POEMS OF YOUTH AND AGE The Human Seasons John Keats THE BABY ”Only a Baby Small” Matthias Barr Only Harriet Prescott Spofford Infant Joy William Blake Baby George Macdonald To a New-Born Baby Girl Grace Hazard Conkling To Little Renee William Aspenwall Bradley A Rhyme of One Frederick Locker-Lampson To a New-Born Child Cosmo Monkhouse Baby May William Cox Bennett Alice Herbert Bashford Songs for Fragoletta Richard Le Gallienne Choosing a Name Mary Lamb Weighing the Baby Ethel Lynn Beers Etude Realiste Algernon Charles Swinburne Little Feet Elizabeth Akers The Babie Jeremiah Eames Rankin Little Hands Laurence Binyon Bartholomew Norman Gale The Storm-Child May Byron ”On Parent Knees” William Jones ”Philip, My King” Dinah Maria Mulock Craik The King of the Cradle Joseph Ashby-Sterry The Firstborn John Arthur Goodchild No Baby in the House Clara Dolliver Our Wee White Rose Gerald Massey Into the World and Out Sarah M. P. Piatt ”Baby Sleeps” Samuel Hinds

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Baby Bell Thomas Bailey Aldrich IN THE NURSERY Mother Goose’s Melodies Unknown Jack and Jill Unknown The Queen of Hearts Unknown Little Bo-Peep Unknown Mary’s Lamb Sarah Josepha Hale The Star Jane Taylor ”Sing a Song of Sixpence” Unknown Simple Simon Unknown A Pleasant Ship Unknown ”I Had a Little Husband” Unknown ”When I Was a Bachelor” Unknown ”Johnny Shall Have a New Bonnet” Unknown The City Mouse and the Garden Mouse Christina Rossetti Robin Redbreast Unknown Solomon Grundy Unknown ”Merry Are the Bells” Unknown ”When Good King Arthur Ruled This Land” Unknown The Bells of London Unknown ”The Owl and the Eel and the Warming Pan” Laura E. Richards The Cow Ann Taylor The Lamb William Blake Little Raindrops Unknown ”Moon, So Round and Yellow” Matthias Barr The House That Jack Built Unknown Old Mother Hubbard Unknown The Death and Burial of Cock Robin Unknown Baby-Land George Cooper The First Tooth William Brighty Rands Baby’s Breakfast Emilie Poulsson The Moon Eliza Lee Follen Baby at Play Unknown The Difference Laura E. Richards Foot Soldiers John Banister Tabb Tom Thumb’s Alphabet Unknown Grammar in Rhyme Unknown Days of the Month Unknown The Garden Year Sara Coleridge Riddles Unknown Proverbs Unknown Kind Hearts Unknown Weather Wisdom Unknown 2

Old Superstitions Unknown THE ROAD TO SLUMBERLAND Wynken, Blynken, and Nod Eugene Field The Sugar-Plum Tree Eugene Field When the Sleepy Man Comes Charles G. D. Roberts Auld Daddy Darkness James Ferguson Willie Winkle William Miller The Sandman Margaret Thomson Janvier The Dustman Frederick Edward Weatherly Sephestia’s Lullaby Robert Greene ”Golden Slumbers Kiss Your Eyes” Thomas Dekker ”Sleep, Baby, Sleep” George Wither Mother’s Song Unknown A Lullaby Richard Rowlands A Cradle Hymn Isaac Watts Cradle Song William Blake Lullaby Carolina Nairne Lullaby of an Infant Chief Walter Scott Good-Night Jane Taylor ”Lullaby, O Lullaby” William Cox Bennett Lullaby Alfred Tennyson The Cottager to Her Infant Dorothy Wordsworth Trot, Trot! Mary F. Butts Holy Innocents Christina Georgina Rossetti Lullaby Josiah Gilbert Holland Cradle Song Josiah Gilbert Holland An Irish Lullaby Alfred Perceval Graves Cradle Song Josephine Preston Peabody Mother-Song from ”Prince Lucifer” Alfred Austin Kentucky Babe Richard Henry Buck Minnie and Winnie Alfred Tennyson Bed-Time Song Emilie Poulsson Tucking the Baby In Curtis May ”Jenny Wi’ the Airn Teeth” Alexander Anderson Cuddle Doon Alexander Anderson Bedtime Francis Robert St. Clair Erskine THE DUTY OF CHILDREN Happy Thought Robert Louis Stevenson Whole Duty of Children Robert Louis Stevenson Politeness Elizabeth Turner Rules of Behavior Unknown Little Fred Unknown The Lovable Child Emilie Poulsson Good and Bad Children Robert Louis Stevenson 3

