,<br /> +And all cry 'For shame!'"<br /> +<br /> +"I would not rob a bird,"<br /> +Said little Mary Green;<br /> +"I think I never heard<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span>Of anything so mean."<br /> +<br /> +"It is very cruel, too,"<br /> +Said little Alice Neal;<br /> +"I wonder if he knew<br /> +How sad the bird would feel?"<br /> +<br /> +A little boy hung down his head,<br /> +And went and hid behind the bed,<br /> +For he stole that pretty nest<br /> +From poor little yellow-breast;<br /> +And he felt so full of shame,<br /> +He didn't like to tell his name.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Lydia Maria Child.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Answer to a Child's Question</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem2'> +Do you ask what the birds say? The sparrow, the dove,<br /> +The linnet, and thrush say, "I love and I love!"<br /> +In the winter they're silent, the wind is so strong;<br /> +What it says I don't know, but it sings a loud song.<br /> +But green leaves and blossoms, and sunny warm weather,<br /> +And singing and loving, all come back together;<br /> +Then the lark is so brimful of gladness and love,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span>The green fields below him, the blue sky above,<br /> +That he sings, and he sings, and forever sings he,<br /> +"I love my Love, and my Love loves me."<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Samuel Taylor Coleridge.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Burial of the Linnet</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Found in the garden dead in his beauty—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh that a linnet should die in the spring!</span><br /> +Bury him, comrades, in pitiful duty,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Muffle the dinner-bell, solemnly ring.</span><br /> +<br /> +Bury him kindly, up in the corner;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bird, beast, and goldfish are sepulchred there</span><br /> +Bid the black kitten march as chief mourner,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Waving her tail like a plume in the air.</span><br /> +<br /> +Bury him nobly—next to the donkey;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fetch the old banner, and wave it about;</span><br /> +Bury him deeply—think of the monkey,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shallow his grave, and the dogs got him out.</span><br /> +<br /> +Bury him softly—white wool around him,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kiss his poor feathers—the first kiss and last;</span><br /> +Tell his poor widow kind friends have found him:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Plant his poor grave with whatever grows fast.</span><br /> +<br /> +Farewell, sweet singer! dead in thy beauty,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Silent through summer, though other birds sing,</span><br /> +Bury him, comrades, in pitiful duty,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Muffle the dinner-bell, mournfully ring.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Juliana Horatia Ewing.</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Titmouse</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +. . . . Piped a tiny voice hard by,<br /> +Gay and polite, a cheerful cry,<br /> +<i>Chic-chicadeedee!</i> saucy note<br /> +Out of sound heart and merry throat,<br /> +As if it said, "Good-day, good sir!<br /> +Fine afternoon, old passenger!<br /> +Happy to meet you in these places,<br /> +Where January brings few faces."<br /> +<br /> +This poet, though he live apart,<br /> +Moved by his hospitable heart,<br /> +Sped, when I passed his sylvan fort,<br /> +To do the honors of his court,<br /> +As fits a feathered lord of land;<br /> +Flew near, with soft wing grazed my hand;<br /> +Hopped on the bough, then, darting low,<br /> +Prints his small impress on the snow,<br /> +Shows feats of his gymnastic play,<br /> +Head downward, clinging to the spray,<br /> +<br /> +<b>. . . . . . . .</b><br /> +<br /> +Here was this atom in full breath,<br /> +Hurling defiance at vast death.<br /> +This scrap of valor, just for play,<br /> +Fronts the north wind in waistcoat gray.<br /> +<b>. . . . . . . .</b> +</div> + + +<div class='signature'>Ralph Waldo Emerson.</div> + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Birds in Summer</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +How pleasant the life of a bird must be,<br /> +Flitting about in each leafy tree;<br /> +In the leafy trees so broad and tall,<br /> +Like a green and beautiful palace hall,<br /> +With its airy chambers, light and boon,<br /> +That open to sun, and stars, and moon;<br /> +That open unto the bright blue sky,<br /> +And the frolicsome winds as they wander by!<br /> +<br /> +They have left their nests in the forest bough;<br /> +Those homes of delight they need not now;<br /> +And the young and old they wander out,<br /> +And traverse the green world round about;<br /> +And hark at the top of this leafy hall,<br /> +How, one to another, they lovingly call!<br /> +"Come up, come up!" they seem to say,<br /> +"Where the topmost twigs in the breezes play!"<br /> +<br /> +"Come up, come up, for the world is fair,<br /> +Where the merry leaves dance in the summer air!"<br /> +And the birds below give back the cry,<br /> +"We come, we come to the branches high!"<br /> +How pleasant the life of the birds must be,<br /> +Living above in a leafy tree!<br /> +And away through the air what joy to go,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span>And to look on the green, bright earth below!<br /> +<br /> +How pleasant the life of a bird must be,<br /> +Skimming about on the breezy sea,<br /> +Cresting the billows like silvery foam,<br /> +Then wheeling away to its cliff-built home!<br /> +What joy it must be to sail, upborne,<br /> +By a strong free wing, through the rosy morn,<br /> +To meet the young sun, face to face,<br /> +And pierce, like a shaft, the boundless space!<br /> +<br /> +To pass through the bowers of the silver cloud;<br /> +To sing in the thunder halls aloud:<br /> +To spread out the wings for a wild, free flight<br /> +With the upper cloud-winds,—oh, what delight!<br /> +Oh, what would I give, like a bird, to go,<br /> +Right on through the arch of the sun-lit bow,<br /> +And see how the water-drops are kissed<br /> +Into green and yellow and amethyst.<br /> +<br /> +How pleasant the life of a bird must be,<br /> +Wherever it listeth, there to flee;<br /> +To go, when a joyful fancy calls,<br /> +Dashing down 'mong the waterfalls;<br /> +Then wheeling about, with its mate at play,<br /> +Above and below, and among the spray,<br /> +Hither and thither, with screams as wild<br /> +As the laughing mirth of a rosy child.<br /> +<br /> +What joy it must be, like a living breeze,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>To flutter about 'mid the flowering trees;<br /> +Lightly to soar and to see beneath,<br /> +The wastes of the blossoming purple heath,<br /> +And the yellow furze, like fields of gold,<br /> +That gladden some fairy region old!<br /> +On mountain-tops, on the billowy sea,<br /> +On the leafy stems of the forest-tree,<br /> +How pleasant the life of a bird must be!<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Mary Howitt.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>An Epitaph on a Robin Redbreast</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Tread lightly here; for here, 'tis said,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When piping winds are hush'd around,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A small note wakes from underground,</span><br /> +Where now his tiny bones are laid.<br /> +<br /> +No more in lone or leafless groves,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With ruffled wing and faded breast,</span><br /> +His friendless, homeless spirit roves;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gone to the world where birds are blest!</span><br /> +<br /> +Where never cat glides o'er the green,<br /> +Or school-boy's giant form is seen;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But love, and joy, and smiling Spring</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Inspire their little souls to sing!</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Samuel Rogers.</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Bluebird</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +I know the song that the bluebird is singing,<br /> +Out in the apple-tree where he is swinging.<br /> +Brave little fellow! the skies may be dreary,<br /> +Nothing cares he while his heart is so cheery.<br /> +<br /> +Hark! how the music leaps out from his throat!<br /> +Hark! was there ever so merry a note?<br /> +Listen awhile, and you'll hear what he's saying,<br /> +Up in the apple-tree, swinging and swaying:<br /> +<br /> +"Dear little blossoms, down under the snow,<br /> +You must be weary of winter, I know;<br /> +Hark! while I sing you a message of cheer,<br /> +Summer is coming and spring-time is here!<br /> +<br /> +"Little white snowdrop, I pray you arise;<br /> +Bright yellow crocus, come, open your eyes;<br /> +Sweet little violets hid from the cold,<br /> +Put on your mantles of purple and gold;<br /> +Daffodils, daffodils! say, do you hear?<br /> +Summer is coming, and spring-time is here!"<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Mrs. Emily Huntington Miller.</div> + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Song</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem2'> +I had a dove and the sweet dove died;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And I have thought it died of grieving:</span><br /> +O, what could it grieve for? Its feet were tied<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With a silken thread of my own hand's weaving;</span><br /> +Sweet little red feet! why should you die—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Why should you leave me, sweet bird! why?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">You lived alone in the forest-tree,</span><br /> +Why, pretty thing! would you not live with me?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I kiss'd you oft and gave you white peas;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Why not live sweetly, as in the green trees?</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>John Keats.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>What Does Little Birdie Say?</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +What does little birdie say,<br /> +In her nest at peep of day?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Let me fly," says little birdie,</span><br /> +"Mother, let me fly away."<br /> +<br /> +Birdie, rest a little longer,<br /> +Till the little wings are stronger<br /> +So she rests a little longer,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then she flies away.</span><br /> +<br /> +What does little baby say,<br /> +In her bed at peep of day?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Baby says, like little birdie,</span><br /> +"Let me rise and fly away."<br /> +<br /> +Baby, sleep a little longer,<br /> +Till the little limbs are stronger.<br /> +If she sleeps a little longer,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Baby, too, shall fly away.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Alfred, Lord Tennyson.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Owl</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +When cats run home and light is come,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And dew is cold upon the ground,</span><br /> +And the far-off stream is dumb,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the whirring sail goes round;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the whirring sail goes round;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Alone and warming his five wits,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The white owl in the belfry sits.</span><br /> +<br /> +When merry milkmaids click the latch,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And rarely smells the new-mown hay,</span><br /> +And the cock hath sung beneath the thatch<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Twice or thrice his roundelay,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Twice or thrice his roundelay;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Alone and warming his five wits,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The white owl in the belfry sits.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Alfred, Lord Tennyson.</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Wild Geese</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem2'> +The wild wind blows, the sun shines, the birds sing loud,<br /> +The blue, blue sky is flecked with fleecy dappled cloud,<br /> +Over earth's rejoicing fields the children dance and sing,<br /> +And the frogs pipe in chorus, "It is spring! It is spring!"<br /> +<br /> +The grass comes, the flower laughs where lately lay the snow,<br /> +O'er the breezy hill-top hoarsely calls the crow,<br /> +By the flowing river the alder catkins swing,<br /> +And the sweet song-sparrow cries, "Spring! It is spring!"<br /> +<br /> +Hark, what a clamor goes winging through the sky!<br /> +Look, children! Listen to the sound so wild and high!<br /> +Like a peal of broken bells,—kling, klang, kling,—<br /> +Far and high the wild geese cry, "Spring! It is spring!"<br /> +<br /> +Bear the winter off with you, O wild geese dear!<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>Carry all the cold away, far away from here;<br /> +Chase the snow into the north, O strong of heart and wing,<br /> +While we share the robin's rapture, crying "Spring! It is spring!"<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Celia Thaxter.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Chanticleer</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +I wake! I feel the day is near;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I hear the red cock crowing!</span><br /> +He cries "'Tis dawn!" How sweet and clear<br /> +His cheerful call comes to my ear,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While light is slowly growing.</span><br /> +<br /> +The white snow gathers flake on flake;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I hear the red cock crowing!</span><br /> +Is anybody else awake<br /> +To see the winter morning break,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While thick and fast 'tis snowing?</span><br /> +<br /> +I think the world is all asleep;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I hear the red cock crowing!</span><br /> +Out of the frosty pane I peep;<br /> +The drifts are piled so wide and deep,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And wild the wind is blowing!</span><br /> +<br /> +Nothing I see has shape or form;<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">I hear the red cock crowing!</span><br /> +But that dear voice comes through the storm<br /> +To greet me in my nest so warm,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As if the sky were glowing!</span><br /> +<br /> +A happy little child, I lie<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And hear the red cock crowing.</span><br /> +The day is dark. I wonder why<br /> +His voice rings out so brave and high,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With gladness overflowing.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Celia Thaxter.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Singer</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +O Lark! sweet lark!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where learn you all your minstrelsy?</span><br /> +What realms are those to which you fly?<br /> +While robins feed their young from dawn till dark,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You soar on high—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Forever in the sky.</span><br /> +<br /> +O child! dear child!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Above the clouds I lift my wing</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To hear the bells of Heaven ring;</span><br /> +Some of their music, though my flights be wild,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To Earth I bring;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then let me soar and sing!</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Edmund Clarence Stedman.</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Blue Jay</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +O Blue Jay up in the maple-tree,<br /> +Shaking your throat with such bursts of glee,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How did you happen to be so blue?</span><br /> +Did you steal a bit of the lake for your crest,<br /> +And fasten blue violets into your vest?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tell me, I pray you,—tell me true!</span><br /> +<br /> +Did you dip your wings in azure dye,<br /> +When April began to paint the sky,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That was pale with the winter's stay?</span><br /> +Or were you hatched from a bluebell bright,<br /> +'Neath the warm, gold breast of a sunbeam light,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the river one blue spring day?</span><br /> +<br /> +O Blue Jay up in the maple-tree,<br /> +A-tossing your saucy head at me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With ne'er a word for my questioning,</span><br /> +Pray, cease for a moment your "ting-a-link,"<br /> +And hear when I tell you what I think,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You bonniest bit of the spring.</span><br /> +<br /> +I think when the fairies made the flowers,<br /> +To grow in these mossy fields of ours,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Periwinkles and violets rare,</span><br /> +There was left of the spring's own color, blue,<br /> +Plenty to fashion a flower whose hue<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would be richer than all and as fair.</span><br /> +<br /> +So, putting their wits together, they<br /> +Made one great blossom so bright and gay,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The lily beside it seemed blurred;</span><br /> +And then they said, "We will toss it in air;<br /> +So many blue blossoms grow everywhere,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let this pretty one be a bird!"</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Susan Hartley Swett.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Robert of Lincoln</i><a name="FNanchor_F_6" id="FNanchor_F_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_F_6" class="fnanchor">[F]</a><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Merrily swinging on brier and weed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Near to the nest of his little dame,</span><br /> +Over the mountain-side or mead,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Robert of Lincoln is telling his name:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Spink, spank, spink,</span><br /> +Snug and safe is this nest of ours,<br /> +Hidden among the summer flowers,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Chee, chee, chee.</span><br /> +<br /> +Robert of Lincoln is gayly drest,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wearing a bright, black wedding-coat;</span><br /> +White are his shoulders and white his crest,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hear him call, in his merry note,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Spink, spank, spink,</span><br /> +Look what a nice new coat is mine,<br /> +Sure there was never a bird so fine!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Chee, chee, chee.</span><br /> +<br /> +Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings,</span><br /> +Passing at home a patient life,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Broods in the grass while her husband sings</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Spink, spank, spink,</span><br /> +Brood, kind creature; you need not fear<br /> +Thieves and robbers while I am here,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Chee, chee, chee.</span><br /> +<br /> +Modest and shy as a nun is she;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One weak chirp is her only note.</span><br /> +Braggart, and prince of braggarts is he,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pouring boasts from his little throat:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Spink, spank, spink,</span><br /> +Never was I afraid of man;<br /> +Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Chee, chee, chee.</span><br /> +<br /> +Six white eggs on a bed of hay,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Flecked with purple, a pretty sight:</span><br /> +There as the mother sits all day,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Robert is singing with all his might,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Spink, spank, spink,</span><br /> +Nice good wife, that never goes out,<br /> +Keeping house while I frolic about,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Chee, chee, chee.</span><br /> +<br /> +Soon as the little ones chip the shell,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Six wide mouths are open for food;</span><br /> +Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gathering seeds for the hungry brood.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Spink, spank, spink,</span><br /> +This new life is likely to be<br /> +Hard for a gay young fellow like me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Chee, chee, chee.</span><br /> +<br /> +Robert of Lincoln at length is made<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sober with work, and silent with care;</span><br /> +Off is his holiday garment laid,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Half forgotten that merry air:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Spink, spank, spink,</span><br /> +Nobody knows but my mate and I<br /> +Where our nest and our nestlings lie,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Chee, chee, chee.</span><br /> +<br /> +Summer wanes; the children are grown;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fun and frolic no more he knows,</span><br /> +Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum crone;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Off he flies, and we sing as he goes:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Spink, spank, spink,</span><br /> +When you can pipe that merry old strain,<br /> +Robert of Lincoln, come back again,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Chee, chee, chee.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>William Cullen Bryant.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>White Butterflies</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Fly, white butterflies, out to sea,<br /> +Frail, pale wings for the wind to try,<br /> +Small white wings that we scarce can see,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Fly!</span><br /> +<br /> +Some fly light as a laugh of glee,<br /> +Some fly soft as a long, low sigh;<br /> +All to the haven where each would be,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Fly!</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Algernon Charles Swinburne.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Ant and the Cricket</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem2'> +A silly young cricket, accustomed to sing<br /> +Through the warm, sunny months of gay summer and spring,<br /> +Began to complain, when he found that at home<br /> +His cupboard was empty and winter was come.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Not a crumb to be found</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">On the snow-covered ground;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Not a flower could he see,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Not a leaf on a tree:</span><br /> +"Oh, what will become," says the cricket, "of me?"<br /> +<br /> +At last by starvation and famine made bold,<br /> +All dripping with wet and all trembling with cold,<br /> +Away he set off to a miserly ant,<br /> +To see if, to keep him alive, he would grant<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Him shelter from rain:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A mouthful of grain</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He wished only to borrow,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He'd repay it to-morrow:</span><br /> +If not, he must die of starvation and sorrow.<br /> +<br /> +Says the ant to the cricket, "I'm your servant and friend,<br /> +But we ants never borrow, we ants never lend;<br /> +But tell me, dear sir, did you lay nothing by<br /> +When the weather was warm?" Said the cricket, "Not I.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My heart was so light</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That I sang day and night,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For all nature looked gay."</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"You <i>sang</i>, sir, you say?</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>Go then," said the ant, "and <i>dance</i> winter away."<br /> +Thus ending, he hastily lifted the wicket<br /> +And out of the door turned the poor little cricket.<br /> +Though this is a fable, the moral is good:<br /> +If you live without work, you must live without food.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Unknown.</div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p> + +<h2>IV</h2> + +<h2>THE FLOWER FOLK</h2> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='poem2'> +<i>Hope is like a harebell, trembling from its birth,<br /> +Love is like a rose, the joy of all the earth;<br /> +Faith is like a lily, lifted high and white,<br /> +Love is like a lovely rose, the world's delight;<br /> +Harebells and sweet lilies show a thornless growth,<br /> +But the rose with all its thorns excels them both.</i><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'><i>Christina G. Rossetti.</i></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></p> + +<h2>THE FLOWER FOLK</h2> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Little White Lily</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Little white Lily<br /> +Sat by a stone,<br /> +Drooping and waiting<br /> +Till the sun shone.<br /> +Little white Lily<br /> +Sunshine has fed;<br /> +Little white Lily<br /> +Is lifting her head.<br /> +<br /> +Little white Lily<br /> +Said, "It is good—<br /> +Little white Lily's<br /> +Clothing and food."<br /> +Little white Lily<br /> +Drest like a bride!<br /> +Shining with whiteness,<br /> +And crowned beside!<br /> +<br /> +Little white Lily<br /> +Droopeth with pain,<br /> +Waiting and waiting<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>For the wet rain.<br /> +Little white Lily<br /> +Holdeth her cup;<br /> +Rain is fast falling<br /> +And filling it up.<br /> +<br /> +Little white Lily<br /> +Said, "Good again—<br /> +When I am thirsty<br /> +To have fresh rain!<br /> +Now I am stronger;<br /> +Now I am cool;<br /> +Heat cannot burn me,<br /> +My veins are so full."<br /> +<br /> +Little white Lily<br /> +Smells very sweet:<br /> +On her head sunshine,<br /> +Rain at her feet.<br /> +"Thanks to the sunshine,<br /> +Thanks to the rain!<br /> +Little white Lily<br /> +Is happy again!"<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>George Macdonald.</div> + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Violets</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Violets, violets, sweet March violets,<br /> +Sure as March comes, they'll come too,<br /> +First the white and then the blue—<br /> +Pretty violets!<br /> +<br /> +White, with just a pinky dye,<br /> +Blue as little baby's eye,—<br /> +So like violets.<br /> +<br /> +Though the rough wind shakes the house,<br /> +Knocks about the budding boughs,<br /> +There are violets.<br /> +<br /> +Though the passing snow-storms come,<br /> +And the frozen birds sit dumb,<br /> +Up spring violets.<br /> +<br /> +One by one among the grass,<br /> +Saying "Pluck me!" as we pass,—<br /> +Scented violets.<br /> +<br /> +By and by there'll be so many,<br /> +We'll pluck dozens nor miss any:<br /> +Sweet, sweet violets!<br /> +<br /> +Children, when you go to play,<br /> +Look beneath the hedge to-day:—<br /> +Mamma likes violets.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Dinah Maria Mulock.</div> + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Young Dandelion</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Young Dandelion<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On a hedge-side,</span><br /> +Said young Dandelion,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Who'll be my bride?</span><br /> +<br /> +"I'm a bold fellow<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As ever was seen,</span><br /> +With my shield of yellow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the grass green.</span><br /> +<br /> +"You may uproot me<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From field and from lane,</span><br /> +Trample me, cut me,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I spring up again.</span><br /> +<br /> +"I never flinch, Sir,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wherever I dwell;</span><br /> +Give me an inch, Sir,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'll soon take an ell.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Drive me from garden<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In anger and pride,</span><br /> +I'll thrive and harden<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the road-side.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Not a bit fearful,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Showing my face,</span><br /> +Always so cheerful<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">In every place."</span><br /> +<br /> +Said young Dandelion,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a sweet air,</span><br /> +"I have my eye on<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Miss Daisy fair.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Though we may tarry<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till past the cold,</span><br /> +Her I will marry<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ere I grow old.</span><br /> +<br /> +"I will protect her<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From all kinds of harm,</span><br /> +Feed her with nectar,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shelter her warm.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Whate'er the weather,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let it go by;</span><br /> +We'll hold together,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Daisy and I.</span><br /> +<br /> +"I'll ne'er give in,—no!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nothing I fear:</span><br /> +All that I win, oh!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'll keep for my dear."</span><br /> +<br /> +Said young Dandelion<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On his hedge-side,</span><br /> +"Who'll me rely on?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who'll be my bride?"</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Dinah Maria Mulock.</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Baby Seed Song</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Little brown brother, oh! little brown brother,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are you awake in the dark?</span><br /> +Here we lie cosily, close to each other:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hark to the song of the lark—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Waken!" the lark says, "waken and dress you;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Put on your green coats and gay,</span><br /> +Blue sky will shine on you, sunshine caress you—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Waken! 'tis morning—'tis May!"</span><br /> +<br /> +Little brown brother, oh! little brown brother,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What kind of flower will you be?</span><br /> +I'll be a poppy—all white, like my mother;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Do be a poppy like me.</span><br /> +What! you're a sun-flower? How I shall miss you<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When you're grown golden and high!</span><br /> +But I shall send all the bees up to kiss you;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Little brown brother, good-bye.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>E. Nesbit.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>A Violet Bank</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows,<br /> +Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows:<br /> +Quite over-canopied with lush woodbine,<br /> +With sweet musk roses and with eglantine.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>William Shakespeare.</div> + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>There's Nothing Like the Rose</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +The lily has an air,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the snowdrop a grace,</span><br /> +And the sweet-pea a way,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the hearts-ease a face,—</span><br /> +Yet there's nothing like the rose<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">When she blows.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Christina G. Rossetti.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Snowdrops</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Little ladies, white and green,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With your spears about you,</span><br /> +Will you tell us where you've been<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Since we lived without you?</span><br /> +<br /> +You are sweet, and fresh, and clean,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With your pearly faces;</span><br /> +In the dark earth where you've been,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There are wondrous places:</span><br /> +<br /> +Yet you come again, serene,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the leaves are hidden;</span><br /> +Bringing joy from where you've been,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You return unbidden—</span><br /> +<br /> +Little ladies, white and green,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are you glad to cheer us?