Rebecca’s After-Thought Elizabeth Turner Kindness to Animals Unknown A Rule for Birds’ Nesters Unknown ”Sing on, Blithe Bird” William Motherwell ”I Like Little Pussy” Jane Taylor Little Things Julia Fletcher Carney The Little Gentleman Unknown The Crust of Bread Unknown ”How Doth the Little Busy Bee” Isaac Watts The Brown Thrush Lucy Larcom The Sluggard Isaac Watts The Violet Jane Taylor Dirty Jim Jane Taylor The Pin Ann Taylor Jane and Eliza Ann Taylor Meddlesome Matty Ann Taylor Contented John Jane Taylor Friends Abbie Farwell Brown Anger Charles and Mary Lamb ”There Was a Little Girl” H. W. Longfellow The Reformation of Godfrey Gore William Brighty Rands The Best Firm Walter G. Doty A Little Page’s Song William Alexander Percy How the Little Kite Learned to Fly Unknown The Butterfly and the Bee William Lisle Bowles The Butterfly Adelaide O’Keefe Morning Jane Taylor Buttercups and Daisies Mary Howitt The Ant and the Cricket Unknown After Wings Sarah M. B. Piatt Deeds of Kindness Epes Sargent The Lion and the Mouse Jeffreys Taylor The Boy and the Wolf John Hookham Frere The Story of Augustus, Who Would Not Have Any Soup Heinrich Hoffman The Story of Little Suck-A-Thumb Heinrich Hoffman Written in a Little Lady’s Little Album Frederick William Faber My Lady Wind Unknown To a Child William Wordsworth A Farewell Charles Kingsley RHYMES OF CHILDHOOD Reeds of Innocence William Blake The Wonderful World William Brighty Rands 4

The World’s Music Gabriel Setoun A Boy’s Song James Hogg Going Down Hill On a Bicycle Henry Charles Beeching Playgrounds Laurence Alma-Tadema ”Who Has Seen the Wind?” Christina Georgina Rossetti The Wind’s Song Gabriel Setoun The Piper on the Hill Dora Sigerson Shorter The Wind and the Moon George Macdonald Child’s Song in Spring Edith Nesbit Baby Seed Song Edith Nesbit Little Dandelion Helen Barron Bostwick Little White Lily George Macdonald Wishing William Allingham In the Garden Ernest Crosby The Gladness of Nature William Cullen Bryant Glad Day W. Graham Robertson The Tiger William Blake Answer to a Child’s Question Samuel Taylor Coleridge How the Leaves Came Down Susan Coolidge A Legend of the Northland Phoebe Cary The Cricket’s Story Emma Huntington Nason The Singing-Lesson Jean Ingelow Chanticleer Katherine Tynan ”What Does Little Birdie Say?” Alfred Tennyson Nurse’s Song William Blake Jack Frost Gabriel Setoun October’s Party George Cooper The Shepherd William Blake Nikolina Celia Thaxter Little Gustava Celia Thaxter Prince Tatters Laura E. Richards The Little Black Boy William Blake The Blind Boy Colley Cibber Bunches of Grapes Walter de la Mare My Shadow Robert Louis Stevenson The Land of Counterpane Robert Louis Stevenson The Land of Story-Books Robert Louis Stevenson The Gardener Robert Louis Stevenson Foreign Lands Robert Louis Stevenson My Bed is a Boat Robert Louis Stevenson The Peddler’s Caravan William Brighty Rands Mr. Coggs Edward Verrall Lucas The Building of the Nest Margaret Sangster ”There was a Jolly Miller” Isaac Bickerstaff One and One Mary Mapes Dodge A Nursery Song Laura E. Richards A Mortifying Mistake Anna Maria Pratt The Raggedy Man James Whitcomb Riley The Man in the Moon James Whitcomb Riley 5

Little Orphant Annie James Whitcomb Riley Our Hired Girl James Whitcomb Riley See’n Things Eugene Field The Duel Eugene Field Holy Thursday William Blake A Story for a Child Bayard Taylor The Spider and the Fly Mary Howitt The Captain’s Daughter James Thomas Fields The Nightingale and the Glow-Worm William Cowper Sir Lark and King Sun: A Parable George Macdonald The Courtship, Merry Marriage, and Picnic Dinner of Cock Robin and Jenny Wren Unknown The Babes in the Wood Unknown God’s Judgment on a Wicked Bishop Robert Southey The Pied Piper of Hamelin Robert Browning THE GLAD EVANGEL A Carol Unknown ”God Rest You Merry Gentlemen” Unknown ’O Little Town of Bethlehem” Phillips Brooks A Christmas Hymn Alfred Domett ”While Shepherds Watched their Flocks by Night” Nahum Tate Christmas Carols Edmund Hamilton Sears The Angels William Drummond The Burning Babe Robert Southwell Tryste Noel Louise Imogen Guiney Christmas Carol Unknown ”Brightest and Best of the Sons of the Morning” Reginald Heber Christmas Bells Henry Wadsworth Longfellow A Christmas Carol Gilbert Keith Chesterton The House of Christmas Gilbert Keith Chesterton The Feast of the Snow Gilbert Keith Chesterton Mary’s Baby Shaemas OSheel Gates and Doors Joyce Kilmer The Three Kings Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Lullaby in Bethlehem Henry Howarth Bashford A Child’s Song of Christmas Marjorie L. C. Pickthall Jest ’Fore Christmas Eugene Field A Visit from St. Nicholas Clement Clarke Moore Ceremonies for Christmas Robert Herrick On the Morning of Christ’s 6

Nativity John Milton FAIRYLAND The Fairy Book Norman Gale Fairy Songs William Shakespeare Queen Mab Ben Jonson The Elf and the Dormouse Oliver Herford ”Oh! Where Do Fairies Hide Their Heads?” Thomas Haynes Bayly Fairy Song Leigh Hunt Dream Song Richard Middleton Fairy Song John Keats Queen Mab Thomas Hood The Fairies of the Caldon-Low Mary Howitt The Fairies William Allingham The Fairy Thrall Mary C. G. Byron Farewell to the Fairies Richard Corbet The Fairy Folk Robert Bird The Fairy Book Abbie Farwell Brown The Visitor Patrick R. Chalmers The Little Elf John Kendrick Bangs The Satyrs and the Moon Herbert S. Gorman THE CHILDREN The Children Charles Monroe Dickinson The Children’s Hour Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Laus Infantium William Canton The Desire Katherine Tynan A Child’s Laughter Algernon Charles Swinburne Seven Years Old Algernon Charles Swinburne Creep Afore Ye Gang James Ballantine Castles in the Air James Ballantine Under My Window Thomas Westwood Little Bell Thomas Westwood The Barefoot Boy John Greenleaf Whittier The Heritage James Russell Lowell Letty’s Globe Charles Tennyson Turner Dove’s Nest Joseph Russell Taylor The Oracle Arthur Davison Ficke To a Little Girl Helen Parry Eden To a Little Girl Gustav Kobbe A Parental Ode to My Son Thomas Hood A New Poet William Canton To Laura W-, Two Years Old Nathaniel Parker Willis To Rose Sara Teasdale To Charlotte Pulteney Ambrose Philips The Picture of Little T. C. 7

in a Prospect of Flowers Andrew Marvell To Hartley Coleridge William Wordsworth To a Child of Quality Matthew Prior Ex Ore Infantium Francis Thompson Obituary Thomas William Parsons The Child’s Heritage John G. Neihardt A Girl of Pompeii Edward Sandford Martin On the Picture of a ”Child Tired of Play” Nathaniel Parker Willis The Reverie of Poor Susan William Wordsworth Children’s Song Ford Madox Hueffer The Mitherless Bairn William Thom The Cry of the Children Elizabeth Barrett Browning The Shadow-Child Harriet Monroe Mother Wept Joseph Skipsey Duty Ralph Waldo Emerson Lucy Gray William Wordsworth In the Children’s Hospital Alfred Tennyson ”If I Were Dead” Coventry Patmore The Toys Coventry Patmore A Song of Twilight Unknown Little Boy Blue Eugene Field The Discoverer Edmund Clarence Stedman A Chrysalis Mary Emily Bradley Mater Dolorosa William Barnes The Little Ghost Katherine Tynan Motherhood Josephine Daskam Bacon The Mother’s Prayer Dora Sigerson Shorter Da Leetla Boy Thomas Augustin Daly On the Moor Gale Young Rice Epitaph of Dionysia Unknown For Charlie’s Sake John Williamson Palmer ”Are the Children at Home?” Margaret Sangster The Morning-Glory Maria White Lowell She Came and Went James Russell Lowell The First Snow-fall James Russell Lowell ”We Are Seven” William Wordsworth My Child John Pierpont The Child’s Wish Granted George Parsons Lathrop Challenge Kenton Foster Murray Tired Mothers May Riley Smith My Daughter Louise Homer Greene ”I Am Lonely” George Eliot Sonnets from ”Mimma Bella” Eugene Lee-Hamilton Rose-Marie of the Angels Adelaide Crapsey MAIDENHOOD Maidenhood Henry Wadsworth Longfellow To the Virgins, to Make 8