</span><br /> +Hunger not for where you've been,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stay till Spring be near us!</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Laurence Alma Tadema.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Fern Song</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Dance to the beat of the rain, little Fern,<br /> +And spread out your palms again,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And say, "Tho' the sun</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hath my vesture spun,</span><br /> +He had laboured, alas, in vain,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But for the shade</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That the Cloud hath made,</span><br /> +And the gift of the Dew and the Rain,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then laugh and upturn</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All your fronds, little Fern,</span><br /> +And rejoice in the beat of the rain!<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>John B. Tabb.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Violet</i><br /><br /></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Down in a green and shady bed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A modest violet grew;</span><br /> +Its stalk was bent, it hung its head,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As if to hide from view.</span><br /> +<br /> +And yet it was a lovely flower,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Its color bright and fair;</span><br /> +It might have graced a rosy bower<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Instead of hiding there.</span><br /> +<br /> +Yet there it was content to bloom,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In modest tints arrayed;</span><br /> +And there diffused its sweet Perfume<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Within the silent shade.</span><br /> +<br /> +Then let me to the valley go,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This pretty flower to see,</span><br /> +That I may also learn to grow<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In sweet humility.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Jane Taylor.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Daffy-Down-Dilly</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Daffy-down-dilly<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Came up in the cold,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through the brown mould,</span><br /> +Although the March breezes<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blew keen on her face,</span><br /> +Although the white snow<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lay on many a place.</span><br /> +<br /> +Daffy-down-dilly<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Had heard under ground,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sweet rushing sound</span><br /> +Of the streams, as they broke<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">From their white winter chains,</span><br /> +Of the whistling spring winds<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the pattering rains.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Now then," thought Daffy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Deep down in her heart,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"It's time I should start."</span><br /> +So she pushed her soft leaves<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through the hard frozen ground,</span><br /> +Quite up to the surface,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And then she looked round.</span><br /> +<br /> +There was snow all about her,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gray clouds overhead;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The trees all looked dead:</span><br /> +Then how do you think<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Poor Daffy-down felt,</span><br /> +When the sun would not shine,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the ice would not melt?</span><br /> +<br /> +"Cold weather!" thought Daffy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still working away;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"The earth's hard to-day!</span><br /> +There's but a half inch<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of my leaves to be seen,</span><br /> +And two thirds of that<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is more yellow than green.</span><br /> +<br /> +"I can't do much yet;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I'll do what I can:</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">It's well I began!</span><br /> +For, unless I can manage<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To lift up my head,</span><br /> +The people will think<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That the Spring herself's dead."</span><br /> +<br /> +So, little by little,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She brought her leaves out,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All clustered about;</span><br /> +And then her bright flowers<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Began to unfold,</span><br /> +Till Daffy stood robed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In her spring green and gold.</span><br /> +<br /> +O Daffy-down-dilly,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So brave and so true!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I wish all were like you!—</span><br /> +So ready for duty<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In all sorts of weather,</span><br /> +And loyal to courage<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And duty together.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Anna B. Warner.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Baby Corn</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +A happy mother stalk of corn<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Held close a baby ear,</span><br /> +And whispered: "Cuddle up to me,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'll keep you warm, my dear.</span><br /> +I'll give you petticoats of green,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With many a tuck and fold</span><br /> +To let out daily as you grow;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For you will soon be old."</span><br /> +<br /> +A funny little baby that,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For though it had no eye,</span><br /> +It had a hundred mouths; 'twas well<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It did not want to cry.</span><br /> +The mother put in each small mouth<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A hollow thread of silk,</span><br /> +Through which the sun and rain and air<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Provided baby's milk.</span><br /> +<br /> +The petticoats were gathered close<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where all the threadlets hung.</span><br /> +And still as summer days went on<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To mother-stalk it clung;</span><br /> +And all the time it grew and grew—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Each kernel drank the milk</span><br /> +By day, by night, in shade, in sun,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From its own thread of silk.</span><br /> +<br /> +And each grew strong and full and round,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And each was shining white;</span><br /> +The gores and seams were all let out,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The green skirts fitted tight.</span><br /> +The ear stood straight and large and tall,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And when it saw the sun,</span><br /> +Held up its emerald satin gown<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To say: "Your work is done."</span><br /> +<br /> +"You're large enough," said Mother Stalk,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"And now there's no more room</span><br /> +For you to grow." She tied the threads<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Into a soft brown plume—</span><br /> +It floated out upon the breeze<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To greet the dewy morn,</span><br /> +And then the baby said: "Now I'm<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A full-grown ear of corn!"</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Unknown.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>A Child's Fancy</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +O little flowers, you love me so,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You could not do without me;</span><br /> +O little birds that come and go,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You sing sweet songs about me;</span><br /> +O little moss, observed by few,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That round the tree is creeping,</span><br /> +You like my head to rest on you,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When I am idly sleeping.</span><br /> +<br /> +O rushes by the river side,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You bow when I come near you;</span><br /> +O fish, you leap about with pride,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Because you think I hear you;</span><br /> +O river, you shine clear and bright,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To tempt me to look in you;</span><br /> +O water-lilies, pure and white,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You hope that I shall win you.</span><br /> +<br /> +O pretty things, you love me so,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I see I must not leave you;</span><br /> +You'd find it very dull, I know,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I should not like to grieve you.</span><br /> +Don't wrinkle up, you silly moss;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My flowers, you need not shiver;</span><br /> +My little buds, don't look so cross;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Don't talk so loud, my river.</span><br /> +<br /> +And I will make a promise, dears,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That will content you, maybe;</span><br /> +I'll love you through the happy years,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till I'm a nice old lady!</span><br /> +True love (like yours and mine) they say<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Can never think of ceasing,</span><br /> +But year by year, and day by day,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Keeps steadily increasing.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>"A."</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Little Dandelion</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Gay little Dandelion<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lights up the meads,</span><br /> +Swings on her slender foot,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Telleth her beads,</span><br /> +Lists to the robin's note<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Poured from above:</span><br /> +Wise little Dandelion<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Asks not for love.</span><br /> +<br /> +Cold lie the daisy banks<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Clothed but in green,</span><br /> +Where, in the days agone,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bright hues were seen.</span><br /> +Wild pinks are slumbering;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Violets delay:</span><br /> +True little Dandelion<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Greeteth the May.</span><br /> +<br /> +Brave little Dandelion!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fast falls the snow,</span><br /> +Bending the daffodil's<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Haughty head low.</span><br /> +Under that fleecy tent,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Careless of cold,</span><br /> +Blithe little Dandelion<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Counteth her gold.</span><br /> +<br /> +Meek little Dandelion<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Groweth more fair,</span><br /> +Till dies the amber dew<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Out from her hair.</span><br /> +High rides the thirsty sun,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fiercely and high;</span><br /> +Faint little Dandelion<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Closeth her eye.</span><br /> +<br /> +Pale little Dandelion,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In her white shroud,</span><br /> +Heareth the angel breeze<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Call from the cloud!</span><br /> +Tiny plumes fluttering<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Make no delay!</span><br /> +Little winged Dandelion<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Soareth away.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Helen B. Bostwick.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Dandelions</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Upon a showery night and still,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Without a sound of warning,</span><br /> +A trooper band surprised the hill,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And held it in the morning.</span><br /> +We were not waked by bugle notes,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">No cheer our dreams invaded,</span><br /> +And yet, at dawn their yellow coats<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the green slopes paraded.</span><br /> +<br /> +We careless folk the deed forgot;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Till one day, idly walking,</span><br /> +We marked upon the self-same spot<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A crowd of vet'rans talking.</span><br /> +They shook their trembling heads and gray<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With pride and noiseless laughter;</span><br /> +When, well-a-day! they blew away,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And ne'er were heard of after!</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Helen Gray Cone.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Flax Flower</i><br /><br /></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Oh, the little flax flower!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It groweth on the hill,</span><br /> +And, be the breeze awake or 'sleep<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It never standeth still.</span><br /> +It groweth, and it groweth fast;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One day it is a seed</span><br /> +And then a little grassy blade<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Scarce better than a weed.</span><br /> +But then out comes the flax flower<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As blue as is the sky;</span><br /> +And "'Tis a dainty little thing,"<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">We say as we go by.</span><br /> +<br /> +Ah! 'tis a goodly little thing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It groweth for the poor,</span><br /> +And many a peasant blesseth it<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beside his cottage door.</span><br /> +He thinketh how those slender stems<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That shimmer in the sun</span><br /> +Are rich for him in web and woof<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And shortly shall be spun.</span><br /> +He thinketh how those tender flowers<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of seed will yield him store,</span><br /> +And sees in thought his next year's crop<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blue shining round his door.</span><br /> +<br /> +Oh, the little flax flower!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The mother then says she,</span><br /> +"Go, pull the thyme, the heath, the fern,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But let the flax flower be!</span><br /> +It groweth for the children's sake,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It groweth for our own;</span><br /> +There are flowers enough upon the hill,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But leave the flax alone!</span><br /> +The farmer hath his fields of wheat,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Much cometh to his share;</span><br /> +We have this little plot of flax<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That we have tilled with care."</span><br /> +<br /> +Oh, the goodly flax flower!<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">It groweth on the hill,</span><br /> +And, be the breeze awake or 'sleep,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It never standeth still.</span><br /> +It seemeth all astir with life<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As if it loved to thrive,</span><br /> +As if it had a merry heart<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Within its stem alive.</span><br /> +Then fair befall the flax-field,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And may the kindly showers</span><br /> +Give strength unto its shining stem,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Give seed unto its flowers!</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Mary Howitt.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Dear Little Violets</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Under the green hedges after the snow,<br /> +There do the dear little violets grow,<br /> +Hiding their modest and beautiful heads<br /> +Under the hawthorn in soft mossy beds.<br /> +<br /> +Sweet as the roses, and blue as the sky,<br /> +Down there do the dear little violets lie;<br /> +Hiding their heads where they scarce may be seen,<br /> +By the leaves you may know where the violet hath been.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>John Moultrie.</div> + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Bird's Song in Spring</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +The silver birch is a dainty lady,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She wears a satin gown;</span><br /> +The elm tree makes the old churchyard shady,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She will not live in town.</span><br /> +<br /> +The English oak is a sturdy fellow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He gets his green coat late;</span><br /> +The willow is smart in a suit of yellow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While brown the beech trees wait.</span><br /> +<br /> +Such a gay green gown God gives the larches—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As green as He is good!</span><br /> +The hazels hold up their arms for arches<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When Spring rides through the wood.</span><br /> +<br /> +The chestnut's proud, and the lilac's pretty,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The poplar's gentle and tall,</span><br /> +But the plane tree's kind to the poor dull city—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I love him best of all!</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>E. Nesbit.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Tree</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem2'> +The Tree's early leaf-buds were bursting their brown;<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>"Shall I take them away?" said the Frost, sweeping down.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"No, leave them alone</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till the blossoms have grown,"</span><br /> +Prayed the Tree, while he trembled from rootlet to crown.<br /> +<br /> +The Tree bore his blossoms, and all the birds sung:<br /> +"Shall I take them away?" said the Wind, as he swung.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"No, leave them alone</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till the berries have grown,"</span><br /> +Said the Tree, while his leaflets quivering hung.<br /> +<br /> +The Tree bore his fruit in the mid-summer glow:<br /> +Said the girl, "May I gather thy berries now?"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Yes, all thou canst see:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Take them; all are for thee,"</span><br /> +Said the Tree, while he bent down his laden boughs low.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Björnstjerne Björnson.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Daisy's Song</i></div> + +<div class='center'>(A Fragment)<br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +The sun, with his great eye,<br /> +Sees not so much as I;<br /> +And the moon, all silver-proud<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>Might as well be in a cloud.<br /> +And O the spring—the spring!<br /> +I lead the life of a king!<br /> +Couch'd in the teeming grass,<br /> +I spy each pretty lass.<br /> +<br /> +I look where no one dares,<br /> +And I stare where no one stares,<br /> +And when the night is nigh<br /> +Lambs bleat my lullaby.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>John Keats.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Song</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +For the tender beech and the sapling oak,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That grow by the shadowy rill,</span><br /> +You may cut down both at a single stroke,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You may cut down which you will.</span><br /> +<br /> +But this you must know, that as long as they grow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whatever change may be,</span><br /> +You can never teach either oak or beech<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To be aught but a greenwood tree.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Thomas Love Peacock.</div> + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>For Good Luck</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Little Kings and Queens of the May<br /> +If you want to be,<br /> +Every one of you, very good,<br /> +In this beautiful, beautiful, beautiful wood,<br /> +Where the little birds' heads get so turned with delight<br /> +That some of them sing all night:<br /> +Whatever you pluck,<br /> +Leave some for good luck!<br /> +<br /> +Picked from the stalk or pulled by the root,<br /> +From overhead or under foot,<br /> +Water-wonders of pond or brook—<br /> +Wherever you look,<br /> +And whatever you find,<br /> +Leave something behind:<br /> +Some for the Naiads,<br /> +Some for the Dryads,<br /> +And a bit for the Nixies and Pixies!<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Juliana Horatia Ewing.</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span></p> + +<h2>V</h2> + +<h2>HIAWATHA'S BROTHERS</h2> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='poem'> +<i>Of all beasts he learned the language,<br /> +Learned their names and all their secrets,<br /> +How the beavers built their lodges,<br /> +Where the squirrels hid their acorns,<br /> +How the reindeer ran so swiftly,<br /> +Why the rabbit was so timid,<br /> +Talked with them whene'er he met them,<br /> +Called them "Hiawatha's Brothers."</i><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'><i>Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.</i></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p> + +<h2>HIAWATHA'S BROTHERS</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br /><i>My Pony</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +My pony toss'd his sprightly head,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And would have smiled, if smile he could,</span><br /> +To thank me for the slice of bread<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He thinks so delicate and good;</span><br /> +His eye is very bright and wild,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He looks as if he loved me so,</span><br /> +Although I only am a child<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he's a real horse, you know.</span><br /> +<br /> +How charming it would be to rear,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And have hind legs to balance on;</span><br /> +Of hay and oats within the year<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To leisurely devour a ton;</span><br /> +To stoop my head and quench my drouth<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With water in a lovely pail;</span><br /> +To wear a snaffle in my mouth,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fling back my ears, and slash my tail!</span><br /> +<br /> +To gallop madly round a field,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who tries to catch me is a goose,</span><br /> +And then with dignity to yield<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">My stately back for rider's use;</span><br /> +To feel as only horses can,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When matters take their proper course,</span><br /> +And no one notices the man,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While loud applauses greet the horse!</span><br /> +<br /> +He canters fast or ambles slow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And either is a pretty game;</span><br /> +His duties are but pleasures—oh,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I wish that mine were just the same!</span><br /> +Lessons would be another thing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If I might turn from book and scroll,</span><br /> +And learn to gallop round a ring,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As he did when a little foal.</span><br /> +<br /> +It must be charming to be shod,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And beautiful beyond my praise,</span><br /> +When tired of rolling on the sod,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To stand upon all-fours and graze!</span><br /> +Alas! my dreams are weak and wild,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I must not ape my betters so;</span><br /> +Alas! I only am a child,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he's a real horse, you know.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>"A."</div> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span></p> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>On a Spaniel, called Beau,<br /> +Killing a Young Bird</i><br /> +(<small>July 15, 1793</small>)<br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +A Spaniel, Beau, that fares like you,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Well fed, and at his ease,</span><br /> +Should wiser be than to pursue<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Each trifle that he sees.</span><br /> +<br /> +But you have kill'd a tiny bird,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which flew not till to-day,</span><br /> +Against my orders, whom you heard<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Forbidding you the prey.</span><br /> +<br /> +Nor did you kill that you might eat,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And ease a doggish pain,</span><br /> +For him, though chas'd with furious heat<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You left where he was slain.</span><br /> +<br /> +Nor was he of the thievish sort,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or one whom blood allures,</span><br /> +But innocent was all his sport<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whom you have torn for yours.</span><br /> +<br /> +My dog! What remedy remains,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Since, teach you all I can,</span><br /> +I see you, after all my pains,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So much resemble Man?</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>William Cowper.</div> + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span></p> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Beau's Reply</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Sir, when I flew to seize the bird<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In spite of your command,</span><br /> +A louder voice than yours I heard,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And harder to withstand.</span><br /> +<br /> +You cried—forbear!—but in my breast<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A mightier cried—proceed—</span><br /> +'Twas Nature, Sir, whose strong behest<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Impell'd me to the deed.</span><br /> +<br /> +Yet much as Nature I respect,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I ventur'd once to break,</span><br /> +(As you, perhaps, may recollect)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her precept for your sake;</span><br /> +<br /> +And when your linnet on a day,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Passing his prison door,</span><br /> +Had flutter'd all his strength away,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And panting press'd the floor,</span><br /> +<br /> +Well knowing him a sacred thing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not destin'd to my tooth,</span><br /> +I only kiss'd his ruffled wing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And lick'd the feathers smooth.</span><br /> +<br /> +Let my obedience <i>then</i> excuse<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My disobedience <i>now</i>,</span><br /> +Nor some reproof yourself refuse<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">From your aggriev'd Bow-wow;</span><br /> +If killing birds be such a crime,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Which I can hardly see,)</span><br /> +What think you, Sir, of killing Time<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With verse address'd to me?</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>William Cowper.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Seal Lullaby</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem2'> +Oh, hush thee, my baby, the night is behind us,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And black are the waters that sparkled so green,</span><br /> +The moon o'er the combers, looks downward to find us<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At rest in the hollows that rustle between.</span><br /> +Where billow meets billow, there soft be thy pillow;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ah, weary wee flipperling, curl at thy ease!</span><br /> +The storm shall not wake thee, nor shark overtake thee,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Asleep in the arms of the slow-swinging seas.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Rudyard Kipling.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Milking Time</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +When the cows come home the milk is coming;<br /> +Honey's made while the bees are humming;<br /> +Duck and drake on the rushy lake,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span>And the deer live safe in the breezy brake;<br /> +And timid, funny, pert little bunny<br /> +Winks his nose, and sits all sunny.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Christina G. Rossetti.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Thank You, Pretty Cow</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Thank you, pretty cow, that made<br /> +Pleasant milk to soak my bread,<br /> +Every day and every night,<br /> +Warm, and fresh, and sweet, and white.<br /> +<br /> +Do not chew the hemlock rank,<br /> +Growing on the weedy bank;<br /> +But the yellow cowslip eat,<br /> +That will make it very sweet.<br /> +<br /> +Where the purple violet grows,<br /> +Where the bubbling water flows,<br /> +Where the grass is fresh and fine,<br /> +Pretty cow, go there and dine.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Jane Taylor.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Boy and the Sheep</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +"Lazy sheep, pray tell me why<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">In the pleasant field you lie,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Eating grass and daisies white,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">From the morning till the night:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Everything can something do;</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">But what kind of use are you?"</span><br /> +<br /> +"Nay, my little master, nay,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Do not serve me so, I pray!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Don't you see the wool that grows</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">On my back to make your clothes?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Cold, ah, very cold you'd be,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">If you had not wool from me.</span><br /> +<br /> +"True, it seems a pleasant thing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Nipping daisies in the spring;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">But what chilly nights I pass</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">On the cold and dewy grass,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Or pick my scanty dinner where</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">All the ground is brown and bare!</span><br /> +<br /> +"Then the farmer comes at last,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">When the merry spring is past,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Cuts my woolly fleece away,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">For your coat in wintry day.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Little master, this is why</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">In the pleasant fields I lie."</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Ann Taylor.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Lambs in the Meadow</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +O little lambs! the month is cold,<br /> +The sky is very gray;<br /> +You shiver in the misty grass<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span>And bleat at all the winds that pass;<br /> +Wait! when I'm big—some day—<br /> +I'll build a roof to every fold.<br /> +<br /> +But now that I am small I'll pray<br /> +At mother's knee for you;<br /> +Perhaps the angels with their wings;<br /> +Will come and warm you, little things;<br /> +I'm sure that, if God knew,<br /> +He'd let the lambs be born in May.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Laurence Alma Tadema.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Pet Lamb</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem2'> +The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink;<br /> +I heard a voice; it said, "Drink, pretty creature, drink!"<br /> +And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied<br /> +A snow-white mountain-lamb, with a maiden at its side.<br /> +<br /> +Nor sheep nor kine were near; the lamb was all alone,<br /> +And by a slender cord was tethered to a stone.<br /> +With one knee on the grass did the little maiden kneel,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>While to that mountain-lamb she gave its evening meal.<br /> +<br /> +The lamb, while from her hand he thus his supper took,<br /> +Seemed to feast, with head and ears, and his tail with pleasure shook.<br /> +"Drink, pretty creature, drink!" she said, in such a tone<br /> +That I almost received her heart into my own.<br /> +<br /> +'Twas little Barbara Lewthwaite, a child of beauty rare!<br /> +I watched them with delight; they were a lovely pair.<br /> +Now with her empty can the maiden turned away,<br /> +But ere ten yards were gone her footsteps did she stay.<br /> +<br /> +Right toward the lamb she looked; and from a shady place,<br /> +I, unobserved, could see the workings of her face.<br /> +If nature to her tongue could measured numbers bring,<br /> +Thus, thought I, to her lamb that little maid might sing:—<br /> +<br /> +"What ails thee, young one? what? Why pull so at thy cord?<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>Is it not well with thee? well both for bed and board?<br /> +Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be;<br /> +Rest, little young one, rest; what is't that aileth thee?<br /> +<br /> +"What is it thou would'st seek? What is wanting to thy heart?<br /> +Thy limbs, are they not strong? and beautiful thou art.<br /> +This grass is tender grass, these flowers they have no peers,<br /> +And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears.<br /> +<br /> +"If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy woollen chain,—<br /> +This beech is standing by,—its covert thou canst gain.<br /> +For rain and mountain storms, the like thou need'st not fear;<br /> +The rain and storm are things that scarcely can come here.<br /> +<br /> +"Rest, little young one, rest; thou hast forgot the day<br /> +When my father found thee first, in places far away.<br /> +Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert owned by none,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span>And thy mother from thy side forevermore was gone.<br /> +<br /> +"He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee home,—<br /> +A blessed day for thee!—Then whither would'st thou roam?<br /> +A faithful nurse thou hast; the dam that did thee yean<br /> +Upon the mountain-tops no kinder could have been.<br /> +<br /> +"Thou know'st that twice a day I have brought thee in this can<br /> +Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran;<br /> +And twice in the day, when the ground was wet with dew,<br /> +I bring thee draughts of milk,—warm milk it is, and new.<br /> +<br /> +"Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they are now;<br /> +Then I'll yoke thee to my cart, like a pony to the plough,<br /> +My playmate thou shalt be, and when the wind is cold,<br /> +Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be thy fold.<br /> +<br /> +"It will not, will not rest! Poor creature, can it be<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>That 'tis thy mother's heart which is working so in thee?<br /> +Things that I know not of belike to thee are dear,<br /> +And dreams of things which thou canst neither see nor hear.<br /> +<br /> +"Alas, the mountain-tops that look so green and fair!<br /> +I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come there.<br /> +The little brooks, that seem all pastime and all play,<br /> +When they are angry roar like lions for their prey.<br /> +<br /> +"Here thou need'st not dread the raven in the sky;<br /> +Night and day thou art safe—our cottage is hard by.<br /> +Why bleat so after me? why pull so at thy chain?<br /> +Sleep,—and at break of day I will come to thee again!"<br /> +<br /> +As homeward through the lane I went with lazy feet,<br /> +This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat;<br /> +And it seemed, as I retraced the ballad line by line,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span>That but half of it was hers and one half of it was mine.<br /> +<br /> +Again and once again did I repeat the song:<br /> +"Nay," said I, "more than half to the damsel must belong";<br /> +For she looked with such a look, and she spake with such a tone,<br /> +That I almost received her heart into my own.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>William Wordsworth.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Kitten, and Falling Leaves</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +See the kitten on the wall,<br /> +Sporting with the leaves that fall,<br /> +Withered leaves—one—two—and three—<br /> +From the lofty elder tree!<br /> +Through the calm and frosty air<br /> +Of this morning bright and fair,<br /> +Eddying round and round they sink<br /> +Softly, slowly: one might think<br /> +From the motions that are made,<br /> +Every little leaf conveyed<br /> +Sylph or fairy hither tending,<br /> +To this lower world descending,<br /> +Each invisible and mute,<br /> +In his wavering parachute.<br /> +But the kitten, how she starts,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span>Crouches, stretches, paws and darts!<br /> +First at one and then its fellow,<br /> +Just as light and just as yellow;<br /> +There are many now—now one—<br /> +Now they stop and there are none:<br /> +What intenseness of desire<br /> +In her upward eye of fire!<br /> +With a tiger-leap, half-way,<br /> +Now she meets the coming prey;<br /> +Lets it go as fast and then<br /> +Has it in her power again.<br /> +Now she works with three or four,<br /> +Like an Indian conjuror;<br /> +Quick as he in feats of art,<br /> +Far beyond in joy of heart.<br /> + +<b>. . . . . . . .</b><br /> + +</div> + +<div class='signature'>William Wordsworth.</div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p> + +<h2>VI</h2> + +<h2>OTHER LITTLE CHILDREN</h2> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='poem'> +<i>If thou couldst know thine own sweetness,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O little one, perfect and sweet,</span><br /> +Thou wouldst be a child forever;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Completer whilst incomplete.</span></i><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'><i>Francis Turner Palgrave.</i></div> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span></p> + +<h2>OTHER LITTLE CHILDREN</h2> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Where Go the Boats?</i><a name="FNanchor_G_7" id="FNanchor_G_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_G_7" class="fnanchor">[G]</a><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Dark brown is the river,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Golden is the sand.</span><br /> +It flows along forever<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With trees on either hand.</span><br /> +<br /> +Green leaves a-floating,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Castles of the foam,</span><br /> +Boats of mine a-boating—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where will all come home?</span><br /> +<br /> +On goes the river<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And out past the mill,</span><br /> +Away down the valley,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Away down the hill.</span><br /> +<br /> +Away down the river,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A hundred miles or more,</span><br /> +Other little children<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall bring my boats ashore.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Robert Louis Stevenson.</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span></p> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Cleanliness</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Come, my little Robert, near—<br /> +Fie! what filthy hands are here!<br /> +Who, that e'er could understand<br /> +The rare structure of a hand,<br /> +With its branching fingers fine,<br /> +Work itself of hands divine,<br /> +Strong, yet delicately knit,<br /> +For ten thousand uses fit,<br /> +Overlaid with so clear skin<br /> +You may see the blood within,—<br /> +Who this hand would choose to cover<br /> +With a crust of dirt all over,<br /> +Till it look'd in hue and shape<br /> +Like the forefoot of an ape!<br /> +Man or boy that works or plays<br /> +In the fields or the highways,<br /> +May, without offence or hurt,<br /> +From the soil contract a dirt<br /> +Which the next clear spring or river<br /> +Washes out and out for ever—<br /> +But to cherish stains impure,<br /> +Soil deliberate to endure,<br /> +On the skin to fix a stain<br /> +Till it works into the grain,<br /> +Argues a degenerate mind,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>Sordid, slothful, ill-inclined,<br /> +Wanting in that self-respect<br /> +Which does virtue best protect.<br /> +All-endearing cleanliness,<br /> +Virtue next to godliness,<br /> +Easiest, cheapest, needfull'st duty,<br /> +To the body health and beauty;<br /> +Who that's human would refuse it,<br /> +When a little water does it?<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Charles and Mary Lamb.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Wishing</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem2'> +Ring-ting! I wish I were a Primrose,<br /> +A bright yellow Primrose, blowing in the spring!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The stooping bough above me,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The wandering bee to love me,</span><br /> +The fern and moss to creep across,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the Elm-tree for our king!</span><br /> +<br /> +Nay,—stay! I wish I were an Elm-tree,<br /> +A great lofty Elm-tree, with green leaves gay!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The winds would set them dancing,</span><br /> +The sun and moonshine glance in,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And birds would house among the boughs,</span><br /> +And sweetly sing.<br /> +<br /> +Oh—no! I wish I were a Robin,—<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>A Robin, or a little Wren, everywhere to go,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through forest, field, or garden,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And ask no leave or pardon,</span><br /> +Till winter comes with icy thumbs<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To ruffle up our wing!</span><br /> +<br /> +Well,—tell! where should I fly to,<br /> +Where go sleep in the dark wood or dell?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Before the day was over,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Home must come the rover,</span><br /> +For mother's kiss,—sweeter this<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than any other thing.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>William Allingham.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Boy</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +The Boy from his bedroom window<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Look'd over the little town,</span><br /> +And away to the bleak black upland<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Under a clouded moon.</span><br /> +<br /> +The moon came forth from her cavern.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He saw the sudden gleam</span><br /> +Of a tarn in the swarthy moorland;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or perhaps the whole was a dream.</span><br /> +<br /> +For I never could find that water<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In all my walks and rides:</span><br /> +Far-off, in the Land of Memory,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">That midnight pool abides.</span><br /> +<br /> +Many fine things had I glimpse of,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And said, "I shall find them one day."</span><br /> +Whether within or without me<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They were, I cannot say.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>William Allingham.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Infant Joy</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +"I have no name,<br /> +I am but two days old."<br /> +What shall I call thee?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">"I happy am,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Joy is my name."</span><br /> +Sweet joy befall thee!<br /> +<br /> +Pretty joy!<br /> +Sweet joy but two days old!<br /> +Sweet joy I call thee.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Thou dost smile,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">I sing the while.</span><br /> +Sweet joy befall thee!<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>William Blake</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>A Blessing for the Blessed</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +When the sun has left the hill-top<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And the daisy fringe is furled,</span><br /> +When the birds from wood and meadow<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">In their hidden nests are curled,</span><br /> +Then I think of all the babies<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">That are sleeping in the world.</span><br /> +<br /> +There are babies in the high lands<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And babies in the low,</span><br /> +There are pale ones wrapped in furry skins<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">On the margin of the snow,</span><br /> +And brown ones naked in the isles<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Where all the spices grow.</span><br /> +<br /> +And some are in the palace<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">On a white and downy bed,</span><br /> +And some are in the garret<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">With a clout beneath their head,</span><br /> +And some are on the cold hard earth,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Whose mothers have no bread.</span><br /> +<br /> +O little men and women,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Dear flowers yet unblown—</span><br /> +O little kings and beggars<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Of the pageant yet unshown—</span><br /> +Sleep soft and dream pale dreams now,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">To-morrow is your own.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Laurence Alma Tadema.</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Piping Down the Valleys Wild</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Piping down the valleys wild,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Piping songs of pleasant glee,</span><br /> +On a cloud I saw a child,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he, laughing, said to me:</span><br /> +<br /> +"Pipe a song about a lamb."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So I piped with merry cheer.</span><br /> +"Piper, pipe that song again."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So I piped; he wept to hear.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sing thy songs of happy cheer."</span><br /> +So I sang the same again,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While he wept with joy to hear.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Piper, sit thee down and write,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In a book, that all may read."—</span><br /> +So he vanished from my sight,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I plucked a hollow reed,</span><br /> +<br /> +And I made a rural pen;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I stained the water clear</span><br /> +And I wrote my happy songs<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Every child may joy to hear.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>William Blake.</div> + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></p> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>A Sleeping Child</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem2'> +Lips, lips, open!<br /> +Up comes a little bird that lives inside,<br /> +Up comes a little bird, and peeps, and out he flies.<br /> +<br /> +All the day he sits inside, and sometimes he sings;<br /> +Up he comes and out he goes at night to spread his wings.<br /> +<br /> +Little bird, little bird, whither will you go?<br /> +Round about the world while nobody can know.<br /> +<br /> +Little bird, little bird, whither do you flee?<br /> +Far away round the world while nobody can see.<br /> +<br /> +Little bird, little bird, how long will you roam?<br /> +All round the world and around again home.<br /> +<br /> +Round the round world, and back through the air,<br /> +When the morning comes, the little bird is there.<br /> +<br /> +Back comes the little bird, and looks, and in he flies.<br /> +Up wakes the little boy, and opens both his eyes.<br /> +<br /> +Sleep, sleep, little boy, little bird's away,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>Little bird will come again by the peep of day;<br /> +<br /> +Sleep, sleep, little boy, little bird must go<br /> +Round about the world, while nobody can know.<br /> +<br /> +Sleep, sleep sound, little bird goes round,<br /> +Round and round he goes,—sleep, sleep sound!<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Arthur Hugh Clough.</div> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Birdies with Broken Wings</i><a name="FNanchor_H_8" id="FNanchor_H_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_H_8" class="fnanchor">[H]</a><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Birdies with broken wings,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hide from each other;</span><br /> +But babies in trouble<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Can run home to mother.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Mary Mapes Dodge.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Seven Times One</i><br /> + +<i><small>Exultation</small></i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem2'> +There's no dew left on the daisies and clover,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There's no rain left in heaven;</span><br /> +I've said my "seven times" over and over—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Seven times one are seven.</span><br /> +<br /> +I am old! so old I can write a letter;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My birthday lessons are done:</span><br /> +The lambs play always, they know no better;<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">They are only one times one.</span><br /> +<br /> +O Moon! in the night I have seen you sailing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And shining so round and low;</span><br /> +You were bright! ah, bright! but your light is failing;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You are nothing now but a bow.</span><br /> +<br /> +You Moon! have you done something wrong in heaven,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That God has hidden your face?</span><br /> +I hope, if you have, you will soon be forgiven,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And shine again in your place.</span><br /> +<br /> +O velvet Bee! you're a dusty fellow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You've powdered your legs with gold;</span><br /> +O brave marsh Mary-buds, rich and yellow!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Give me your money to hold.</span><br /> +<br /> +O Columbine! open your folded wrapper<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where two twin turtle-doves dwell;</span><br /> +O Cuckoo-pint! toll me the purple clapper,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That hangs in your clear, green bell.</span><br /> +<br /> +And show me your nest with the young ones in it—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I will not steal them away,</span><br /> +I am old! you may trust me, Linnet, Linnet,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I am seven times one to-day.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Jean Ingelow.</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span></p> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>I Remember, I Remember</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +I remember, I remember,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The house where I was born;</span><br /> +The little window where the sun<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Came peeping in at morn;</span><br /> +He never came a wink too soon,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor brought too long a day;</span><br /> +But now I often wish the night<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Had borne my breath away!</span><br /> +<br /> +I remember, I remember,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The roses, red and white,</span><br /> +The violets, and the lily-cups—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Those flowers made of light!</span><br /> +The lilacs where the robin built,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And where my brother set</span><br /> +The laburnum, on his birthday,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The tree is living yet!</span><br /> +<br /> +I remember, I remember,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where I was used to swing,</span><br /> +And thought the air must rush as fresh<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To swallows on the wing;</span><br /> +My spirit flew in feathers then,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That is so heavy now.</span><br /> +And summer pools could hardly cool<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">The fever on my brow!</span><br /> +<br /> +I remember, I remember,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The fir trees dark and high;</span><br /> +I used to think their slender tops<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were close against the sky;</span><br /> +It was a childish ignorance,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But now 'tis little joy</span><br /> +To know I'm farther off from heav'n<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than when I was a boy.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Thomas Hood.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Good-night and Good-morning</i><br /><br /></div> + +<div class='poem2'> +A fair little girl sat under a tree<br /> +Sewing as long as her eyes could see;<br /> +Then smoothed her work and folded it right,<br /> +And said, "Dear work, good-night, good-night!"<br /> +<br /> +Such a number of rooks came over her head<br /> +Crying, "Caw, caw!" on their way to bed;<br /> +She said, as she watched their curious flight,<br /> +"Little black things, good-night, good-night!"<br /> +<br /> +The horses neighed, and the oxen lowed;<br /> +The sheep's "Bleat, bleat!" came over the road.<br /> +All seeming to say, with a quiet delight,<br /> +"Good little girl, good-night, good-night!"<br /> +<br /> +She did not say to the sun, "Good-night!"<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>Though she saw him there like a ball of light;<br /> +For she knew he had God's own time to keep<br /> +All over the world, and never could sleep.<br /> +<br /> +The tall, pink Fox-glove bowed his head—<br /> +The Violets curtsied, and went to bed;<br /> +And good little Lucy tied up her hair,<br /> +And said, on her knees, her favorite prayer.<br /> +<br /> +And while on her pillow she softly lay,<br /> +She knew nothing more till again it was day,<br /> +And all things said to the beautiful sun,<br /> +"Good-morning, good-morning! our work is begun."<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'> +Lord Houghton.<br /> +(Richard Monckton Milnes.)<br /> +</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Little Children</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Sporting through the forest wide;<br /> +Playing by the waterside;<br /> +Wandering o'er the heathy fells;<br /> +Down within the woodland dells;<br /> +All among the mountains wild,<br /> +Dwelleth many a little child!<br /> +In the baron's hall of pride;<br /> +By the poor man's dull fireside:<br /> +'Mid the mighty, 'mid the mean,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span>Little children may be seen,<br /> +Like the flowers that spring up fair,<br /> +Bright and countless everywhere!<br /> +In the far isles of the main;<br /> +In the desert's lone domain;<br /> +In the savage mountain-glen,<br /> +'Mong the tribes of swarthy men;<br /> +Whereso'er the sun hath shone<br /> +On a league of people'd ground,<br /> +Little children may be found!<br /> +Blessings on them! they in me<br /> +Move a kindly sympathy,<br /> +With their wishes, hopes, and fears;<br /> +With their laughter and their tears;<br /> +With their wonder so intense,<br /> +And their small experience!<br /> +Little children, not alone<br /> +On the wide earth are ye known,<br /> +'Mid its labours and its cares,<br /> +'Mid its sufferings and its snares;<br /> +Free from sorrow, free from strife,<br /> +In the world of love and life,<br /> +Where no sinful thing hath trod—<br /> +In the presence of your God,<br /> +Spotless, blameless, glorified—<br /> +Little children, ye abide!<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Mary Howitt.</div> + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span></p> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Angel's Whisper</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem2'> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">A baby was sleeping;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Its mother was weeping;</span><br /> +For her husband was far on the wild raging sea;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">And the tempest was swelling</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Round the fisherman's dwelling,</span><br /> +And she cried, "Dermot, darling, Oh, come back to me!"<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Her beads while she numbered</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">The baby still slumbered,</span><br /> +And smiled in her face as she bended her knee.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"Oh, blest be that warning,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Thy sweet sleep adorning,</span><br /> +For I know that the angels are whispering to thee!<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"And while they are keeping</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Bright watch o'er thy sleeping,</span><br /> +Oh, pray to them softly, my baby, with me!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">And say thou would'st rather</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">They'd watch o'er thy father,</span><br /> +For I know that the angels are whispering to thee."<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">The dawn of the morning</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Saw Dermot returning,</span><br /> +And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">And closely caressing</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Her child with a blessing,</span><br /> +Said, "I knew that the angels were whispering to thee."<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Samuel Lover.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Little Garaine</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +"Where do the stars grow, little Garaine?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The garden of moons is it far away?</span><br /> +The orchard of suns, my little Garaine,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will you take us there some day?"</span><br /> +<br /> +"If you shut your eyes," quoth little Garaine,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I will show you the way to go</span><br /> +To the orchard of suns and the garden of moons<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the field where the stars do grow.</span><br /> +<br /> +"But you must speak soft," quoth little Garaine<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"And still must your footsteps be,</span><br /> +For a great bear prowls in the field of stars,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the moons they have men to see.</span><br /> +<br /> +"And the suns have the Children of Signs to guard,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And they have no pity at all——</span><br /> +You must not stumble, you must not speak,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">When you come to the orchard wall.</span><br /> +<br /> +"The gates are locked," quoth little Garaine,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"But the way I am going to tell!</span><br /> +The key of your heart it will open them all<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And there's where the darlings dwell!"</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Sir Gilbert Parker.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>A Letter</i></div> + +<div class='center'><i><small>(To Lady Margaret Cavendish Holles-Harley, when a +Child)</small></i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +My noble, lovely, little Peggy,<br /> +Let this my First Epistle beg ye,<br /> +At dawn of morn, and close of even,<br /> +To lift your heart and hands to Heaven.<br /> +In double duty say your prayer:<br /> +<i>Our Father</i> first, then <i>Notre Père</i>.<br /> +<br /> +And, dearest child, along the day,<br /> +In every thing you do and say,<br /> +Obey and please my lord and lady,<br /> +So God shall love and angels aid ye.<br /> +<br /> +If to these precepts you attend,<br /> +No second letter need I send,<br /> +And so I rest your constant friend.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Matthew Prior.</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Love and the Child</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Toys, and treats, and pleasures pass<br /> +Like a shadow in a glass,<br /> +Like the smoke that mounts on high,<br /> +Like a noonday's butterfly.<br /> +<br /> +Quick they come and quick they end,<br /> +Like the money that I spend;<br /> +Some to-day, to-morrow more,<br /> +Short, like those that went before.<br /> +<br /> +Mother, fold me to your knees!<br /> +How much should I care for these—<br /> +Little joys that come and go!<br /> +If you did not love me so?<br /> +<br /> +And when things are sad or wrong,<br /> +Then I know that love is strong;<br /> +When I ache, or when I weep,<br /> +Then I know that love is deep.<br /> +<br /> +Father, now my prayer is said,<br /> +Lay your hand upon my head!<br /> +Pleasures pass from day to day,<br /> +But I know that love will stay.<br /> +<br /> +While I sleep it will be near;<br /> +I shall wake and find it here;<br /> +I shall feel it in the air<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span>When I say my morning prayer.<br /> +<br /> +Maker of this little heart!<br /> +Lord of love I know thou art!<br /> +Little heart! though thou forget,<br /> +Still the love is round thee set.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>William Brighty Rands.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Polly</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Brown eyes, straight nose;<br /> +Dirt pies, rumpled clothes.<br /> +<br /> +Torn books, spoilt toys:<br /> +Arch looks, unlike a boy's;<br /> +<br /> +Little rages, obvious arts;<br /> +(Three her age is), cakes, tarts;<br /> +<br /> +Falling down off chairs;<br /> +Breaking crown down stairs;<br /> +<br /> +Catching flies on the pane;<br /> +Deep sighs—cause not plain;<br /> +<br /> +Bribing you with kisses<br /> +For a few farthing blisses.<br /> +<br /> +Wide-a-wake; as you hear,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span>"Mercy's sake, quiet, dear!"<br /> +<br /> +New shoes, new frock;<br /> +Vague views of what's o'clock<br /> +<br /> +When it's time to go to bed,<br /> +And scorn sublime for what is said.<br /> +<br /> +Folded hands, saying prayers,<br /> +Understands not nor cares—<br /> +<br /> +Thinks it odd, smiles away;<br /> +Yet may God hear her pray!<br /> +<br /> +Bed gown white, kiss Dolly;<br /> +Good night!—that's Polly,<br /> +<br /> +Fast asleep, as you see,<br /> +Heaven keep my girl for me!<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>William Brighty Rands.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>A Chill</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +What can lambkins do<br /> +All the keen night through?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nestle by their woolly mother</span><br /> +The careful ewe.<br /> +<br /> +What can nestlings do<br /> +In the nightly dew?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sleep beneath their mother's wing</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span>Till day breaks anew.<br /> +<br /> +If in field or tree<br /> +There might only be<br /> +Such a warm soft sleeping-place<br /> +Found for me!<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Christina G. Rossetti.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>A Child's Laughter</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +All the bells of heaven may ring,<br /> +All the birds of heaven may sing,<br /> +All the wells on earth may spring,<br /> +All the winds on earth may bring<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">All sweet sounds together;</span><br /> +Sweeter far than all things heard,<br /> +Hand of harper, tone of bird,<br /> +Sound of woods at sundawn stirred,<br /> +Welling water's winsome word,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Wind in warm, wan weather.