Who Has Put Up Her Hair Henry Howarth Bashford The Gipsy Girl Henry Alford Fanny Anne Reeve Aldrich Somebody’s Child Louise Chandler Moulton Emilia Sarah N.Much of Time Robert Herrick To Mistress Margaret Hussey John Skelton On Her Coming To London Edmund Waller ”O. T. Be Not False” Richard Watson Gilder A Life-Lesson James Whitcomb Riley THE MAN The Breaking Margaret Steele Anderson The Flight of Youth Richard Henry Stoddard ”Days of My Youth” St. Saw Ye Bonny Lesley” Robert Burns To a Young Lady William Cowper Ruth Thomas Hood The Solitary Reaper William Wordsworth The Three Cottage Girls William Wordsworth Blackmwore Maidens William Barnes A Portrait Elizabeth Barrett Browning To a Child of Fancy Lewis Morris Daisy Francis Thompson To Petronilla. Whitney 9 . George Tucker Ave Atque Vale Rosamund Marriott Watson To Youth Walter Savage Landor Stanzas Written on the Road Between Florence and Pisa George Gordon Byron Stanzas for Music George Gordon Byron ”When As a Lad” Isabel Ecclestone Mackay ”Around the Child” Walter Savage Landor Aladdin James Russell Lowell The Quest Ellen Mackey Hutchinson Cortissoz My Birth-Day Thomas Moore Sonnet on His having Arrived to the Age of Twenty-Three John Milton On This Day I Complete My Thirty-Sixth Year George Gordon Byron Growing Gray Austin Dobson The One White Hair Walter Savage Landor Ballade of Middle Age Andrew Lang Middle Age Rudolph Chambers Lehmann To Critics Walter Learned The Rainbow William Wordsworth Leavetaking William Watson Equinoctial Adeline D. Cleghorn To a Greek Girl Austin Dobson ”Chamber Scene” Nathaniel Parker Willis ”Ah.

”Before the Beginning of Years” Algernon Charles Swinburne Man Henry Vaughan The Pulley George Herbert Ode on the Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood William Wordsworth THE WOMAN Woman Eaton Stannard Barrett Woman From the Sanskrit of Calidasa Simplex Munditiis Ben Jonson Delight in Disorder Robert Herrick A Praise of His Lady John Heywood On a Certain Lady at Court Alexander Pope Perfect Woman William Wordsworth The Solitary-Hearted Hartley Coleridge Of Those Who Walk Alone Richard Burton ”She Walks in Beauty” George Gordon Byron Preludes from ”The Angel in The House” Coventry Patmore A Health Edward Coote Pinkney Our Sister Horatio Nelson Powers From Life Brian Hooker The Rose of the World William Butler Yeats Dawn of Womanhood Harold Monro The Shepherdess Alice Meynell A Portrait Brian Hooker The Wife Theodosia Garrison ”Trusty. True” Robert Louis Stevenson The Shrine Digby Mackworth Dolben The Voice Norman Gale Mother Theresa Helburn Ad Matrem Julian Fane C.M John Masefield STEPPING WESTWARD Stepping Westward William Wordsworth A Farewell to Arms George Peele The World Francis Bacon ”When That I Was and a Little Tiny Boy” William Shakespeare Of the Last Verses in the Book Edmund Waller A Lament Chidiock Tichborne To-morrow John Collins Late Wisdom George Crabbe Youth and Age Samuel Taylor Coleridge 10 .L. Vivid. Dusky.