</span><br /> +<br /> +One thing yet there is that none<br /> +Hearing, ere its chime be done<br /> +Knows not well the sweetest one<br /> +Heard of man beneath the sun,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Hoped in heaven hereafter;</span><br /> +Soft and strong and loud and light,<br /> +Very sound of very light,<br /> +Heard from morning's rosiest height,<br /> +When the soul of all delight<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Fills a child's clear laughter.</span><br /> +<br /> +Golden bells of welcome rolled<br /> +Never forth such note, nor told<br /> +Hours so blithe in tones so bold,<br /> +As the radiant month of gold<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Here that rings forth heaven.</span><br /> +If the golden-crested wren<br /> +Were a nightingale—why, then<br /> +Something seen and heard of men<br /> +Might be half as sweet as when<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Laughs a child of seven.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Algernon C. Swinburne.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The World's Music</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +The world's a very happy place,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where every child should dance and sing,</span><br /> +And always have a smiling face,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And never sulk for anything.</span><br /> +<br /> +I waken when the morning's come,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And feel the air and light alive</span><br /> +With strange sweet music like the hum<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of bees about their busy hive.</span><br /> +<br /> +The linnets play among the leaves<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At hide-and-seek, and chirp and sing;</span><br /> +While, flashing to and from the eaves,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">The swallows twitter on the wing.</span><br /> +<br /> +And twigs that shake, and boughs that sway;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And tall old trees you could not climb;</span><br /> +And winds that come, but cannot stay,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are singing gayly all the time.</span><br /> +<br /> +From dawn to dark the old mill-wheel<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Makes music, going round and round;</span><br /> +And dusty-white with flour and meal,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The miller whistles to its sound.</span><br /> +<br /> +The brook that flows beside the mill,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As happy as a brook can be,</span><br /> +Goes singing its old song until<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It learns the singing of the sea.</span><br /> +<br /> +For every wave upon the sands<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sings songs you never tire to hear,</span><br /> +Of laden ships from sunny lands<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where it is summer all the year.</span><br /> +<br /> +And if you listen to the rain<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where leaves and birds and bees are dumb,</span><br /> +You hear it pattering on the pane<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like Andrew beating on his drum.</span><br /> +<br /> +The coals beneath the kettle croon,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And clap their hands and dance in glee;</span><br /> +And even the kettle hums a tune<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">To tell you when it's time for tea.</span><br /> +<br /> +The world is such a happy place<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That children, whether big or small,</span><br /> +Should always have a smiling face<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And never, never sulk at all.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Gabriel Setoun.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Little Land</i><a name="FNanchor_I_9" id="FNanchor_I_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_I_9" class="fnanchor">[I]</a><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +When at home alone I sit<br /> +And am very tired of it,<br /> +I have just to shut my eyes<br /> +To go sailing through the skies—<br /> +To go sailing far away<br /> +To the pleasant Land of Play;<br /> +To the fairy land afar<br /> +Where the Little People are;<br /> +Where the clover-tops are trees,<br /> +And the rain-pools are the seas,<br /> +And the leaves like little ships<br /> +Sail about on tiny trips;<br /> +And above the daisy tree<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Through the grasses,</span><br /> +High o'erhead the Bumble Bee<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Hums and passes.</span><br /> +<br /> +In that forest to and fro<br /> +I can wander, I can go;<br /> +See the spider and the fly,<br /> +And the ants go marching by<br /> +Carrying parcels with their feet<br /> +Down the green and grassy street.<br /> +I can in the sorrel sit<br /> +Where the ladybird alit.<br /> +I can climb the jointed grass;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And on high</span><br /> +See the greater swallows pass<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In the sky,</span><br /> +And the round sun rolling by<br /> +Heeding no such thing as I.<br /> +<br /> +Through the forest I can pass<br /> +Till, as in a looking-glass,<br /> +Humming fly and daisy tree<br /> +And my tiny self I see,<br /> +Painted very clear and neat<br /> +On the rain-pool at my feet.<br /> +Should a leaflet come to land<br /> +Drifting near to where I stand,<br /> +Straight I'll board that tiny boat<br /> +Round the rain-pool sea to float.<br /> +<br /> +Little thoughtful creatures sit<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span>On the grassy coasts of it;<br /> +Little things with lovely eyes<br /> +See me sailing with surprise.<br /> +Some are clad in armour green—<br /> +(These have sure to battle been!)<br /> +Some are pied with ev'ry hue,<br /> +Black and crimson, gold and blue;<br /> +Some have wings and swift are gone:—<br /> +But they all look kindly on.<br /> +<br /> +When my eyes I once again<br /> +Open and see all things plain;<br /> +High bare walls, great bare floor;<br /> +Great big knobs on drawer and door;<br /> +Great big people perched on chairs,<br /> +Stitching tucks and mending tears,<br /> +Each a hill that I could climb,<br /> +And talking nonsense all the time—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O dear me,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That I could be</span><br /> +A sailor on the rain-pool sea,<br /> +A climber in the clover-tree,<br /> +And just come back, a sleepy-head,<br /> +Late at night to go to bed.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Robert Louis Stevenson.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>In a Garden</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Baby, see the flowers!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Baby sees</span><br /> +Fairer things than these,<br /> +Fairer though they be than dreams of ours.<br /> +<br /> +Baby, hear the birds!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Baby knows</span><br /> +Better songs than those,<br /> +Sweeter though they sound than sweetest words.<br /> +<br /> +Baby, see the moon!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Baby's eyes</span><br /> +Laugh to watch it rise,<br /> +Answering light with love and night with noon.<br /> +<br /> +Baby, hear the sea!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Baby's face</span><br /> +Takes a graver grace,<br /> +Touched with wonder what the sound may be.<br /> +<br /> +Baby, see the star!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Baby's hand</span><br /> +Opens, warm and bland,<br /> +Calm in claim of all things fair that are.<br /> +<br /> +Baby, hear the bells!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Baby's head</span><br /> +Bows as ripe for bed,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span>Now the flowers curl round and close their cells.<br /> +<br /> +Baby, flower of light,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sleep and see</span><br /> +Brighter dreams than we,<br /> +Till good day shall smile away good night.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Algernon Charles Swinburne</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Little Gustava</i></div> + +<div class='center'>I<br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem2'> +Little Gustava sits in the sun,<br /> +Safe in the porch, and the little drops run<br /> +From the icicles under the eaves so fast,<br /> +For the bright spring sun shines warm at last,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And glad is little Gustava.</span><br /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br />II<br /><br /></div> + +<div class='poem2'> +She wears a quaint little scarlet cap,<br /> +And a little green bowl she holds in her lap,<br /> +Filled with bread and milk to the brim,<br /> +And a wreath of marigolds round the rim.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Ha! ha!" laughs little Gustava.</span><br /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br />III<br /><br /></div> + +<div class='poem2'> +Up comes her little gray coaxing cat<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span>With her little pink nose, and she mews, "What's that?"<br /> +Gustava feeds her,—she begs for more;<br /> +And a little brown hen walks in at the door<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">"Good day!" cries little Gustava.</span><br /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br />IV<br /><br /></div> + +<div class='poem2'> +She scatters crumbs for the little brown hen.<br /> +There comes a rush and a flutter, and then<br /> +Down fly her little white doves so sweet,<br /> +With their snowy wings and crimson feet:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Welcome!" cries little Gustava.</span><br /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br />V<br /><br /></div> + +<div class='poem2'> +So dainty and eager they pick up the crumbs.<br /> +But who is this through the doorway comes?<br /> +Little Scotch terrier, little dog Rags,<br /> +Looks in her face, and his funny tail wags:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Ha, ha!" laughs little Gustava.</span><br /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br />VI<br /><br /></div> + +<div class='poem2'> +"You want some breakfast too?" and down<br /> +She sets her bowl on brick floor brown;<br /> +And little dog Rags drinks up her milk,<br /> +While she strokes his shaggy locks like silk:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Dear Rags!" says little Gustava.</span><br /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br />VII<br /><br /></div> + +<div class='poem2'> +Waiting without stood sparrow and crow,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>Cooling their feet in the melting snow:<br /> +"Won't you come in, good folk?" she cried.<br /> +But they were too bashful, and stood outside<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Though "Pray come in!" cried Gustava.</span><br /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br />VIII<br /><br /></div> + +<div class='poem2'> +So the last she threw them, and knelt on the mat<br /> +With doves and biddy and dog and cat.<br /> +And her mother came to the open house-door<br /> +"Dear little daughter, I bring you some more.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My merry little Gustava!"</span><br /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br />IX<br /><br /></div> + +<div class='poem2'> +Kitty and terrier, biddy and doves,<br /> +All things harmless Gustava loves.<br /> +The shy, kind creatures 'tis joy to feed,<br /> +And oh her breakfast is sweet indeed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To happy little Gustava!</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Celia Thaxter.</div> + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span></p> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>A Bunch of Roses</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +The rosy mouth and rosy toe<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Of little baby brother,</span><br /> +Until about a month ago<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Had never met each other;</span><br /> +But nowadays the neighbours sweet,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">In every sort of weather,</span><br /> +Half way with rosy fingers meet,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">To kiss and play together.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>John B. Tabb.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Child</i><br /> + +<i><small>At Bethlehem</small></i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem2'> +Long, long before the Babe could speak,<br /> +When he would kiss his mother's cheek<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And to her bosom press,</span><br /> +The brightest angels standing near<br /> +Would turn away to hide a tear—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">For they are motherless.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>John B. Tabb</div> + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span></p> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>After the Storm</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +And when,—its force expended,<br /> +The harmless storm was ended,<br /> +And as the sunrise splendid<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Came blushing o'er the sea—</span><br /> +I thought, as day was breaking,<br /> +My little girls were waking,<br /> +And smiling and making<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">A prayer at home for me.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>William Makepeace Thackeray.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Lucy Gray</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And, when I crossed the wild,</span><br /> +I chanced to see at break of day<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The solitary child.</span><br /> +<br /> +No mate, no comrade, Lucy knew;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She dwelt on a wide moor,—</span><br /> +The sweetest thing that ever grew<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beside a human door!</span><br /> +<br /> +You yet may spy the fawn at play,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The hare upon the green;</span><br /> +But the sweet face of Lucy Gray<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will never more be seen.</span><br /> +<br /> +"To-night will be a stormy night—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You to the town must go:</span><br /> +And take a lantern, child, to light<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your mother through the snow."</span><br /> +<br /> +"That, father, will I gladly do:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Tis scarcely afternoon—</span><br /> +The minster-clock has just struck two;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And yonder is the moon."</span><br /> +<br /> +At this the father raised his hook,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And snapped a faggot-band;</span><br /> +He plied his work;—and Lucy took<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The lantern in her hand.</span><br /> +<br /> +Not blither is the mountain roe:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With many a wanton stroke</span><br /> +Her feet disperse the powdery snow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That rises up like smoke.</span><br /> +<br /> +The storm came on before its time<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She wandered up and down;</span><br /> +And many a hill did Lucy climb,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But never reached the town.</span><br /> +<br /> +The wretched parents all that night<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Went shouting far and wide;</span><br /> +But there was neither sound nor sight<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">To serve them for a guide.</span><br /> +<br /> +At daybreak on a hill they stood<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That overlooked the moor;</span><br /> +And thence they saw the bridge of wood,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A furlong from their door.</span><br /> +<br /> +They wept—and, turning homeward, cried,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"In heaven we all shall meet!"</span><br /> +When in the snow the mother spied<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The print of Lucy's feet.</span><br /> +<br /> +Then downwards from the steep hill's edge<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They tracked the footmarks small;</span><br /> +And through the broken hawthorn hedge,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And by the low stone wall:</span><br /> +<br /> +And then an open field they crossed;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The marks were still the same;</span><br /> +They tracked them on, nor ever lost;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And to the bridge they came.</span><br /> +<br /> +They follow from the snowy bank<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Those footmarks, one by one,</span><br /> +Into the middle of the plank;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And further there were none!</span><br /> +<br /> +—Yet some maintain that to this day<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She is a living child;</span><br /> +That you may see sweet Lucy Gray<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon the lonesome wild.</span><br /> +<br /> +O'er rough and smooth she trips along,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And never looks behind;</span><br /> +And sings a solitary song<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That whistles in the wind.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>William Wordsworth</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Deaf and Dumb</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem2'> +He lies on the grass, looking up to the sky;<br /> +Blue butterflies pass like a breath or a sigh,<br /> +The shy little hare runs confidingly near,<br /> +And wise rabbits stare with inquiry, not fear:<br /> +Gay squirrels have found him and made him their choice;<br /> +All creatures flock round him, and seem to rejoice.<br /> +<br /> +Wild ladybirds leap on his cheek fresh and fair,<br /> +Young partridges creep, nestling under his hair,<br /> +Brown honey-bees drop something sweet on his lips,<br /> +Rash grasshoppers hop on his round finger-tips,<br /> +Birds hover above him with musical call;<br /> +All things seem to love him, and he loves them all.<br /> +<br /> +Is nothing afraid of the boy lying there?<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span>Would all nature aid if he wanted its care?<br /> +Things timid and wild with soft eagerness come.<br /> +Ah, poor little child!—he is deaf—he is dumb.<br /> +But what can have brought them? but how can they know?<br /> +What instinct has taught them to cherish him so?<br /> +<br /> +Since first he could walk they have served him like this.<br /> +His lips could not talk, but they found they could kiss.<br /> +They made him a court, and they crowned him a king;<br /> +Ah, who could have thought of so lovely a thing?<br /> +They found him so pretty, they gave him their hearts,<br /> +And some divine pity has taught them their parts!<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>"A."</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Blind Boy</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +O, say, what is that thing called Light,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which I must ne'er enjoy?</span><br /> +What are the blessings of the sight?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O tell your poor blind boy!</span><br /> +<br /> +You talk of wondrous things you see;<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">You say the sun shines bright;</span><br /> +I feel him warm, but how can he<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Make either day or night?</span><br /> +<br /> +My day and night myself I make,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whene'er I sleep or play,</span><br /> +And could I always keep awake,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With me 'twere always day.</span><br /> +<br /> +With heavy sighs I often hear<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You mourn my hapless woe;</span><br /> +But sure with patience I can bear<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A loss I ne'er can know.</span><br /> +<br /> +Then let not what I cannot have<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My peace of mind destroy;</span><br /> +Whilst thus I sing, I am a king,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Although a poor blind boy!</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Colley Cibber.</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>VII</h2><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>PLAY-TIME</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<div class='poem'> +<i>The world's a very happy place,</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Where every child should dance and sing,</i></span><br /> +<i>And always have a smiling face,</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>And never sulk for anything.</i></span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'><i>Gabriel Setoun.</i></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span></p> + +<h2>PLAY-TIME</h2> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>A Boy's Song</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Where the pools are bright and deep,<br /> +Where the gray trout lies asleep,<br /> +Up the river and o'er the lea,<br /> +That's the way for Billy and me.<br /> +<br /> +Where the blackbird sings the latest,<br /> +Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest,<br /> +Where the nestlings chirp and flee,<br /> +That's the way for Billy and me.<br /> +<br /> +Where the mowers mow the cleanest,<br /> +Where the hay lies thick and greenest,<br /> +There to trace the homeward bee,<br /> +That's the way for Billy and me.<br /> +<br /> +Where the hazel bank is steepest,<br /> +Where the shadow falls the deepest,<br /> +Where the clustering nuts fall free,<br /> +That's the way for Billy and me.<br /> +<br /> +Why the boys should drive away<br /> +Little sweet maidens from the play,<br /> +Or love to banter and fight so well,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span>That's the thing I never could tell.<br /> +<br /> +But this I know, I love to play,<br /> +Through the meadow, among the hay,<br /> +Up the water and o'er the lea,<br /> +That's the way for Billy and me.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>James Hogg (The Ettrick Shepherd).</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Lost Doll</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +I once had a sweet little doll, dears,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The prettiest doll in the world;</span><br /> +Her cheeks were so red and white, dears,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And her hair was so charmingly curled.</span><br /> +But I lost my poor little doll, dears,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As I played on the heath one day;</span><br /> +And I cried for her more than a week, dears,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I never could find where she lay.</span><br /> +<br /> +I found my poor little doll, dears,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As I played on the heath one day;</span><br /> +Folks say she is terribly changed, dears,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For her paint is all washed away,</span><br /> +And her arms trodden off by the cows, dears,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And her hair not the least bit curled;</span><br /> +Yet for old sake's sake, she is still, dears,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The prettiest doll in the world.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Charles Kingsley</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span></p> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Dolladine</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +This is her picture—Dolladine—<br /> +The beautifullest doll that ever was seen!<br /> +Oh, what nosegays! Oh, what sashes!<br /> +Oh, what beautiful eyes and lashes!<br /> +<br /> +Oh, what a precious perfect pet!<br /> +On each instep a pink rosette;<br /> +Little blue shoes for her little blue tots;<br /> +Elegant ribbons in bows and knots.<br /> +<br /> +Her hair is powdered; her arms are straight,<br /> +Only feel, she is quite a weight!<br /> +Her legs are limp, though;—stand up, miss!—<br /> +What a beautiful buttoned-up mouth to kiss!<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>William Brighty Rands.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Dressing the Doll</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +This is the way we dress the Doll:—<br /> +You may make her a shepherdess, the Doll,<br /> +If you give her a crook with a pastoral hook,<br /> +But this is the way we dress the Doll.<br /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br /><span class="smcap">Chorus</span>.<br /><br /></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Bless the Doll, you may press the Doll,<br /> +But do not crumple and mess the Doll!<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span>This is the way we dress the Doll.<br /> +First, you observe her little chemise,<br /> +As white as milk, with ruches of silk;<br /> +And the little drawers that cover her knees.<br /> +As she sits or stands, with golden bands,<br /> +And lace in beautiful filagrees.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><span class="smcap">Chorus</span>.<br /><br /></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Bless the Doll, you may press the Doll,<br /> +But do not crumple or mess the Doll!<br /> +This is the way we dress the Doll.<br /> +<br /> +Now these are the bodies: she has two,<br /> +One of pink, with ruches of blue,<br /> +And sweet white lace; be careful, do!<br /> +And one of green, with buttons of sheen,<br /> +Buttons and bands of gold, I mean,<br /> +With lace on the border in lovely order,<br /> +The most expensive we can afford her!<br /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><span class="smcap">Chorus</span>.<br /><br /></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Bless the Doll, you may press the Doll,<br /> +But do not crumple or mess the Doll!<br /> +This is the way we dress the Doll.<br /> +<br /> +Then, with black at the border, jacket<br /> +And this—and this—she will not lack it;<br /> +Skirts? Why, there are skirts, of course,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span>And shoes and stockings we shall enforce,<br /> +With a proper bodice, in the proper place<br /> +(Stays that lace have had their days<br /> +And made their martyrs); likewise garters,<br /> +All entire. But our desire<br /> +Is to show you her night attire,<br /> +At least a part of it. Pray admire<br /> +This sweet white thing that she goes to bed in!<br /> +It's not the one that's made for her wedding;<br /> +<i>That</i> is special, a new design,<br /> +Made with a charm and a countersign,<br /> +Three times three and nine times nine:<br /> +These are only her usual clothes:<br /> +Look, <i>there's</i> a wardrobe! gracious knows<br /> +It's pretty enough, as far as it goes!<br /> +<br /> +So you see the way we dress the Doll:<br /> +You might make her a shepherdess, the Doll,<br /> +If you gave her a crook with a pastoral hook,<br /> +With sheep, and a shed, and a shallow brook,<br /> +And all that, out of the poetry-book.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><span class="smcap">Chorus</span>.<br /><br /></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Bless the Doll, you may press the Doll,<br /> +But do not crumple and mess the Doll!<br /> +This is the way we dress the Doll;<br /> +If you had not seen, could you guess the Doll?<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>William Brighty Rands.</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Pedlar's Caravan</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +I wish I lived in a caravan,<br /> +With a horse to drive, like a pedlar-man!<br /> +Where he comes from nobody knows,<br /> +Or where he goes to, but on he goes!<br /> +<br /> +His caravan has windows two,<br /> +And a chimney of tin, that the smoke comes through;<br /> +He has a wife, with a baby brown,<br /> +And they go riding from town to town.<br /> +<br /> +Chairs to mend, and delf to sell!<br /> +He clashes the basins like a bell;<br /> +Tea-trays, baskets ranged in order,<br /> +Plates with the alphabet round the border!<br /> +<br /> +The roads are brown, and the sea is green,<br /> +But his house is just like a bathing-machine;<br /> +The world is round, and he can ride,<br /> +Rumble and splash, to the other side!<br /> +<br /> +With the pedlar-man I should like to roam,<br /> +And write a book when I came home;<br /> +All the people would read my book,<br /> +Just like the Travels of Captain Cook!<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>William Brighty Rands.</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>A Sea-Song from the Shore</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Hail! Ho!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Sail! Ho!</span><br /> +Ahoy! Ahoy! Ahoy!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Who calls to me,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">So far at sea?</span><br /> +Only a little boy!<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Sail! Ho!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Hail! Ho!</span><br /> +The sailor he sails the sea:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I wish he would capture a little sea-horse</span><br /> +And send him home to me.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I wish, as he sails</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Through the tropical gales,</span><br /> +He would catch me a sea-bird, too,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">With its silver wings</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And the song it sings,</span><br /> +And its breast of down and dew!<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I wish he would catch me a</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Little mermaid,</span><br /> +Some island where he lands,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">With her dripping curls,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And her crown of pearls,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span>And the looking-glass in her hands!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Hail! Ho!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Sail! Ho!</span><br /> +Sail far o'er the fabulous main!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And if I were a sailor,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I'd sail with you,</span><br /> +Though I never sailed back again.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>James Whitcomb Riley.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Land of Story-Books</i><a name="FNanchor_J_10" id="FNanchor_J_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_J_10" class="fnanchor">[J]</a><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +At evening when the lamp is lit,<br /> +Around the fire my parents sit;<br /> +They sit at home and talk and sing,<br /> +And do not play at anything.<br /> +<br /> +Now, with my little gun, I crawl<br /> +All in the dark along the wall,<br /> +And follow round the forest track<br /> +Away behind the sofa back.<br /> +<br /> +There, in the night, where none can spy,<br /> +All in my hunter's camp I lie,<br /> +And play at books that I have read<br /> +Till it is time to go to bed.<br /> +<br /> +These are the hills, these are the woods,<br /> +These are my starry solitudes;<br /> +And there the river by whose brink<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span>The roaring lions come to drink.<br /> +<br /> +I see the others far away<br /> +As if in firelit camp they lay,<br /> +And I, like to an Indian scout,<br /> +Around their party prowled about.<br /> +<br /> +So, when my nurse comes in for me,<br /> +Home I return across the sea,<br /> +And go to bed with backward looks<br /> +At my dear land of Story-books.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Robert Louis Stevenson.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The City Child</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem2'> +Dainty little maiden, whither would you wander?<br /> +Whither from this pretty home, the home where mother dwells?<br /> +"Far and far away," said the dainty little maiden,<br /> +"All among the gardens, auriculas, anemones,<br /> +Roses and lilies and Canterbury bells."<br /> +<br /> +Dainty little maiden, whither would you wander?<br /> +Whither from this pretty house, this city-house of ours?<br /> +"Far and far away," said the dainty little maiden,<br /> +"All among the meadows, the clover and the clematis,<br /> +Daisies and kingcups and honeysuckle-flowers."<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Alfred, Lord Tennyson.</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Going into Breeches</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Joy to Philip! he this day<br /> +Has his long coats cast away,<br /> +And (the childish season gone)<br /> +Put the manly breeches on.<br /> +Officer on gay parade,<br /> +Red-coat in his first cockade,<br /> +Bridegroom in his wedding-trim,<br /> +Birthday beau surpassing him,<br /> +Never did with conscious gait<br /> +Strut about in half the state<br /> +Or the pride (yet free from sin)<br /> +Of my little <span class="smcap">manikin</span>:<br /> +Never was there pride or bliss<br /> +Half so rational as his.<br /> +Sashes, frocks, to those that need 'em,<br /> +Philip's limbs have got their freedom—<br /> +He can run, or he can ride,<br /> +And do twenty things beside,<br /> +Which his petticoats forbade;<br /> +Is he not a happy lad?<br /> +Now he's under other banners<br /> +He must leave his former manners;<br /> +Bid adieu to female games<br /> +And forget their very names;<br /> +Puss-in-corners, hide-and-seek,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span>Sports for girls and punies weak!<br /> +Baste-the-bear he now may play at;<br /> +Leap-frog, foot-ball sport away at;<br /> +Show his skill and strength at cricket,<br /> +Mark his distance, pitch his wicket;<br /> +Run about in winter's snow<br /> +Till his cheeks and fingers glow;<br /> +Climb a tree or scale a wall<br /> +Without any fear to fall.<br /> +If he get a hurt or bruise,<br /> +To complain he must refuse,<br /> +Though the anguish and the smart<br /> +Go unto his little heart;<br /> +He must have his courage ready,<br /> +Keep his voice and visage steady;<br /> +Brace his eyeballs stiff as drum,<br /> +That a tear may never come;<br /> +And his grief must only speak<br /> +From the colour in his cheek.<br /> +This and more he must endure,<br /> +Hero he in miniature.<br /> +This and more must now be done,<br /> +Now the breeches are put on.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Charles and Mary Lamb.</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Hunting Song</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Up, up! ye dames and lasses gay!<br /> +To the meadows trip away.<br /> +'Tis you must tend the flocks this morn,<br /> +And scare the small birds from the corn,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Not a soul at home may stay:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">For the shepherds must go</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">With lance and bow</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day.</span><br /> +<br /> +Leave the hearth and leave the house<br /> +To the cricket and the mouse:<br /> +Find grannam out a sunny seat,<br /> +With babe and lambkin at her feet.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Not a soul at home may stay:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">For the shepherds must go</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">With lance and bow</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Samuel Taylor Coleridge.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Hie Away</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Hie away, hie away!<br /> +Over bank and over brae,<br /> +Where the copsewood is the greenest,<br /> +Where the fountains glisten sheenest,<br /> +Where the lady fern grows strongest,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span>Where the morning dew lies longest,<br /> +Where the blackcock sweetest sips it,<br /> +Where the fairy latest trips it:<br /> +Hie to haunts right seldom seen,<br /> +Lovely, lonesome, cool, and green,<br /> +Over bank and over brae,<br /> +Hie away, hie away!<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Sir Walter Scott.</div> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></p> +<h2>VIII</h2> + +<h2>STORY TIME</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<div class='poem'> +<i>And I made a rural pen;</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>And I stained the water clear</i></span><br /> +<i>And I wrote my happy songs</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Every child may joy to hear.</i></span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'><i>William Blake.</i></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span></p> + +<h2>STORY TIME</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Fairy Folk</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Come cuddle close in daddy's coat<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beside the fire so bright,</span><br /> +And hear about the fairy folk<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That wander in the night.</span><br /> +For when the stars are shining clear<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all the world is still,</span><br /> +They float across the silver moon<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From hill to cloudy hill.</span><br /> +<br /> +Their caps of red, their cloaks of green,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are hung with silver bells,</span><br /> +And when they're shaken with the wind<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their merry ringing swells.</span><br /> +And riding on the crimson moth,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With black spots on his wings,</span><br /> +They guide them down the purple sky<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">With golden bridle rings.</span><br /> +<br /> +They love to visit girls and boys<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To see how sweet they sleep,</span><br /> +To stand beside their cosy cots<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And at their faces peep.</span><br /> +For in the whole of fairy land<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They have no finer sight</span><br /> +Than little children sleeping sound<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With faces rosy bright.</span><br /> +<br /> +On tip-toe crowding round their heads,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When bright the moonlight beams,</span><br /> +They whisper little tender words<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That fill their minds with dreams;</span><br /> +And when they see a sunny smile,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With lightest finger tips</span><br /> +They lay a hundred kisses sweet<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon the ruddy lips.</span><br /> +<br /> +And then the little spotted moths<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Spread out their crimson wings,</span><br /> +And bear away the fairy crowd<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With shaking bridle rings.</span><br /> +Come bairnies, hide in daddy's coat,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beside the fire so bright—</span><br /> +Perhaps the little fairy folk<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will visit you to-night.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Robert Bird.</div> + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></p> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>A Fairy in Armor</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +He put his acorn helmet on;<br /> +It was plumed of the silk of the thistle down;<br /> +The corslet plate that guarded his breast<br /> +Was once the wild bee's golden vest;<br /> +His cloak, of a thousand mingled dyes,<br /> +Was formed of the wings of butterflies;<br /> +His shield was the shell of a lady-bug green,<br /> +Studs of gold on a ground of green;<br /> +And the quivering lance which he brandished bright,<br /> +Was the sting of a wasp he had slain in fight.<br /> +Swift he bestrode his fire-fly steed;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He bared his blade of the bent-grass blue;</span><br /> +He drove his spurs of the cockle-seed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And away like a glance of thought he flew,</span><br /> +To skim the heavens, and follow far<br /> +The fiery trail of the rocket-star.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Joseph Rodman Drake.</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Last Voyage of the Fairies</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Down the bright stream the Fairies float,—<br /> +A water-lily is their boat.<br /> +<br /> +Long rushes they for paddles take,<br /> +Their mainsail of a bat's wing make;<br /> +<br /> +The tackle is of cobwebs neat,—<br /> +With glow-worm lantern all's complete.<br /> +<br /> +So down the broad'ning stream they float,<br /> +With Puck as pilot of the boat.<br /> +<br /> +The Queen on speckled moth-wings lies,<br /> +And lifts at times her languid eyes<br /> +<br /> +To mark the green and mossy spots<br /> +Where bloom the blue forget-me-nots:<br /> +<br /> +Oberon, on his rose-bud throne,<br /> +Claims the fair valley as his own:<br /> +<br /> +And elves and fairies, with a shout<br /> +Which may be heard a yard about,<br /> +<br /> +Hail him as Elfland's mighty King;<br /> +And hazel-nuts in homage bring,<br /> +<br /> +And bend the unreluctant knee,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span>And wave their wands in loyalty.<br /> +<br /> +Down the broad stream the Fairies float,<br /> +An unseen power impels their boat;<br /> +<br /> +The banks fly past—each wooded scene—<br /> +The elder copse—the poplars green—<br /> +<br /> +And soon they feel the briny breeze<br /> +With salt and savour of the seas—<br /> +<br /> +Still down the stream the Fairies float,<br /> +An unseen power impels their boat;<br /> +<br /> +Until they mark the rushing tide<br /> +Within the estuary wide.<br /> +<br /> +And now they're tossing on the sea,<br /> +Where waves roll high, and winds blow free,—<br /> +<br /> +Ah, mortal vision nevermore<br /> +Shall see the Fairies on the shore,<br /> +<br /> +Or watch upon a summer night<br /> +Their mazy dances of delight!<br /> +<br /> +Far, far away upon the sea,<br /> +The waves roll high, the breeze blows free!<br /> +<br /> +The Queen on speckled moth-wings lies,<br /> +Slow gazing with a strange surprise<br /> +<br /> +Where swim the sea-nymphs on the tide<br /> +Or on the backs of dolphins ride:<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span><br /> +The King, upon his rose-bud throne,<br /> +Pales as he hears the waters moan;<br /> +<br /> +The elves have ceased their sportive play,<br /> +Hushed by the slowly sinking day:<br /> +<br /> +And still afar, afar they float,<br /> +The Fairies in their fragile boat,—<br /> +<br /> +Further and further from the shore,<br /> +And lost to mortals evermore!<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>W. H. Davenport Adams.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>A New Fern</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +A Fairy has found a new fern!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A lovely surprise of the May!</span><br /> +She stamps her wee foot, looks uncommonly stern,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And keeps other fairies at bay.</span><br /> +<br /> +She watches it flourish and grow—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What exquisite pleasure is hers!</span><br /> +She kisses it, strokes it and fondles it so—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I almost believe that she purrs!</span><br /> +<br /> +Of all the most beautiful things,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">None brighter than this I discern,</span><br /> +To be a young fairy, with glittering wings,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And then—to discover a fern!</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>"A."</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Child and the Fairies</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +The woods are full of fairies!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The trees are all alive:</span><br /> +The river overflows with them,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">See how they dip and dive!</span><br /> +What funny little fellows!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What dainty little dears!</span><br /> +They dance and leap, and prance and peep,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And utter fairy cheers!</span><br /> +<br /> +<b>. . . . . . . .</b><br /> +<br /> +I'd like to tame a fairy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To keep it on a shelf,</span><br /> +To see it wash its little face,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And dress its little self.</span><br /> +I'd teach it pretty manners,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It always should say "Please;"</span><br /> +And then you know I'd make it sew,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And curtsey with its knees!</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>"A."</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span></p> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Little Elf</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +I met a little Elf-man, once,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Down where the lilies blow.</span><br /> +I asked him why he was so small<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And why he didn't grow.</span><br /> +<br /> +He slightly frowned, and with his eye<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He looked me through and through.</span><br /> +"I'm quite as big for me," said he,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"As you are big for you."</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>John Kendrick Bangs.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<div class='center'><br /><i>"One, Two, Three"</i><a name="FNanchor_K_11" id="FNanchor_K_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_K_11" class="fnanchor">[K]</a><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem2'> +It was an old, old, old, old lady<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a boy that was half-past three,</span><br /> +And the way that they played together<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was beautiful to see.</span><br /> +<br /> +She couldn't go romping and jumping,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the boy, no more could he;</span><br /> +For he was a thin little fellow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a thin little twisted knee.</span><br /> +<br /> +They sat in the yellow sunlight,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Out under the maple tree,</span><br /> +And the game that they played I'll tell you,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just as it was told to me.</span><br /> +<br /> +It was Hide-and-Go-Seek they were playing.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though you'd never have known it to be—</span><br /> +With an old, old, old, old lady<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a boy with a twisted knee.</span><br /> +<br /> +The boy would bend his face down<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On his little sound right knee.</span><br /> +And he guessed where she was hiding<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In guesses One, Two, Three.</span><br /> +<br /> +"You are in the china closet!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He would cry and laugh with glee—</span><br /> +It wasn't the china closet,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But he still had Two and Three.</span><br /> +<br /> +"You are up in papa's big bedroom,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the chest with the queer old key,"</span><br /> +And she said: "You are warm and warmer;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But you are not quite right," said she.</span><br /> +<br /> +"It can't be the little cupboard<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where mamma's things used to be—</span><br /> +So it must be in the clothes press, Gran'ma,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he found her with his Three.</span><br /> +<br /> +Then she covered her face with her fingers,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That were wrinkled and white and wee,</span><br /> +And she guessed where the boy was hiding,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a One and a Two and a Three.</span><br /> +<br /> +And they never had stirred from their places<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Right under the maple tree—</span><br /> +This old, old, old, old lady<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the boy with the lame little knee—</span><br /> +This dear, dear, dear old lady<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the boy who was half-past three.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Henry C. Bunner.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>What May Happen to a Thimble</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Come about the meadow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hunt here and there,</span><br /> +Where's mother's thimble?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Can you tell where?</span><br /> +Jane saw her wearing it,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fan saw it fall,</span><br /> +Ned isn't sure<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That she dropp'd it at all.</span><br /> +<br /> +Has a mouse carried it<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Down to her hole—</span><br /> +Home full of twilight,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shady, small soul?</span><br /> +Can she be darning there,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ere the light fails,</span><br /> +Small ragged stockings—<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tiny torn tails?</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Did a finch fly with it<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Into the hedge,</span><br /> +Or a reed-warbler<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Down in the sedge?</span><br /> +Are they carousing there,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All the night through?</span><br /> +Such a great goblet,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Brimful of dew!</span><br /> +<br /> +Have beetles crept with it<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where oak roots hide?</span><br /> +There have they settled it<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Down on its side?</span><br /> +Neat little kennel,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So cosy and dark,</span><br /> +Has one crept into it,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Trying to bark?</span><br /> +<br /> +Have the ants cover'd it<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With straw and sand?</span><br /> +Roomy bell-tent for them,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So tall and grand;</span><br /> +Where the red soldier-ants<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lie, loll, and lean—</span><br /> +While the blacks steadily<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Build for their queen.</span><br /> +<br /> +Has a huge dragon-fly<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Borne it (how cool!)</span><br /> +To his snug dressing-room,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the clear pool?</span><br /> +There will he try it on,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For a new hat—</span><br /> +Nobody watching<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But one water-rat?</span><br /> +<br /> +Did the flowers fight for it,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While, undecried,</span><br /> +One selfish daisy<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Slipp'd it aside;</span><br /> +Now has she plunged it in<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Close to her feet—</span><br /> +Nice private water-tank<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For summer heat?</span><br /> +<br /> +Did spiders snatch at it<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wanting to look</span><br /> +At the bright pebbles<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which lie in the brook?</span><br /> +Now are they using it<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Nobody knows!)</span><br /> +Safe little diving-bell,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shutting so close?</span><br /> +<br /> +Hunt for it, hope for it,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All through the moss;</span><br /> +Dip for it, grope for it—<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Tis such a loss!</span><br /> +Jane finds a drop of dew,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fan finds a stone;</span><br /> +I find the thimble,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which is mother's own!</span><br /> +<br /> +Run with it, fly with it—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Don't let it fall;</span><br /> +All did their best for it—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mother thanks all.</span><br /> +Just as we give it her,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Think what a shame!—</span><br /> +Ned says he's sure<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That it isn't the same!</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>"B."</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Discontent</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Down in a field, one day in June,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The flowers all bloomed together,</span><br /> +Save one, who tried to hide herself,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And drooped that pleasant weather.</span><br /> +<br /> +A robin, who had flown too high,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And felt a little lazy,</span><br /> +Was resting near a buttercup<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who wished she were a daisy.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span><br /> +For daisies grew so trig and tall!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She always had a passion</span><br /> +For wearing frills around her neck,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In just the daisies' fashion.</span><br /> +<br /> +And buttercups must always be<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The same old tiresome color;</span><br /> +While daisies dress in gold and white,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Although their gold is duller.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Dear robin," said the sad young flower,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Perhaps you'd not mind trying</span><br /> +To find a nice white frill for me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some day when you are flying?"</span><br /> +<br /> +"You silly thing!" the robin said,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I think you must be crazy:</span><br /> +I'd rather be my honest self,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than any made-up daisy.</span><br /> +<br /> +"You're nicer in your own bright gown;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The little children love you:</span><br /> +Be the best buttercup you can,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And think no flower above you.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Though swallows leave me out of sight,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We'd better keep our places:</span><br /> +Perhaps the world would all go wrong<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">With one too many daisies.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Look bravely up into the sky,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And be content with knowing</span><br /> +That God wished for a buttercup<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just here, where you are growing."</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Sarah Orne Jewett.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Nightingale and the Glowworm</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +A nightingale that all day long<br /> +Had cheered the village with his song,<br /> +Nor yet at eve his note suspended,<br /> +Nor yet when eventide was ended,<br /> +Began to feel, as well he might,<br /> +The keen demands of appetite;<br /> +When looking eagerly around,<br /> +He spied far off, upon the ground,<br /> +A something shining in the dark,<br /> +And knew the glowworm by his spark;<br /> +So, stooping down from hawthorn top,<br /> +He thought to put him in his crop.<br /> +<br /> +The worm, aware of his intent,<br /> +Harangued him thus, right eloquent:<br /> +"Did you admire my lamp," quoth he,<br /> +"As much as I your minstrelsy,<br /> +You would abhor to do me wrong,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span>As much as I to spoil your song:<br /> +For 'twas the self-same Power Divine<br /> +Taught you to sing, and me to shine;<br /> +That you with music, I with light,<br /> +Might beautify and cheer the night."<br /> +The songster heard this short oration,<br /> +And warbling out his approbation,<br /> +Released him, as my story tells,<br /> +And found a supper somewhere else.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>William Cowper.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Thanksgiving Day</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Over the river and through the wood,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To grandfather's house we go;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The horse knows the way</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To carry the sleigh</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through the white and drifted snow.</span><br /> +Over the river and through the wood—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, how the wind does blow!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">It stings the toes</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And bites the nose,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As over the ground we go.</span><br /> +<br /> +Over the river and through the wood,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To have a first-rate play.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Hear the bells ring,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Ting-a-ling-ding!"</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hurrah for Thanksgiving Day!</span><br /> +<br /> +Over the river and through the wood<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Trot fast, my dapple-gray!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Spring over the ground,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Like a hunting-hound!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For this is Thanksgiving Day.</span><br /> +<br /> +Over the river and through the wood,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And straight through the barn-yard gate.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">We seem to go</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Extremely slow,—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It is so hard to wait!</span><br /> +<br /> +Over the river and through the wood—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now grandmother's cap I spy!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Hurrah for the fun!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Is the pudding done?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hurrah for the pumpkin-pie!</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Lydia Maria Child.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>A Thanksgiving Fable</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem2'> +It was a hungry pussy cat, upon Thanksgiving morn,<br /> +And she watched a thankful little mouse, that ate an ear of corn.<br /> +"If I ate that thankful little mouse, how thankful he should be,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span>When he has made a meal himself, to make a meal for me!<br /> +<br /> +"Then with his thanks for having fed, and his thanks for feeding me,<br /> +With all <i>his</i> thankfulness inside, how thankful I shall be!"<br /> +Thus mused the hungry pussy cat, upon Thanksgiving Day;<br /> +But the little mouse had overheard and declined (with thanks) to stay.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Oliver Herford.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Magpie's Nest</i></div> + +<div class='center'><small>A Fable</small><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +When the Arts in their infancy were,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">In a fable of old 'tis express'd</span><br /> +A wise magpie constructed that rare<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Little house for young birds, call'd a nest.</span><br /> +<br /> +This was talk'd of the whole country round;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">You might hear it on every bough sung,</span><br /> +"Now no longer upon the rough ground<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Will fond mothers brood over their young:</span><br /> +<br /> +"For the magpie with exquisite skill<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Has invented a moss-cover'd cell</span><br /> +Within which a whole family will<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">In the utmost security dwell."</span><br /> +<br /> +To her mate did each female bird say,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Let us fly to the magpie, my dear;</span><br /> +If she will but teach us the way,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A nest we will build us up here.</span><br /> +<br /> +"It's a thing that's close arch'd overhead,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a hole made to creep out and in;</span><br /> +We, my bird, might make just a bed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If we only knew how to begin."</span><br /> +<br /> +<b>. . . . . . . .</b><br /> +<br /> +To the magpie soon every bird went<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in modest terms made their request,</span><br /> +That she would be pleased to consent<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To teach them to build up a nest.</span><br /> +<br /> +She replied, "I will show you the way,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So observe everything that I do:</span><br /> +First two sticks 'cross each other I lay—"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"To be sure," said the crow, "why I knew</span><br /> +<br /> +"It must be begun with two sticks,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I thought that they crossed should be."</span><br /> +Said the pie, "Then some straw and moss mix<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the way you now see done by me."</span><br /> +<br /> +"O yes, certainly," said the jackdaw,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"That must follow, of course, I have thought;</span><br /> +Though I never before building saw,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">I guess'd that, without being taught."</span><br /> +<br /> +"More moss, straw, and feathers, I place<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In this manner," continued the pie.</span><br /> +"Yes, no doubt, madam, that is the case;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though no builder myself, so thought I."</span><br /> +<br /> +<b>. . . . . . . .</b> +<br /><br /> +Whatever she taught them beside,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In his turn every bird of them said,</span><br /> +Though the nest-making art he ne'er tried<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He had just such a thought in his head.</span><br /> +<br /> +Still the pie went on showing her art,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till a nest she had built up half-way;</span><br /> +She no more of her skill would impart,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">But in her anger went fluttering away.</span><br /> +<br /> +And this speech in their hearing she made,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As she perch'd o'er their heads on a tree:</span><br /> +"If ye all were well skill'd in my trade,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pray, why came ye to learn it of me?"</span><br /> +<br /> +When a scholar is willing to learn,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He with silent submission should hear;</span><br /> +Too late they their folly discern,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The effect to this day does appear.</span><br /> +<br /> +For whenever a pie's nest you see,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her charming warm canopy view,</span><br /> +All birds' nests but hers seem to be<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A magpie's nest just cut in two.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Charles and Mary Lamb.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Owl and the Pussy-Cat</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem2'> +The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In a beautiful pea-green boat;</span><br /> +They took some honey, and plenty of money<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wrapped up in a five-pound note.</span><br /> +The Owl looked up to the moon above,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sang to a small guitar,</span><br /> +"O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What a beautiful Pussy you are,—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">You are,</span><br /> +What a beautiful Pussy you are!"<br /> +<br /> +Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How wonderful sweet you sing!</span><br /> +O let us be married,—too long we have tarried,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But what shall we do for a ring?"</span><br /> +They sailed away for a year and a day<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the land where the Bong tree grows</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span>And there in a wood, a piggy-wig stood<br /> +With a ring at the end of his nose,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">His nose,</span><br /> +With a ring at the end of his nose.<br /> +<br /> +"Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your ring?" Said the piggy, "I will."</span><br /> +So they took it away, and were married next day<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the turkey who lives on the hill.</span><br /> +They dined upon mince and slices of quince,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which they ate with a runcible spoon,</span><br /> +And hand in hand on the edge of the sand<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They danced by the light of the moon,—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">The moon,</span><br /> +They danced by the light of the moon.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Edward Lear.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>A Lobster Quadrille</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem2'> +"Will you walk a little faster?" said a whiting to a snail,<br /> +"There's a porpoise close behind us, and he's treading on my tail.<br /> +See how eagerly the lobsters and the turtles all advance!<br /> +They are waiting on the shingle—will you come and join the dance?<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span>Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the dance?<br /> +Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't you join the dance?<br /> +<br /> +"You can really have no notion how delightful it will be<br /> +When they take us up and throw us, with the lobsters, out to sea!"<br /> +But the snail replied, "Too far, too far!" and gave a look askance—<br /> +Said he thanked the whiting kindly, but he would not join the dance.<br /> +Would not, could not, would not, could not, would not join the dance,<br /> +Would not, could not, would not, could not, could not join the dance.<br /> +<br /> +"What matters it how far we go?" his scaly friend replied,<br /> +"There is another shore, you know, upon the other side.<br /> +The further off from England the nearer is to France—<br /> +Then turn not pale, beloved snail, but come and join the dance.<br /> +Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the dance?<br /> +Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't you join the dance?"<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Lewis Carroll.</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Fairies' Shopping</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Where do you think the Fairies go<br /> +To buy their blankets ere the snow?<br /> +<br /> +When Autumn comes, with frosty days<br /> +The sorry shivering little Fays<br /> +<br /> +Begin to think it's time to creep<br /> +Down to their caves for Winter sleep.<br /> +<br /> +But first they come from far and near<br /> +To buy, where shops are not too dear.<br /> +<br /> +(The wind and frost bring prices down,<br /> +So Fall's their time to come to town!)<br /> +<br /> +Where on the hill-side rough and steep<br /> +Browse all day long the cows and sheep,<br /> +<br /> +The mullein's yellow candles burn<br /> +Over the heads of dry sweet fern:<br /> +<br /> +All summer long the mullein weaves<br /> +His soft and thick and woolly leaves.<br /> +<br /> +Warmer blankets were never seen<br /> +Than these broad leaves of fuzzy green—<br /> +<br /> +(The cost of each is but a shekel<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span>Made from the gold of honeysuckle!)<br /> +<br /> +To buy their sheets and fine white lace<br /> +(With which to trim a pillow-case),<br /> +<br /> +They only have to go next door,<br /> +Where stands a sleek brown spider's store,<br /> +<br /> +And there they find the misty threads<br /> +Ready to cut into sheets and spreads;<br /> +<br /> +Then for a pillow, pluck with care<br /> +Some soft-winged seeds as light as air;<br /> +<br /> +Just what they want the thistle brings,<br /> +But thistles are such surly things—<br /> +<br /> +And so, though it is somewhat high,<br /> +The clematis the Fairies buy.<br /> +<br /> +The only bedsteads that they need<br /> +Are silky pods of ripe milk-weed,<br /> +<br /> +With hangings of the dearest things—<br /> +Autumn leaves, or butterflies' wings!<br /> +<br /> +And dandelions' fuzzy heads<br /> +They use to stuff their feather beds;<br /> +<br /> +And yellow snapdragons supply<br /> +The nightcaps that the Fairies buy,<br /> +<br /> +To which some blades of grass they pin,<br /> +And tie them 'neath each little chin.<br /> +<br /> +Then, shopping done, the Fairies cry,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span>"Our Summer's gone! oh sweet, good-bye!"<br /> +<br /> +And sadly to their caves they go,<br /> +To hide away from Winter's snow—<br /> +<br /> +And then, though winds and storms may beat,<br /> +The Fairies' sleep is warm and sweet!<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Margaret Deland.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Fable</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +The mountain and the squirrel<br /> +Had a quarrel,<br /> +And the former called the latter "Little Prig."<br /> +Bun replied:<br /> +"You are doubtless very big;<br /> +But all sorts of things and weather<br /> +Must be taken in together<br /> +To make up a year<br /> +And a sphere;<br /> +And I think it no disgrace<br /> +To occupy my place.<br /> +If I'm not so large as you,<br /> +You are not so small as I,<br /> +And not half so spry.<br /> +I'll not deny you make<br /> +A very pretty squirrel track;<br /> +Talents differ; all is well and wisely put;<br /> +If I cannot carry forests on my back<br /> +Neither can you crack a nut!"<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Ralph Waldo Emerson.</div> + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span></p> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>A Midsummer Song</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem2'> +Oh, father's gone to market-town: he was up before the day,<br /> +And Jamie's after robins, and the man is making hay,<br /> +And whistling down the hollow goes the boy that minds the mill,<br /> +While mother from the kitchen-door is calling with a will,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Polly!—Polly!—The cows are in the corn!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Oh, where's Polly?"</span><br /> +<br /> +From all the misty morning air there comes a summer sound,<br /> +A murmur as of waters, from skies and trees and ground.<br /> +The birds they sing upon the wing, the pigeons bill and coo;<br /> +And over hill and hollow rings again the loud halloo:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Polly!—Polly!—The cows are in the corn!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Oh, where's Polly?"</span><br /> +<br /> +Above the trees, the honey-bees swarm by with buzz and boom,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span>And in the field and garden a thousand blossoms bloom.<br /> +Within the farmer's meadow a brown-eyed daisy blows,<br /> +And down at the edge of the hollow a red and thorny rose.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But Polly!—Polly!—The cows are in the corn!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Oh, where's Polly?</span><br /> +<br /> +How strange at such a time of day the mill should stop its clatter!<br /> +The farmer's wife is listening now, and wonders what's the matter.<br /> +Oh, wild the birds are singing in the wood and on the hill,<br /> +While whistling up the hollow goes the boy that minds the mill.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But Polly!—Polly!—The cows are in the corn!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Oh, where's Polly!</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Richard Watson Gilder.</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Fairies of the Caldon-Low</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +"And where have you been, my Mary,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And where have you been from me?"</span><br /> +"I've been to the top of the Caldon-Low,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The midsummer night to see!"</span><br /> +<br /> +"And what did you see, my Mary,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All up on the Caldon-Low?"</span><br /> +"I saw the blithe sunshine come down,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I saw the merry winds blow."</span><br /> +<br /> +"And what did you hear, my Mary,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All up on the Caldon Hill?"</span><br /> +"I heard the drops of water made,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I heard the corn-ears fill."</span><br /> +<br /> +"Oh, tell me all, my Mary—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All, all that ever you know;</span><br /> +For you must have seen the fairies<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Last night on the Caldon-Low."</span><br /> +<br /> +"Then take me on your knee, mother,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And listen, mother of mine:</span><br /> +A hundred fairies danced last night,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the harpers they were nine;</span><br /> +<br /> +"And merry was the glee of the harp-strings,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And their dancing feet so small;</span><br /> +But oh! the sound of their talking<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was merrier far than all!"</span><br /> +<br /> +"And what were the words, my Mary,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That you did hear them say?"</span><br /> +"I'll tell you all, my mother,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But let me have my way.</span><br /> +<br /> +"And some they played with the water<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And rolled it down the hill;</span><br /> +'And this,' they said, 'shall speedily turn<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The poor old miller's mill;</span><br /> +<br /> +"'For there has been no water<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ever since the first of May;</span><br /> +And a busy man shall the miller be<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the dawning of the day!</span><br /> +<br /> +"'Oh, the miller, how he will laugh,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When he sees the mill-dam rise!</span><br /> +The jolly old miller, how he will laugh,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till the tears fill both his eyes!'</span><br /> +<br /> +"And some they seized the little winds,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That sounded over the hill,</span><br /> +And each put a horn into his mouth,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And blew so sharp and shrill!</span><br /> +<br /> +"'And there,' said they, 'the merry winds go,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Away from every horn;</span><br /> +And those shall clear the mildew dank<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the blind old widow's corn:</span><br /> +<br /> +"'Oh, the poor blind widow—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though she has been blind so long,</span><br /> +She'll be merry enough when the mildew's gone,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the corn stands stiff and strong!'</span><br /> +<br /> +"And some they brought the brown linseed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And flung it down from the Low:</span><br /> +'And this,' said they, 'by the sunrise,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the weaver's croft shall grow!</span><br /> +<br /> +"'Oh, the poor lame weaver!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How will he laugh outright</span><br /> +When he sees his dwindling flax-field<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All full of flowers by night!'</span><br /> +<br /> +"And then upspoke a brownie,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a long beard on his chin;</span><br /> +'I have spun up all the tow,' said he,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'And I want some more to spin.</span><br /> +<br /> +"'I've spun a piece of hempen cloth,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I want to spin another—</span><br /> +A little sheet for Mary's bed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And an apron for her mother.'</span><br /> +<br /> +"And with that I could not help but laugh,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I laughed out loud and free;</span><br /> +And then on the top of the Caldon-Low,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There was no one left but me.</span><br /> +<br /> +"And all on the top of the Caldon-Low<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The mists were cold and gray,</span><br /> +And nothing I saw but the mossy stones<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That round about me lay.</span><br /> +<br /> +"But, as I came down from the hill-top,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I heard, afar below,</span><br /> +How busy the jolly old miller was,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And how merry the wheel did go!</span><br /> +<br /> +"And I peeped into the widow's field,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And, sure enough, was seen</span><br /> +The yellow ears of the mildewed corn<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All standing stiff and green!</span><br /> +<br /> +"And down by the weaver's croft I stole,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To see if the flax were high;</span><br /> +But I saw the weaver at his gate<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With the good news in his eye!</span><br /> +<br /> +"Now, this is all that I heard, mother,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all that I did see;</span><br /> +So, prithee, make my bed, mother,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For I'm tired as I can be!"</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Mary Howitt.</div> + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span></p> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Elf and the Dormouse</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Under a toadstool<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Crept a wee Elf,</span><br /> +Out of the rain,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">To shelter himself.</span><br /> +<br /> +Under the toadstool<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Sound asleep,</span><br /> +Sat a big Dormouse<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">All in a heap.</span><br /> +<br /> +Trembled the wee Elf,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Frightened, and yet</span><br /> +Fearing to fly away<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Lest he get wet.</span><br /> +<br /> +To the next shelter—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Maybe a mile!</span><br /> +Sudden the wee Elf<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Smiled a wee smile,</span><br /> +<br /> +Tugged till the toadstool<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Toppled in two.</span><br /> +Holding it over him,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Gayly he flew.</span><br /> +<br /> +Soon he was safe home,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Dry as could be.</span><br /> +Soon woke the Dormouse—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">"Good gracious me!</span><br /> +<br /> +"Where is my toadstool?"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Loud he lamented.</span><br /> +—And that's how umbrellas<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">First were invented.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Oliver Herford.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Meg Merrilies</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Old Meg she was a gipsy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And lived upon the moors;</span><br /> +Her bed it was the brown heath turf,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And her house was out of doors.</span><br /> +Her apples were swart blackberries,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her currants pods o' broom;</span><br /> +Her wine was dew of the wild white rose,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her book a churchyard tomb.</span><br /> +<br /> +Her brothers were the craggy hills,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her sisters larchen-trees;</span><br /> +Alone with her great family<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She lived as she did please.</span><br /> +No breakfast had she many a morn,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No dinner many a noon,</span><br /> +And 'stead of supper she would stare<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Full hard against the moon.</span><br /> +<br /> +But every morn of woodbine fresh<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She made her garlanding,</span><br /> +And every night the dark glen yew<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She wore; and she would sing,</span><br /> +And with her fingers old and brown<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She plaited mats of rushes,</span><br /> +And gave them to the cottagers<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She met among the bushes.</span><br /> +<br /> +Old Meg was brave as Margaret Queen,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And tall as Amazon;</span><br /> +An old red blanket cloak she wore,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A ship-hat had she on;</span><br /> +God rest her aged bones somewhere!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She died full long agone!</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>John Keats.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Romance</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +I saw a ship a-sailing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">A-sailing on the sea;</span><br /> +Her masts were of the shining gold,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Her deck of ivory;</span><br /> +And sails of silk, as soft as milk,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And silvern shrouds had she.</span><br /> +<br /> +And round about her sailing,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The sea was sparkling white,</span><br /> +The waves all clapped their hands and sang<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To see so fair a sight.</span><br /> +They kissed her twice, they kissed her thrice,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And murmured with delight.</span><br /> +<br /> +Then came the gallant captain,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And stood upon the deck;</span><br /> +In velvet coat, and ruffles white,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Without a spot or speck;</span><br /> +And diamond rings, and triple strings<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of pearls around his neck.</span><br /> +<br /> +And four-and-twenty sailors<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were round him bowing low;</span><br /> +On every jacket three times three<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gold buttons in a row;</span><br /> +And cutlasses down to their knees;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They made a goodly show.</span><br /> +<br /> +And then the ship went sailing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A-sailing o'er the sea;</span><br /> +She dived beyond the setting sun,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But never back came she,</span><br /> +For she found the lands of the golden sands,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the pearls and diamonds be.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Gabriel Setoun.</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Cow-Boy's Song</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem2'> +"Mooly cow, mooly cow, home from the wood<br /> +They sent me to fetch you as fast as I could.<br /> +The sun has gone down: it is time to go home.<br /> +Mooly cow, mooly cow, why don't you come?<br /> +Your udders are full, and the milkmaid is there,<br /> +And the children are waiting their supper to share.<br /> +I have let the long bars down,—why don't you pass through?"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The mooly cow only said, "Moo-o-o!"</span><br /> +<br /> +"Mooly cow, mooly cow, have you not been<br /> +Regaling all day where the pastures are green?<br /> +No doubt it was pleasant, dear mooly, to see<br /> +The clear running brook and the wide-spreading tree,<br /> +The clover to crop and the streamlet to wade,<br /> +To drink the cool water and lie in the shade;<br /> +But now it is night: they are waiting for you."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The mooly cow only said, "Moo-o-o!"</span><br /> +<br /> +"Mooly cow, mooly cow, where do you go,<br /> +When all the green pastures are covered with snow?<br /> +You go to the barn and we feed you with hay,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span>And the maid goes to milk you there, every day;<br /> +She speaks to you kindly and sits by your side,<br /> +She pats you, she loves you, she strokes your sleek hide:<br /> +Then come along home, pretty mooly cow, do."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But the mooly cow only said, "Moo-o-o!"</span><br /> +<br /> +"Mooly cow, mooly cow, whisking your tail,<br /> +The milkmaid is waiting, I say, with her pail;<br /> +She tucks up her petticoats, tidy and neat,<br /> +And places the three-leggéd stool for her seat:—<br /> +What can you be staring at, mooly? You know<br /> +That we ought to have gone home an hour ago.<br /> +How dark it is growing! O, what shall I do?"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The mooly cow only said, "Moo-o-o!"</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Anna M. Wells.</div> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>IX</h2> + +<h2>BED TIME<a name="FNanchor_L_12" id="FNanchor_L_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_L_12" class="fnanchor">[L]</a></h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<div class='poem'><i> +When the golden day is done,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through the closing portal,</span><br /> +Child and garden, flower and sun,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vanish all things mortal.</span><br /></i> +</div> + +<div class='signature'><i>Robert Louis Stevenson.</i></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span></p> + +<h2>BED-TIME</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Auld Daddy Darkness</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem2'> +Auld Daddy Darkness creeps frae his hole,<br /> +Black as a blackamoor, blin' as a mole:<br /> +Stir the fire till it lowes, let the bairnie sit,<br /> +Auld Daddy Darkness is no wantit yet.<br /> +<br /> +See him in the corners hidin' frae the licht,<br /> +See him at the window gloomin' at the nicht;<br /> +Turn up the gas licht, close the shutters a',<br /> +An' Auld Daddy Darkness will flee far awa'.<br /> +<br /> +Awa' to hide the birdie within its cosy nest,<br /> +Awa' to lap the wee flooers on their mither's breast,<br /> +Awa' to loosen Gaffer Toil frae his daily ca',<br /> +For Auld Daddy Darkness is kindly to a'.<br /> +<br /> +He comes when we're weary to wean's frae oor waes,<br /> +He comes when the bairnies are getting aff their claes;<br /> +To cover them sae cosy, an' bring bonnie dreams,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span>So Auld Daddy Darkness is better than he seems.<br /> +<br /> +Steek yer een, my wee tot, ye'll see Daddy then;<br /> +He's in below the bed claes, to cuddle ye he's fain;<br /> +Noo nestle in his bosie, sleep and dream yer fill,<br /> +Till Wee Davie Daylicht comes keekin' owre the hill.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>James Ferguson.</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<div class='center'><br /><i>Wynken, Blynken, and Nod</i><a name="FNanchor_M_13" id="FNanchor_M_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_M_13" class="fnanchor">[M]</a><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem2'> +Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sailed off in a wooden shoe—</span><br /> +Sailed on a river of crystal light,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Into a sea of dew.</span><br /> +"Where are you going, and what do you wish?"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The old moon asked the three.</span><br /> +"We have come to fish for the herring fish<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That live in this beautiful sea;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nets of silver and gold have we!"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Said Wynken,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Blynken,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">And Nod.</span><br /> +<br /> +The old moon laughed and sang a song,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As they rocked in the wooden shoe,</span><br /> +And the wind that sped them all night long<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ruffled the waves of dew.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span><br /> +The little stars were the herring fish<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That lived in that beautiful sea—</span><br /> +"Now cast your nets wherever you wish—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Never afeard are we";</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So cried the stars to the fishermen three:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Wynken,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Blynken,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">And Nod.</span><br /> +<br /> +All night long their nets they threw<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the stars in the twinkling foam—</span><br /> +Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bringing the fishermen home;</span><br /> +'Twas all so pretty a sail it seemed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As if it could not be,</span><br /> +And some folks thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of sailing that beautiful sea—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I shall name you the fishermen three:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Wynken,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Blynken,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">And Nod.</span><br /> +<br /> +Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Nod is a little head,</span><br /> +And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is a wee one's trundle-bed.</span><br /> +<br /> +So shut your eyes while mother sings<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of wonderful sights that be,</span><br /> +And you shall see the beautiful things<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As you rock in the misty sea,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Wynken,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Blynken,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">And Nod.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Eugene Field.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<div class='center'><br /><i>Rockaby, Lullaby</i><a name="FNanchor_N_14" id="FNanchor_N_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_N_14" class="fnanchor">[N]</a><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem2'> +Rockaby, lullaby, bees on the clover!—<br /> +Crooning so drowsily, crying so low—<br /> +Rockaby, lullaby, dear little rover!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Down into wonderland—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Down to the under-land—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Go, oh go!</span><br /> +Down into wonderland go!<br /> +<br /> +Rockaby, lullaby, rain on the clover!<br /> +Tears on the eyelids that struggle and weep!<br /> +Rockaby, lullaby—bending it over!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Down on the mother world,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Down on the other world!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Sleep, oh sleep!</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span>Down on the mother-world sleep!<br /> +<br /> +Rockaby, lullaby, dew on the clover!<br /> +Dew on the eyes that will sparkle at dawn!<br /> +Rockaby, lullaby, dear little rover!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Into the stilly world!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Into the lily world,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Gone! oh gone!</span><br /> +Into the lily world, gone!<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Josiah Gilbert Holland.</div> + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Sleep, My Treasure</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sleep, sleep, my treasure,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The long day's pleasure</span><br /> +Has tired the birds, to their nests they creep;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The garden still is</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Alight with lilies,</span><br /> +But all the daisies are fast asleep.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sleep, sleep, my darling,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Dawn wakes the starling,</span><br /> +The sparrow stirs when he sees day break;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But all the meadow</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Is wrapped in shadow,</span><br /> +And you must sleep till the daisies wake!<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>E. Nesbit.</div> + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span></p> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Lullaby of an Infant Chief</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem2'> +Oh, hush thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight,<br /> +Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright;<br /> +The woods and the glens from the tower which we see,<br /> +They all are belonging, dear babie, to thee.<br /> +<br /> +Oh, fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows,<br /> +It calls but the warders that guard thy repose;<br /> +Their bows would be bended, their blades would be red,<br /> +Ere the step of a foeman draws near to thy bed.<br /> +<br /> +Oh, hush thee, my babie, the time will soon come,<br /> +When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and drum;<br /> +Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while you may,<br /> +For strife comes with manhood, and waking with day.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Sir Walter Scott.</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Sweet and Low</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Sweet and low, sweet and low,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wind of the western sea,</span><br /> +Low, low, breathe and blow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wind of the western sea!</span><br /> +Over the rolling waters go,<br /> +Come from the dying moon, and blow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blow him again to me:</span><br /> +While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.<br /> +<br /> +Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Father will come to thee soon;</span><br /> +Rest, rest, on mother's breast,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Father will come to thee soon;</span><br /> +Father will come to his babe in the nest,<br /> +Silver sails all out of the west<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Under the silver moon:</span><br /> +Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Alfred, Lord Tennyson.</div> + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span></p> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Old Gaelic Lullaby</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Hush! the waves are rolling in,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">White with foam, white with foam;</span><br /> +Father toils amid the din;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But baby sleeps at home.</span><br /> +<br /> +Hush! the winds roar hoarse and deep,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On they come, on they come!</span><br /> +Brother seeks the wandering sheep:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But baby sleeps at home.</span><br /> +<br /> +Hush! the rain sweeps o'er the knowes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where they roam, where they roam;</span><br /> +Sister goes to seek the cows;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But baby sleeps at home.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Unknown.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Sandman</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem2'> +The rosy clouds float overhead,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sun is going down;</span><br /> +And now the sandman's gentle tread<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Comes stealing through the town.</span><br /> +"White sand, white sand," he softly cries,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And as he shakes his hand,</span><br /> +Straightway there lies on babies' eyes<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">His gift of shining sand.</span><br /> +Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown,<br /> +As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From sunny beaches far away—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yes, in another land—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He gathers up at break of day</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">His store of shining sand.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No tempests beat that shore remote,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">No ships may sail that way;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His little boat alone may float</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Within that lovely bay.</span><br /> +Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown,<br /> +As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He smiles to see the eyelids close</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Above the happy eyes;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And every child right well he knows,—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Oh, he is very wise!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But if, as he goes through the land,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A naughty baby cries,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His other hand takes dull gray sand</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To close the wakeful eyes.</span><br /> +Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span>As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So when you hear the sandman's song</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sound through the twilight sweet,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be sure you do not keep him long</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A-waiting on the street.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lie softly down, dear little head,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Rest quiet, busy hands,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till, by your bed his good-night said,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He strews the shining sands.</span><br /> +Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown,<br /> +As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Margaret Vandegrift.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Cottager to Her Infant</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +The days are cold, the nights are long,<br /> +The north-wind sings a doleful song;<br /> +Then hush again upon my breast;<br /> +All merry things are now at rest,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Save thee, my pretty Love!</span><br /> +<br /> +The kitten sleeps upon the hearth,<br /> +The crickets long have ceased their mirth;<br /> +There's nothing stirring in the house<br /> +Save one wee, hungry nibbling mouse,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then why so busy thou?</span><br /> +<br /> +Nay! start not at that sparkling light,<br /> +'Tis but the moon that shines so bright<br /> +On the window-pane bedropped with rain;<br /> +There, little darling! sleep again,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And wake when it is day.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Dorothy Wordsworth.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>A Charm to Call Sleep</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Sleep, Sleep, come to me, Sleep,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come to my blankets and come to my bed,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come to my legs and my arms and my head,</span><br /> +Over me, under me, into me creep.<br /> +<br /> +Sleep, Sleep, come to me, Sleep,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blow on my face like a soft breath of air,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lay your cool hand on my forehead and hair,</span><br /> +Carry me down through the dream-waters deep.<br /> +<br /> +Sleep, Sleep, come to me, Sleep,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tell me the secrets that you alone know,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Show me the wonders none other can show,</span><br /> +Open the box where your treasures you keep.<br /> +<br /> +Sleep, Sleep, come to me, Sleep:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Softly I call you; as soft and as slow</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come to me, cuddle me, stay with me so,</span><br /> +Stay till the dawn is beginning to peep.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Henry Johnstone.</div> + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span></p> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Night</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +The snow is white, the wind is cold—<br /> +The king has sent for my three-year-old.<br /> +Bring the pony and shoe him fast<br /> +With silver shoes that were made to last.<br /> +Bring the saddle trimmed with gold;<br /> +Put foot in stirrup, my three-year-old;<br /> +Jump in the saddle, away, away!<br /> +And hurry back by the break of day;<br /> +By break of day, through dale and down,<br /> +And bring me the news from Slumbertown.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Mary F. Butts.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Bed-Time</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem2'> +'Tis bed-time; say your hymn, and bid "Good night,<br /> +"God bless mamma, papa, and dear ones all."<br /> +Your half-shut eyes beneath your eye-lids fall;<br /> +Another minute you will shut them quite.<br /> +Yes, I will carry you, put out the light,<br /> +And tuck you up, although you are so tall.<br /> +What will you give me, Sleepy One, and call<br /> +My wages, if I settle you all right?<br /> +I laid her golden curls upon my arm,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span>I drew her little feet within my hand;<br /> +Her rosy palms were joined in trustful bliss,<br /> +Her heart next mine, beat gently, soft and warm;<br /> +She nestled to me, and, by Love's command,<br /> +Paid me my precious wages,—Baby's kiss.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Lord Rosslyn.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<div class='center'><br /><i>Nightfall in Dordrecht</i><a name="FNanchor_O_15" id="FNanchor_O_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_O_15" class="fnanchor">[O]</a><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem2'> +The mill goes toiling slowly around<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With steady and solemn creak,</span><br /> +And my little one hears in the kindly sound<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The voice of the old mill speak.</span><br /> +While round and round those big white wings<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Grimly and ghostlike creep,</span><br /> +My little one hears that the old mill sings:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Sleep, little tulip, sleep!"</span><br /> +<br /> +The sails are reefed and the nets are drawn,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And, over his pot of beer,</span><br /> +The fisher, against the morrow's dawn,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lustily maketh cheer;</span><br /> +He mocks at the winds that caper along<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the far-off clamorous deep—</span><br /> +But we—we love their lullaby song<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of "Sleep, little tulip, sleep!"</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span><br /> +Old dog Fritz in slumber sound<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Groans of the stony mart—</span><br /> +To-morrow how proudly he'll trot you round,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hitched to our new milk-cart!</span><br /> +And you shall help me blanket the kine<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And fold the gentle sheep</span><br /> +And set the herring a-soak in brine—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But now, little tulip, sleep!</span><br /> +<br /> +A Dream-One comes to button the eyes<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That wearily droop and blink,</span><br /> +While the old mill buffets the frowning skies<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And scolds at the stars that wink;</span><br /> +Over your face the misty wings<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of that beautiful Dream-One sweep,</span><br /> +And rocking your cradle she softly sings:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Sleep, little tulip, sleep!"</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Eugene Field.</div><div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>X</h2> + +<h2>FOR SUNDAY'S CHILD</h2> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='poem'> +<i>Sunday's child is full of grace.</i><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'><i>Old Proverb.</i></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span></p> + +<h2>FOR SUNDAY'S CHILD</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<div class='center'><br /><i>All Things Bright and Beautiful</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +All things bright and beautiful,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All creatures great and small,</span><br /> +All things wise and wonderful,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Lord God made them all.</span><br /> +<br /> +Each little flower that opens,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Each little bird that sings,</span><br /> +He made their glowing colours,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He made their tiny wings.</span><br /> +<br /> +The rich man in his castle,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The poor man at his gate,</span><br /> +God made them, high or lowly,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And order'd their estate.</span><br /> +<br /> +The purple-headed mountain,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The river running by,</span><br /> +The sunset and the morning,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That brightens up the sky;—</span><br /> +<br /> +The cold wind in the winter,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">The pleasant summer sun,</span><br /> +The ripe fruits in the garden,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He made them every one;</span><br /> +<br /> +The tall trees in the greenwood,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The meadows where we play,</span><br /> +The rushes by the water<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We gather every day;—</span><br /> +<br /> +He gave us eyes to see them,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And lips that we might tell,</span><br /> +How great is God Almighty,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who has made all things well.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Cecil Frances Alexander.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Still Small Voice</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Wee Sandy in the corner<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sits greeting on a stool,</span><br /> +And sair the laddie rues<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Playing truant frae the school;</span><br /> +Then ye'll learn frae silly Sandy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wha's gotten sic a fright,</span><br /> +To do naething through the day<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That may gar ye greet at night.</span><br /> +<br /> +He durstna venture hame now,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor play, though e'er so fine,</span><br /> +And ilka ane he met wi'<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He thought them sure to ken,</span><br /> +And started at ilk whin bush,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though it was braid daylight—</span><br /> +Sae do nothing through the day<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That may gar ye greet at night.</span><br /> +<br /> +Wha winna be advised<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are sure to rue ere lang;</span><br /> +And muckle pains it costs them<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To do the thing that's wrang,</span><br /> +When they wi' half the fash o't<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Might aye be in the right,</span><br /> +And do naething through the day<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That would gar them greet at night.</span><br /> +<br /> +What fools are wilfu' bairns,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who misbehave frae hame!</span><br /> +There's something in the breast aye<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That tells them they're to blame;</span><br /> +And then when comes the gloamin',<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They're in a waefu' plight!</span><br /> +Sae do naething through the day<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That may gar ye greet at night.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Alexander Smart.</div> + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span></p> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Camel's Nose</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Once in his shop a workman wrought,<br /> +With languid head and listless thought,<br /> +When, through the open window's space,<br /> +Behold, a camel thrust his face!<br /> +"My nose is cold," he meekly cried;<br /> +"Oh, let me warm it by thy side!"<br /> +<br /> +Since no denial word was said,<br /> +In came the nose, in came the head:<br /> +As sure as sermon follows text,<br /> +The long and scraggy neck came next;<br /> +And then, as falls the threatening storm,<br /> +In leaped the whole ungainly form.<br /> +<br /> +Aghast the owner gazed around,<br /> +And on the rude invader frowned,<br /> +Convinced, as closer still he pressed,<br /> +There was no room for such a guest;<br /> +Yet more astonished, heard him say,<br /> +"If thou art troubled, go away,<br /> +For in this place I choose to stay."<br /> +<br /> +O youthful hearts to gladness born,<br /> +Treat not this Arab lore with scorn!<br /> +To evil habits' earliest wile<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span>Lend neither ear, nor glance, nor smile.<br /> +Choke the dark fountain ere it flows,<br /> +Nor e'en admit the camel's nose!<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Lydia H. Sigourney.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>A Child's Grace</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Some hae meat and canna eat,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And some wad eat that want it;</span><br /> +But we hae meat and we can eat,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sae the Lord be thankit.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Robert Burns.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>A Child's Thought of God</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +They say that God lives very high!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But if you look above the pines</span><br /> +You cannot see our God. And why?<br /> +<br /> +And if you dig down in the mines<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You never see Him in the gold,</span><br /> +Though from Him all that's glory shines.<br /> +<br /> +God is so good, He wears a fold<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of heaven and earth across His face—</span><br /> +Like secrets kept, for love, untold.<br /> +<br /> +But still I feel that His embrace<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Slides down by thrills, through all things made,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span>Through sight and sound of every place:<br /> +<br /> +As if my tender mother laid<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On my shut lids, her kisses' pressure,</span><br /> +Half-waking me at night; and said<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Who kissed you through the dark, dear guesser?"</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Elizabeth Barrett Browning.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Lamb</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Little lamb, who made thee?<br /> +Dost thou know who made thee,<br /> +Gave thee life and bade thee feed<br /> +By the stream and o'er the mead;<br /> +Gave thee clothing of delight,<br /> +Softest clothing, woolly, bright;<br /> +Gave thee such a tender voice,<br /> +Making all the vales rejoice?<br /> +Little lamb, who made thee?<br /> +Dost thou know who made thee?<br /> +<br /> +Little lamb, I'll tell thee;<br /> +Little lamb, I'll tell thee.<br /> +He is callèd by thy name,<br /> +For He calls himself a Lamb.<br /> +He is meek and He is mild,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span>He became a little child.<br /> +I a child and thou a lamb,<br /> +We are called by His name.<br /> +Little lamb, God bless thee!<br /> +Little lamb, God bless thee!<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>William Blake.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<div class='center'><br /><i>Night and Day</i><a name="FNanchor_P_16" id="FNanchor_P_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_P_16" class="fnanchor">[P]</a><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +When I run about all day,<br /> +When I kneel at night to pray,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">God sees.</span><br /> +<br /> +When I'm dreaming in the dark,<br /> +When I lie awake and hark,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">God sees.</span><br /> +<br /> +Need I ever know a fear?<br /> +Night and day my Father's near:—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">God sees.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Mary Mapes Dodge.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span></p> +<div class='center'><br /><i>High and Low</i> <a name="FNanchor_Q_17" id="FNanchor_Q_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_Q_17" class="fnanchor">[Q]</a><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +The showers fall as softly<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Upon the lowly grass</span><br /> +As on the stately roses<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">That tremble as they pass.</span><br /> +<br /> +The sunlight shines as brightly<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">On fern-leaves bent and torn</span><br /> +As on the golden harvest,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">The fields of waving corn.</span><br /> +<br /> +The wild birds sing as sweetly<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">To rugged, jagged pines,</span><br /> +As to the blossomed orchards,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And to the cultured vines.</span><br /> +<br /> +<b>. . . . . . . .</b><br /> +<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Dora Read Goodale.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>By Cool Siloam's Shady Rill</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +By cool Siloam's shady rill<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How sweet the lily grows!</span><br /> +How sweet the breath beneath the hill<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of Sharon's dewy rose!</span><br /> +<br /> +Lo, such the child whose early feet<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">The paths of peace have trod;</span><br /> +Whose secret heart, with influence sweet,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is upward drawn to God.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Reginald Heber.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Sheep and Lambs</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +All in the April morning,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">April airs were abroad;</span><br /> +The sheep with their little lambs<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pass'd me by on the road.</span><br /> +<br /> +The sheep with their little lambs<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pass'd me by on the road;</span><br /> +All in an April evening<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I thought on the Lamb of God.</span><br /> +<br /> +The lambs were weary, and crying<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a weak human cry,</span><br /> +I thought on the Lamb of God<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Going meekly to die.</span><br /> +<br /> +Up in the blue, blue mountains<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dewy pastures are sweet:</span><br /> +Rest for the little bodies,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rest for the little feet.</span><br /> +<br /> +<b>. . . . . . . .</b> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> +<br /><br /> +All in the April evening,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">April airs were abroad;</span><br /> +I saw the sheep with their lambs,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And thought on the Lamb of God.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Katharine Tynan Hinkson.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>To His Saviour, a Child; A Present by a Child</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Go, pretty child, and bear this flower<br /> +Unto thy little Saviour;<br /> +And tell him, by that bud now blown,<br /> +He is the Rose of Sharon known.<br /> +When thou hast said so, stick it there<br /> +Upon his bib or stomacher;<br /> +And tell him, for good hansel too,<br /> +That thou hast brought a whistle new,<br /> +Made of a clean strait oaten reed,<br /> +To charm his cries at time of need.<br /> +Tell him, for coral thou hast none,<br /> +But if thou hadst, he should have one;<br /> +But poor thou art, and known to be<br /> +Even as moneyless as he.<br /> +Lastly, if thou canst win a kiss<br /> +From those mellifluous lips of his;<br /> +Then never take a second on,<br /> +To spoil the first impression.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Robert Herrick.</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>What Would You See?</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +What would you see if I took you up<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To my little nest in the air?</span><br /> +You would see the sky like a clear blue cup<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Turned upside downwards there.</span><br /> +<br /> +What would you do if I took you there<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To my little nest in the tree?</span><br /> +My child with cries would trouble the air,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To get what she could but see.</span><br /> +<br /> +What would you get in the top of the tree<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For all your crying and grief?</span><br /> +Not a star would you clutch of all you see—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You could only gather a leaf.</span><br /> +<br /> +But when you had lost your greedy grief,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Content to see from afar,</span><br /> +You would find in your hand a withering leaf,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In your heart a shining star.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>George Macdonald.</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Corn-Fields</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +When on the breath of Autumn's breeze,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From pastures dry and brown,</span><br /> +Goes floating, like an idle thought,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The fair, white thistle-down,—</span><br /> +Oh, then what joy to walk at will<br /> +Upon the golden harvest-hill!<br /> +<br /> +What joy in dreaming ease to lie<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Amid a field new shorn;</span><br /> +And see all round, on sunlit slopes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The piled-up shocks of corn;</span><br /> +And send the fancy wandering o'er<br /> +All pleasant harvest-fields of yore!<br /> +<br /> +I feel the day; I see the field;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The quivering of the leaves;</span><br /> +And good old Jacob, and his horse,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Binding the yellow sheaves!</span><br /> +And at this very hour I seem<br /> +To be with Joseph in his dream!<br /> +<br /> +I see the fields of Bethlehem,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And reapers many a one</span><br /> +Bending unto their sickles' stroke,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Boaz looking on;</span><br /> +And Ruth, the Moabitess fair,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span>Among the gleaners stooping there!<br /> +<br /> +Again, I see a little child,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His mother's sole delight,—</span><br /> +God's living gift of love unto<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The kind, good Shunamite;</span><br /> +To mortal pangs I see him yield,<br /> +And the lad bear him from the field.<br /> +<br /> +The sun-bathed quiet of the hills,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The fields of Galilee,</span><br /> +That eighteen hundred years ago<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were full of corn, I see;</span><br /> +And the dear Saviour take his way<br /> +'Mid ripe ears on the Sabbath-day.<br /> +<br /> +Oh golden fields of bending corn,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How beautiful they seem!</span><br /> +The reaper-folk, the piled-up sheaves,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To me are like a dream;</span><br /> +The sunshine, and the very air<br /> +Seem of old time, and take me there!<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Mary Howitt.</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Little Christel</i></div> + +<div class='center'><br />I<br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Slowly forth from the village church,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The voice of the choristers hushed overhead,—</span><br /> +Came little Christel. She paused in the porch,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pondering what the preacher had said.</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Even the youngest, humblest child</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Something may do to please the Lord;</i></span><br /> +"Now, what," thought she, and half-sadly smiled,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Can I, so little and poor, afford?—</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>"Never, never a day should pass,</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Without some kindness, kindly shown,</i></span><br /> +The preacher said"—Then down to the grass<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A skylark dropped, like a brown-winged stone.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Well, a day is before me now;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yet, what," thought she, "can I do, if I try?</span><br /> +If an angel of God would show me how!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But silly am I, and the hours they fly."</span><br /> +<br /> +Then the lark sprang singing up from the sod,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the maiden thought, as he rose to the blue,</span><br /> +"He says he will carry my prayer to God;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But who would have thought the little lark knew?"</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span></div> + + +<div class='center'><br />II<br /><br /></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Now she entered the village street,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With book in hand and face demure,</span><br /> +And soon she came, with sober feet,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To a crying babe at a cottage door.</span><br /> +<br /> +It wept at a windmill that would not move,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It puffed with round red cheeks in vain,</span><br /> +One sail stuck fast in a puzzling groove,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And baby's breath could not stir it again.</span><br /> +<br /> +So baby beat the sail and cried,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While no one came from the cottage door;</span><br /> +But little Christel knelt down by its side,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And set the windmill going once more.</span><br /> +<br /> +Then babe was pleased, and the little girl<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was glad when she heard it laugh and crow;</span><br /> +Thinking, "Happy windmill, that has but to whirl,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To please the pretty young creature so."</span><br /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br />III<br /><br /></div> + +<div class='poem'> +No thought of herself was in her head,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As she passed out at the end of the street,</span><br /> +And came to a rose-tree tall and red,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Drooping and faint with the summer heat.</span><br /> +<br /> +She ran to a brook that was flowing by,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She made of her two hands a nice round cup,</span><br /> +And washed the roots of the rose-tree high,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till it lifted its languid blossoms up.</span><br /> +<br /> +"O happy brook!" thought little Christel,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"You have done some good this summer's day,</span><br /> +You have made the flowers look fresh and well!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then she rose and went on her way.</span><br /> +<br /> +<b>. . . . . . . .</b><br /> +<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>William Brighty Rands.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>A Child's Prayer</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +God make my life a little light,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Within the world to glow—</span><br /> +A tiny flame that burneth bright,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wherever I may go.</span><br /> +<br /> +God make my life a little flower,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That bringeth joy to all,</span><br /> +Content to bloom in native bower,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Although its place be small.</span><br /> +<br /> +God make my life a little song,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That comforteth the sad,</span><br /> +That helpeth others to be strong,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And makes the singer glad.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>M. Betham Edwards</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span></p> +<h2>XI</h2> + +<h2>BELLS OF CHRISTMAS</h2> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='poem'> +<i>Then let the holly red be hung,</i><br /> +<i>And all the sweetest carols sung,</i><br /> +<i>While we with joy remember them—</i><br /> +<i>The journeyers to Bethlehem.</i><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'><i>Frank Dempster Sherman.</i></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span><br /></p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span></p> + +<h2>BELLS OF CHRISTMAS</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/3acorns.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Adoration of the Wise Men</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Saw you never in the twilight,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the sun had left the skies,</span><br /> +Up in heaven the clear stars shining,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through the gloom like silver eyes?</span><br /> +So of old the wise men watching,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Saw a little stranger star,</span><br /> +And they knew the King was given,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And they follow'd it from far.</span><br /> +<br /> +Heard you never of the story,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How they cross'd the desert wild,</span><br /> +Journey'd on by plain and mountain,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till they found the Holy Child?</span><br /> +How they open'd all their treasure,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kneeling to that Infant King,</span><br /> +Gave the gold and fragrant incense,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gave the myrrh in offering?</span><br /> +<br /> +Know ye not that lowly Baby<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was the bright and morning star,</span><br /> +He who came to light the Gentiles,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the darken'd isles afar?</span><br /> +<br /> +And we too may seek his cradle,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There our heart's best treasures bring,</span><br /> +Love, and Faith, and true devotion,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For our Saviour, God, and King.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Cecil Frances Alexander.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Cradle Hymn</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Holy angels guard thy bed;</span><br /> +Heavenly blessings without number<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gently falling on thy head.</span><br /> +<br /> +Sleep, my babe, thy food and raiment,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">House and home, thy friends provide;</span><br /> +All without thy care, or payment,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All thy wants are well supplied.</span><br /> +<br /> +How much better thou'rt attended<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than the Son of God could be,</span><br /> +When from heaven He descended,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And became a child like thee!</span><br /> +<br /> +Soft and easy is thy cradle;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay,</span><br /> +When His birthplace was a stable,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And His softest bed was hay.</span><br /> +<br /> +See the kindly shepherds round him,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Telling wonders from the sky!</span><br /> +When they sought Him, there they found Him,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With his Virgin-Mother by.</span><br /> +<br /> +See the lovely babe a-dressing;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lovely infant, how He smiled!</span><br /> +When He wept, the mother's blessing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Soothed and hushed the holy child.</span><br /> +<br /> +Lo, He slumbers in His manger,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the honest oxen fed;</span><br /> +—Peace, my darling! here's no danger!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Here's no ox a-near thy bed!</span><br /> +<br /> +Mayst thou live to know and fear Him,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Trust and love Him all thy days;</span><br /> +Then go dwell forever near Him,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">See His face, and sing His praise!</span><br /> +<br /> +I could give thee thousand kisses,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hoping what I most desire;</span><br /> +Not a mother's fondest wishes<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Can to greater joys aspire.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Isaac Watts.</div> + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span></p> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Christmas Silence</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Hushed are the pigeons cooing low<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On dusty rafters of the loft;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And mild-eyed oxen, breathing soft,</span><br /> +Sleep on the fragrant hay below.<br /> +<br /> +Dim shadows in the corner hide;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The glimmering lantern's rays are shed</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where one young lamb just lifts his head,</span><br /> +Then huddles 'gainst his mother's side.<br /> +<br /> +Strange silence tingles in the air;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through the half-open door a bar</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of light from one low-hanging star</span><br /> +Touches a baby's radiant hair.<br /> +<br /> +No sound: the mother, kneeling, lays<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her cheek against the little face.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh human love! Oh heavenly grace!</span><br /> +'Tis yet in silence that she prays!<br /> +<br /> +Ages of silence end to-night;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then to the long-expectant earth</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Glad angels come to greet His birth</span><br /> +In burst of music, love, and light!<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Margaret Deland.</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span></p> + + + + +<div class='center'><i>An Offertory</i><br /><br /></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Oh, the beauty of the Christ Child,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The gentleness, the grace,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The smiling, loving tenderness,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The infantile embrace!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">All babyhood he holdeth,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">All motherhood enfoldeth—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yet who hath seen his face?</span><br /> +<br /> +Oh, the nearness of the Christ Child,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When, for a sacred space,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He nestles in our very homes—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Light of the human race!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">We know him and we love him,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">No man to us need prove him—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yet who hath seen his face?</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Mary Mapes Dodge.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Christmas Song</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Why do bells for Christmas ring?<br /> +Why do little children sing?<br /> +<br /> +Once a lovely, shining star,<br /> +Seen by shepherds from afar,<br /> +Gently moved until its light<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span>Made a manger-cradle bright.<br /> +<br /> +There a darling baby lay<br /> +Pillowed soft upon the hay.<br /> +And his mother sang and smiled,<br /> +"This is Christ, the holy child."<br /> +<br /> +So the bells for Christmas ring,<br /> +So the little children sing.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Lydia Avery Coonley Ward.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>A Visit from St. Nicholas</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem2'> +'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house<br /> +Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.<br /> +The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,<br /> +In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.<br /> +The children were nestled all snug in their beds,<br /> +While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;<br /> +And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap,<br /> +Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap—<br /> +When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter<br /> +I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.<br /> +Away to the window I flew like a flash,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span>Tore open the shutter, and threw up the sash.<br /> +The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow<br /> +Gave a lustre of midday to objects below;<br /> +When what to my wondering eyes should appear<br /> +But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer,<br /> +With a little old driver, so lively and quick,<br /> +I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick!<br /> +More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,<br /> +And he whistled and shouted and called them by name.<br /> +"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!<br /> +On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!—<br /> +To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall,<br /> +Now, dash away, dash away, dash away all!"<br /> +As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,<br /> +When they meet with an obstacle mount to the sky,<br /> +So, up to the housetop the coursers they flew,<br /> +With a sleigh full of toys—and St. Nicholas, too.<br /> +And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof<br /> +The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.<br /> +As I drew in my head, and was turning around,<br /> +Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound:<br /> +He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span>And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot:<br /> +A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,<br /> +And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack.<br /> +His eyes, how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!<br /> +His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry;<br /> +His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,<br /> +And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow.<br /> +The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,<br /> +And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath.<br /> +He had a broad face and a little round belly<br /> +That shook, when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.<br /> +He was chubby and plump—a right jolly old elf:<br /> +And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;<br /> +A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head,<br /> +Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.<br /> +He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,<br /> +And filled all the stockings: then turned with a jerk,<br /> +And laying his finger aside of his nose,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span>And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.<br /> +He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,<br /> +And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.<br /> +But I heard him exclaim, ere they drove out of sight,<br /> +"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Clement C. Moore.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Christmas Trees</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +There's a stir among the trees,<br /> +There's a whisper in the breeze,<br /> +Little ice-points clash and clink,<br /> +Little needles nod and wink,<br /> +Sturdy fir-trees sway and sigh—<br /> +"Here am I! Here am I!"<br /> +<br /> +"All the summer long I stood<br /> +In the silence of the woods.<br /> +Tall and tapering I grew;<br /> +What might happen well I knew;<br /> +For one day a little bird<br /> +Sang, and in the song I heard<br /> +Many things quite strange to me<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span>Of Christmas and the Christmas tree.<br /> +<br /> +"When the sun was hid from sight<br /> +In the darkness of the night,<br /> +When the wind with sudden fret<br /> +Pulled at my green coronet,<br /> +Staunch I stood, and hid my fears,<br /> +Weeping silent fragrant tears,<br /> +Praying still that I might be<br /> +Fitted for a Christmas tree.<br /> +<br /> +"Now here we stand<br /> +On every hand!<br /> +In us a hoard of summer stored,<br /> +Birds have flown over us,<br /> +Blue sky has covered us,<br /> +Soft winds have sung to us,<br /> +Blossoms have flung to us<br /> +Measureless sweetness,<br /> +Now in completeness<br /> +We wait."<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Mary F. Butts.</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>A Birthday Gift</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +<br /> +<b>. . . . . . . .</b><br /> +<br /> +What can I give him,<br /> +Poor as I am?<br /> +If I were a shepherd<br /> +I would bring a lamb,<br /> +If I were a wise man<br /> +I would do my part,—<br /> +Yet what I can I give him,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Give my heart.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Christina Rossetti.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>A Christmas Lullaby</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Sleep, baby, sleep! The Mother sings:<br /> +Heaven's angels kneel and fold their wings.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Sleep, baby, sleep!</span><br /> +<br /> +With swathes of scented hay Thy bed<br /> +By Mary's hand at eve was spread.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Sleep, baby, sleep!</span><br /> +<br /> +At midnight came the shepherds, they<br /> +Whom seraphs wakened by the way.<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 10em;">Sleep, baby, sleep!</span><br /> +<br /> +And three kings from the East afar,<br /> +Ere dawn came, guided by the star.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Sleep, baby, sleep!</span><br /> +<br /> +They brought Thee gifts of gold and gems,<br /> +Pure orient pearls, rich diadems.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Sleep, baby, sleep!</span><br /> +<br /> +But Thou who liest slumbering there,<br /> +Art King of Kings, earth, ocean, air.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Sleep, baby, sleep!</span><br /> +<br /> +Sleep, baby, sleep! The shepherds sing:<br /> +Through heaven, through earth, hosannas ring.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Sleep, baby, sleep!</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>John Addington Symonds.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>I Saw Three Ships</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +I saw three ships come sailing in,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Christmas day, on Christmas day;</span><br /> +I saw three ships come sailing in,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Christmas day in the morning.</span><br /> +<br /> +<b>. . . . . . . .</b><br /> +<br /> +Pray whither sailed those ships all three<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Christmas day, on Christmas day?</span><br /> +Pray whither sailed those ships all three<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Christmas day in the morning?</span><br /> +<br /> +Oh, they sailed into Bethlehem<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Christmas day, on Christmas day;</span><br /> +Oh, they sailed into Bethlehem<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Christmas day in the morning.</span><br /> +<br /> +And all the bells on earth shall ring<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Christmas day, on Christmas day;</span><br /> +And all the bells on earth shall ring<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Christmas day in the morning.</span><br /> +<br /> +And all the angels in heaven shall sing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Christmas day, on Christmas day;</span><br /> +And all the angels in heaven shall sing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Christmas day in the morning.</span><br /> +<br /> +And all the souls on earth shall sing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Christmas day, on Christmas day;</span><br /> +And all the souls on earth shall sing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Christmas day in the morning.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Old Carol.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Santa Claus</i><br /><br /></div> + +<div class='poem'> +He comes in the night! He comes in the night!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He softly, silently comes;</span><br /> +While the little brown heads on the pillows so white<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are dreaming of bugles and drums.</span><br /> +<br /> +He cuts through the snow like a ship through the foam,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">While the white flakes around him whirl;</span><br /> +Who tells him I know not, but he findeth the home<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Of each good little boy and girl.</span><br /> +<br /> +His sleigh it is long, and deep, and wide;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">It will carry a host of things,</span><br /> +While dozens of drums hang over the side,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">With the sticks sticking under the strings.</span><br /> +And yet not the sound of a drum is heard,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Not a bugle blast is blown,</span><br /> +As he mounts to the chimney-top like a bird,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And drops to the hearth like a stone.</span><br /> +<br /> +The little red stockings he silently fills,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Till the stockings will hold no more;</span><br /> +The bright little sleds for the great snow hills<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Are quickly set down on the floor.</span><br /> +Then Santa Claus mounts to the roof like a bird,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And glides to his seat in the sleigh;</span><br /> +Not the sound of a bugle or drum is heard<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">As he noiselessly gallops away.</span><br /> +<br /> +He rides to the East, and he rides to the West,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Of his goodies he touches not one;</span><br /> +He eateth the crumbs of the Christmas feast<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">When the dear little folks are done.</span><br /> +Old Santa Claus doeth all that he can;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">This beautiful mission is his;</span><br /> +Then, children, be good to the little old man,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">When you find who the little man is.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Unknown.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Neighbors of the Christ Night</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Deep in the shelter of the cave,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The ass with drooping head</span><br /> +Stood weary in the shadow, where<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His master's hand had led.</span><br /> +About the manger oxen lay,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bending a wide-eyed gaze</span><br /> +Upon the little new-born Babe,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Half worship, half amaze.</span><br /> +High in the roof the doves were set,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And cooed there, soft and mild,</span><br /> +Yet not so sweet as, in the hay,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Mother to her Child.</span><br /> +The gentle cows breathed fragrant breath<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To keep Babe Jesus warm,</span><br /> +While loud and clear, o'er hill and dale,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">The cocks crowed, "Christ is born!"</span><br /> +Out in the fields, beneath the stars,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The young lambs sleeping lay,</span><br /> +And dreamed that in the manger slept<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Another, white as they.</span><br /> +<br /> +<b>. . . . . . . .</b><br /> +<br /> +These were Thy neighbors, Christmas Child;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To Thee their love was given,</span><br /> +For in Thy baby face there shone<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The wonder-light of Heaven.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Nora Archibald Smith.</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>Cradle Hymn</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Away in a manger, no crib for a bed,<br /> +The little Lord Jesus laid down his sweet head.<br /> +The stars in the bright sky looked down where he lay—<br /> +The little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay.<br /> +<br /> +The cattle are lowing, the baby awakes,<br /> +But little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes.<br /> +I love thee, Lord Jesus! look down from the sky,<br /> +And stay by my cradle till morning is nigh.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Martin Luther.</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>The Christmas Holly</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +The holly! the holly! oh, twine it with bay—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come give the holly a song;</span><br /> +For it helps to drive stern winter away,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With his garment so sombre and long;</span><br /> +It peeps through the trees with its berries of red,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And its leaves of burnished green,</span><br /> +When the flowers and fruits have long been dead,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And not even the daisy is seen.</span><br /> +Then sing to the holly, the Christmas holly,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That hangs over peasant and king;</span><br /> +While we laugh and carouse 'neath its glittering boughs,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the Christmas holly we'll sing.</span><br /> +<br /> +<b>. . . . . . . .</b><br /> +<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>Eliza Cook.</div> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 19px;"> +<img src="images/1acorn.png" width="19" height="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class='poem'> +Said I to myself, here's a chance for me<br /> +The Lilliput Laureate for to be!<br /> +And these are the Specimens I sent in<br /> +To Pinafore Palace. Shall I win?<br /> +</div> + +<div class='signature'>William Brighty Rands.</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>INDEX</h2> + +<div> +Adoration of the Wise Men, The, <a href="#Page_257">257</a><br /> +All Things Bright and Beautiful, <a href="#Page_237">237</a><br /> +Angel's Whisper, The, <a href="#Page_139">139</a><br /> +Answer to a Child's Question, <a href="#Page_62">62</a><br /> +Ant and the Cricket, The, <a href="#Page_78">78</a><br /> +April, In, <a href="#Page_8">8</a><br /> +Auld Daddy Darkness, <a href="#Page_221">221</a><br /> +<br /> +Baby Corn, <a href="#Page_93">93</a><br /> +Baby Seed Song, <a href="#Page_88">88</a><br /> +Beau's Reply, <a href="#Page_112">112</a><br /> +Bed-Time, <a href="#Page_232">232</a><br /> +Bells of Christmas, <a href="#Page_255">255</a><br /> +Birdies with Broken Wings, <a href="#Page_133">133</a><br /> +Birds in Spring, The, <a href="#Page_54">54</a><br /> +Birds in Summer, <a href="#Page_65">65</a><br /> +Bird's Song in Spring, <a href="#Page_102">102</a><br /> +Birthday Gift, A, <a href="#Page_267">267</a><br /> +Blessing for the Blessed, A, <a href="#Page_129">129</a><br /> +Blind Boy, The, <a href="#Page_160">160</a><br /> +Bluebird, The, <a href="#Page_68">68</a><br /> +Blue Jay, The, <a href="#Page_74">74</a><br /> +Boy and the Sheep, The, <a href="#Page_114">114</a><br /> +Boy, The, <a href="#Page_128">128</a><br /> +Boy's Song, A, <a href="#Page_165">165</a><br /> +Breeches, Going Into, <a href="#Page_174">174</a><br /> +Bunch of Roses, A, <a href="#Page_155">155</a><br /> +Butterflies, White, <a href="#Page_78">78</a><br /> +By Cool Siloam's Shady Rill, <a href="#Page_244">244</a><br /> +<br /> +Camel's Nose, The, <a href="#Page_240">240</a><br /> +Chanticleer, <a href="#Page_72">72</a><br /> +Child, A Sleeping, <a href="#Page_132">132</a><br /> +Child at Bethlehem, The, <a href="#Page_155">155</a><br /> +Child's Fancy, A, <a href="#Page_95">95</a><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span>Child's Grace, A, <a href="#Page_241">241</a><br /> +Child's Laughter, A, <a href="#Page_145">145</a><br /> +Child's Prayer, A, <a href="#Page_252">252</a><br /> +Child's Thought of God, A, <a href="#Page_241">241</a><br /> +Children, Little, <a href="#Page_137">137</a><br /> +Children, Other Little, <a href="#Page_123">123</a><br /> +Chill, A, <a href="#Page_144">144</a><br /> +Christmas Holly, The, <a href="#Page_273">273</a><br /> +Christmas Lullaby, A, <a href="#Page_267">267</a><br /> +Christmas Silence, The, <a href="#Page_260">260</a><br /> +Christmas Song, <a href="#Page_261">261</a><br /> +Christmas Trees, The, <a href="#Page_265">265</a><br /> +City Child, The, <a href="#Page_173">173</a><br /> +Cleanliness, <a href="#Page_126">126</a><br /> +Clouds, <a href="#Page_40">40</a><br /> +Corn-Fields, <a href="#Page_248">248</a><br /> +Cottager to Her Infant, <a href="#Page_230">230</a><br /> +Cow-Boy's Song, The, <a href="#Page_217">217</a><br /> +Cradle Hymn (Watts), <a href="#Page_258">258</a><br /> +Cradle Hymn (Luther), <a href="#Page_272">272</a><br /> +<br /> +Daffy-Down-Dilly, <a href="#Page_91">91</a><br /> +Daisy's Song, The, <a href="#Page_103">103</a><br /> +Dandelions, <a href="#Page_98">98</a><br /> +Day, A, <a href="#Page_28">28</a><br /> +Deaf and Dumb, <a href="#Page_159">159</a><br /> +Dear Little Violets, <a href="#Page_101">101</a><br /> +Discontent, <a href="#Page_193">193</a><br /> +Doll, Dressing the, <a href="#Page_167">167</a><br /> +Doll, The Lost, <a href="#Page_166">166</a><br /> +Dolladine, <a href="#Page_167">167</a><br /> +<br /> +Elf and the Dormouse, The, <a href="#Page_213">213</a><br /> +Elf, The Little, <a href="#Page_188">188</a><br /> +<br /> +Fable, <a href="#Page_206">206</a><br /> +Fairies of the Caldon-Low, The, <a href="#Page_209">209</a><br /> +Fairies' Shopping, The, <a href="#Page_204">204</a><br /> +Fairies, The Child and the, <a href="#Page_187">187</a><br /> +Fairies, The Last Voyage of The, <a href="#Page_184">184</a><br /> +Fairy Folk, The, <a href="#Page_181">181</a><br /> +Fairy in Armor, A, <a href="#Page_183">183</a><br /> +February, In, <a href="#Page_5">5</a><br /> +Fern, A New, <a href="#Page_186">186</a><br /> +Fern Song, <a href="#Page_90">90</a><br /> +Flax Flower, The, <a href="#Page_99">99</a><br /> +Flower Folk, The, <a href="#Page_81">81</a><br /> +Fountain, The, <a href="#Page_34">34</a><br /> +<br /> +Garaine, Little, <a href="#Page_140">140</a><br /> +Garden, In a, <a href="#Page_151">151</a><br /> +Good Luck, For, <a href="#Page_105">105</a><br /> +Good-Morning, <a href="#Page_29">29</a><br /> +Good-Night and Good-Morning, <a href="#Page_136">136</a><br /> +Grass, The Voice of the, <a href="#Page_36">36</a><br /> +Guessing Song, <a href="#Page_45">45</a><br /> +<br /> +Hie Away, <a href="#Page_176">176</a><br /> +High and Low, <a href="#Page_244">244</a><br /> +How the Leaves Came Down, <a href="#Page_17">17</a><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span>Hunting Song, <a href="#Page_176">176</a><br /> +<br /> +Infant Joy, <a href="#Page_129">129</a><br /> +I Remember, I Remember, <a href="#Page_135">135</a><br /> +I Saw Three Ships, <a href="#Page_268">268</a><br /> +<br /> +Jack Frost, <a href="#Page_47">47</a><br /> +<br /> +Kitten and Falling Leaves, The, <a href="#Page_121">121</a><br /> +<br /> +Lady Moon, <a href="#Page_30">30</a><br /> +Lamb, The, <a href="#Page_242">242</a><br /> +Lamb, The Pet, <a href="#Page_116">116</a><br /> +Lambs in the Meadow, <a href="#Page_115">115</a><br /> +Land of Story-Books, The, <a href="#Page_172">172</a><br /> +Lark and the Rook, The, <a href="#Page_56">56</a><br /> +Letter, A, to Lady Margaret Cavendish Holles-Harley, when a Child, <a href="#Page_141">141</a><br /> +Little Christel, <a href="#Page_250">250</a><br /> +Little Dandelion, <a href="#Page_97">97</a><br /> +Little Gustava, <a href="#Page_152">152</a><br /> +Little Land, The, <a href="#Page_148">148</a><br /> +Little White Lily, <a href="#Page_83">83</a><br /> +Lobster Quadrille, A, <a href="#Page_202">202</a><br /> +Love and the Child, <a href="#Page_142">142</a><br /> +Lucy Gray, <a href="#Page_156">156</a><br /> +Lullaby of an Infant Chief, <a href="#Page_226">226</a><br /> +Lullaby, Old Gaelic, <a href="#Page_228">228</a><br /> +<br /> +Magpie's Nest, The, <a href="#Page_198">198</a><br /> +March, <a href="#Page_6">6</a><br /> +Marjorie's Almanac, <a href="#Page_3">3</a><br /> +May, <a href="#Page_13">13</a><br /> +Meg Merrilies, <a href="#Page_214">214</a><br /> +Midsummer Song, A, <a href="#Page_207">207</a><br /> +Milking Time, <a href="#Page_113">113</a><br /> +My Pony, <a href="#Page_109">109</a><br /> +<br /> +Nearly Ready, <a href="#Page_7">7</a><br /> +Neighbors of the Christ Night, <a href="#Page_271">271</a><br /> +Night, <a href="#Page_232">232</a><br /> +Night and Day, <a href="#Page_243">243</a><br /> +Nightfall in Dordrecht, <a href="#Page_233">233</a><br /> +Nightingale and the Glowworm, The, <a href="#Page_195">195</a><br /> +Now the Noisy Winds Are Still, <a href="#Page_33">33</a><br /> +<br /> +Offertory, An, <a href="#Page_261">261</a><br /> +O Lady Moon, <a href="#Page_31">31</a><br /> +Old Gaelic Lullaby, <a href="#Page_228">228</a><br /> +"One, Two, Three," <a href="#Page_188">188</a><br /> +Owl, The, <a href="#Page_70">70</a><br /> +Owl and the Pussy-Cat, The, <a href="#Page_201">201</a><br /> +<br /> +Pedlar's Caravan, The, <a href="#Page_170">170</a><br /> +Piping Down the Valleys Wild, <a href="#Page_131">131</a><br /> +Play-Time, <a href="#Page_163">163</a><br /> +Polly, <a href="#Page_143">143</a><br /> +<br /> +Rain, Signs of, <a href="#Page_41">41</a><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span>Rivulet, The, <a href="#Page_46">46</a><br /> +Robert of Lincoln, <a href="#Page_75">75</a><br /> +Robin Redbreast, <a href="#Page_54">54</a><br /> +Robin Redbreast, An Epitaph on a, <a href="#Page_67">67</a><br /> +Rockaby, Lullaby, <a href="#Page_224">224</a><br /> +Romance, <a href="#Page_215">215</a><br /> +<br /> +St. Nicholas, A Visit from, <a href="#Page_262">262</a><br /> +Sandman, The, <a href="#Page_228">228</a><br /> +Santa Claus, <a href="#Page_269">269</a><br /> +Sea-Song from the Shore, A, <a href="#Page_171">171</a><br /> +Seal Lullaby, <a href="#Page_113">113</a><br /> +September, <a href="#Page_16">16</a><br /> +Seven Times One, <a href="#Page_133">133</a><br /> +Sheep and Lambs, <a href="#Page_245">245</a><br /> +Shower, A Sudden, <a href="#Page_43">43</a><br /> +Singer, The, <a href="#Page_73">73</a><br /> +Sleep, A Charm to Call, <a href="#Page_231">231</a><br /> +Sleep, My Treasure, <a href="#Page_225">225</a><br /> +Snowbird, The, <a href="#Page_57">57</a><br /> +Snowdrops, <a href="#Page_89">89</a><br /> +Snowflakes, <a href="#Page_49">49</a><br /> +Song (Keats), <a href="#Page_69">69</a><br /> +Song (Peacock), <a href="#Page_104">104</a><br /> +Spaniel, On a, Called Beau, Killing a Young Bird, <a href="#Page_111">111</a><br /> +Spring, <a href="#Page_9">9</a><br /> +Spring and Summer, <a href="#Page_14">14</a><br /> +Spring Song, <a href="#Page_7">7</a><br /> +Spring, The Coming of, <a href="#Page_11">11</a><br /> +Spring, The Voice of, <a href="#Page_10">10</a><br /> +Storm, After the, <a href="#Page_156">156</a><br /> +Strange Lands, <a href="#Page_44">44</a><br /> +Summer Days, <a href="#Page_15">15</a><br /> +Swallows, The, <a href="#Page_53">53</a><br /> +Sweet and Low, <a href="#Page_227">227</a><br /> +<br /> +Thank You, Pretty Cow, <a href="#Page_114">114</a><br /> +Thanksgiving Day, <a href="#Page_196">196</a><br /> +Thanksgiving Fable, A, <a href="#Page_197">197</a><br /> +The Water! the Water! 49<br /> +There's Nothing Like the Rose, <a href="#Page_89">89</a><br /> +Thimble, What May Happen to a, <a href="#Page_190">190</a><br /> +Titmouse, The, <a href="#Page_64">64</a><br /> +To His Saviour, a Child; A Present by a Child, <a href="#Page_246">246</a><br /> +Tree, The, <a href="#Page_102">102</a><br /> +<br /> +Violet Bank, A, <a href="#Page_88">88</a><br /> +Violet, The, <a href="#Page_90">90</a><br /> +Violets, <a href="#Page_85">85</a><br /> +Voice, The Still Small, <a href="#Page_238">238</a><br /> +<br /> +Waterfall, The, <a href="#Page_35">35</a><br /> +What Does Little Birdie Say? <a href="#Page_69">69</a><br /> +What the Winds Bring, <a href="#Page_29">29</a><br /> +What Would You See? <a href="#Page_247">247</a><br /> +Where Go the Boats? <a href="#Page_125">125</a><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span>Who Stole the Bird's Nest? <a href="#Page_59">59</a><br /> +Wild Geese, <a href="#Page_71">71</a><br /> +Wild Winds, <a href="#Page_32">32</a><br /> +Wind in a Frolic, The, <a href="#Page_38">38</a><br /> +Wind, The, <a href="#Page_33">33</a><br /> +Windy Nights, <a href="#Page_31">31</a><br /> +Winter Night, <a href="#Page_19">19</a><br /> +Wishing, <a href="#Page_127">127</a><br /> +Wonderful World, The, <a href="#Page_27">27</a><br /> +World's Music, The, <a href="#Page_146">146</a><br /> +Wynken, Blynken, and Nod, <a href="#Page_222">222</a><br /> +<br /> +Year's Windfalls, A (Rossetti), <a href="#Page_20">20</a><br /> +Young Dandelion, <a href="#Page_86">86</a><br /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> <i>From "Rhymes and Jingles," by Mary Mapes Dodge. By permission +of Charles Scribner's Sons.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_B_2" id="Footnote_B_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_B_2"><span class="label">[B]</span></a> <i>From "Sing-Song," by Christina G. Rossetti. By permission of +the Macmillan Company.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_C_3" id="Footnote_C_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_C_3"><span class="label">[C]</span></a> <i>From "A Child's Garden of Verses," by Robert Louis Stevenson. +By permission of Charles Scribner's Sons.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_D_4" id="Footnote_D_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_D_4"><span class="label">[D]</span></a> <i>From "Along the Way," by Mary Mapes Dodge. By permission +of Charles Scribner's Sons.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_E_5" id="Footnote_E_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_E_5"><span class="label">[E]</span></a> <i>From "Along the Way," by permission of Charles Scribner's Sons.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_F_6" id="Footnote_F_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_F_6"><span class="label">[F]</span></a> <i>Courtesy of D. Appleton & Co., Publishers of Bryant's Complete +Poetical Works.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_G_7" id="Footnote_G_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_G_7"><span class="label">[G]</span></a> <i>From "A Child's Garden of Verses." By permission of Charles +Scribner's Sons.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_H_8" id="Footnote_H_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_H_8"><span class="label">[H]</span></a> <i>From "Rhymes and Jingles." By permission of Charles Scribner's +Sons.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_I_9" id="Footnote_I_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_I_9"><span class="label">[I]</span></a> <i>From "A Child's Garden of Verses." By permission of Charles +Scribner's Sons.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_J_10" id="Footnote_J_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_J_10"><span class="label">[J]</span></a> <i>From "A Child's Garden of Verses," by Robert Louis Stevenson. +By permission of Charles Scribner's Sons.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_K_11" id="Footnote_K_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_K_11"><span class="label">[K]</span></a> <i>From "The Poems of H. C. Bunner." Copyright, 1889, by Charles +Scribner's Sons.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_L_12" id="Footnote_L_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_L_12"><span class="label">[L]</span></a> <i>From "A Child's Garden of Verses," by Robert Louis Stevenson. +By permission of Charles Scribner's Sons.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_M_13" id="Footnote_M_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_M_13"><span class="label">[M]</span></a> <i>From "With Trumpet and Drum," by Eugene Field. Copyright, +1892, by Charles Scribner's Sons.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_N_14" id="Footnote_N_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_N_14"><span class="label">[N]</span></a> <i>From "The Poetical Works of J. G. Holland." Copyright, 1881, by +Charles Scribner's Sons.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_O_15" id="Footnote_O_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_O_15"><span class="label">[O]</span></a> <i>From "With Trumpet and Drum," by Eugene Field. Copyright, +1892, by Charles Scribner's Sons.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_P_16" id="Footnote_P_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_P_16"><span class="label">[P]</span></a> <i>From "Rhymes and Jingles," by Mary Mapes Dodge. By permission +of Charles Scribner's Sons.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_Q_17" id="Footnote_Q_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_Q_17"><span class="label">[Q]</span></a> <i>From "Apple Blossoms," by Dora Read Goodale. By permission +of G. P. Putnam's Sons.</i></p></div></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class='tnote'><h3>Transcriber's Notes:</h3> +<p>Obvious punctuation errors repaired.</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#Page_151">151</a>, a break was inserted between the lines:<br /><br /> +Fairer though they be than dreams of ours.<br /> +Baby, hear the birds!</p> + +<p>The remaining corrections made are indicated by dotted lines under the corrections. Scroll the mouse over +the word and the original text will <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'apprear'">appear</ins>.</p></div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Posy Ring, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POSY RING *** + +***** This file should be named 22922-h.htm or 22922-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/2/9/2/22922/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Emmy and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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