I Remember” Thomas Hood My Lost Youth Henry Wadsworth Longfellow ”Voice of the Western Wind” Edmund Clarence Stedman ”Langsyne. Robinson Time Long Past Percy Bysshe Shelley ”I Remember. Robinson Youth and Age George Arnold Forty Years On Edward Ernest Bowen Dregs Ernest Dowson The Paradox of Time Austin Dobson Age William Winter Omnia Sonmia Rosamund Marriott Watson The Year’s End Timothy Cole An Old Man’s Song Richard Le Gallienne Songs of Seven Jean Ingelow Auspex James Russell Lowell LOOKING BACKWARD The Retreat Henry Vaughan A Superscription Dante Gabriel Rossetti The Child in the Garden Henry Van Dyke Castles in the Air Thomas Love Peacock Sometimes Thomas S. Jones. When Life Was Bonnie” Alexander Anderson The Shoogy-Shoo Winthrop Packard 11 .The Old Man’s Comforts Robert Southey To Age Walter Savage Lander Late Leaves Walter Savage Lander Years Walter Savage Lander The River of Life Thomas Campbell ”Long Time a Child” Hartley Coleridge The World I am Passing Through Lydia Maria Child Terminus Ralph Waldo Emerson Rabbi Ben Ezra Robert Browning Human Life Audrey Thomas de Vere Young and Old Charles Kingsley The Isle of the Long Ago Benjamin Franklin Taylor Growing Old Matthew Arnold Past John Galsworthy Twilight A. Thompson Childhood John Banister Tabb The Wastrel Reginald Wright Kauffman Troia Fuit Reginald Wright Kauffman Temple Garlands A. Jones. Jr The Little Ghosts Thomas S. Mary F. Jr My Other Me Grace Denio Litchfield A Shadow Boat Arlo Bates A Lad That is Gone Robert Louis Stevenson Carcassonne John R. Mary F.

”Love is the Blossom where there blows” Giles Fletcher Rosalind’s Madrigal. Break” Alfred Tennyson PART II POEMS OF LOVE Eros Ralph Waldo Emerson ”NOW WHAT IS LOVE” ”Now What is Love” Walter Raleigh Wooing Song. Break. Thomas In the Twilight James Russell Lowell An Immorality Ezra Pound Three Seasons Christina Georgina Rossetti The Old Familiar Faces Charles Lamb The Light of Other Days Thomas Moore ”Tears. ”Love in My bosom” Thomas Lodge Song. ”Love is a sickness full of woes” Samuel Daniel Love’s Perjuries William Shakespeare Venus’ Runaway Ben Jonson What is Love John Fletcher Love’s Emblems John Fletcher The Power of Love John Fletcher Advice to a Lover Unknown 12 . Idle Tears” Alfred Tennyson The Pet Name Elizabeth Barrett Browning Threescore and Ten Richard Henry Stoddard Rain on the Roof Coates Kinney Alone by the Hearth George Arnold The Old Man Dreams Oliver Wendell Holmes The Garret William Makepeace Thackeray Auld Lang Syne Robert Burns Rock Me to Sleep Elizabeth Akers The Bucket Samuel Woodworth The Grape-Vine Swing William Gilmore Simms The Old Swimmin’-Hole James Whitcomb Riley Forty Years Ago Unknown Ben Bolt Thomas Dunn English ”Break.Babylon Viola Taylor The Road of Remembrance Lizette Woodworth Reese The Triumph of Forgotten Things Edith M.

love” Richard Le Gallienne ”Never Give all the Heart” William Butler Yeats Song. My Heart” Robert Bridges The Secret George Edward Woodberry The Rose of Stars George Edward Woodberry Song of Eros from ”Agathon” George Edward Woodberry Love is Strong Richard Burton ”Love once was like an April Dawn” Robert Underwood Johnson The Garden of Shadow Ernest Dowson The Call Reginald Wright Kauffman The Highway Louise Driscoll Song. ”O. Child” Sara Teasdale Wisdom Ford Madox Hueffer Epilogue from ”Emblems of Love” Lascelles Abercrombie 13 . ”Love still has something of the sea” Charles Sedley The Vine James Thomson Song. ”I came to the door of the house of love” Alfred Noyes ”Child. ”Could love for ever” George Gordon Byron ”They Speak o’ Wiles” William Thom ”Love will Find Out the Way” Unknown A Woman’s Shortcomings Elizabeth Barrett Browning ”Love hath a Language” Helen Selina Sheridan Song. ”Take it. Love is not a Summer Mood” Richard Watson Gilder ”When will Love Come” Pakenham Beatty ”Awake. how Sweet it is to Love” John Dryden Song. ”Fain would I change that Note” Unknown Cupid Stung Thomas Moore Cupid Drowned Leigh Hunt Song. ”Oh! say not woman’s love is bought” Isaac Pocock ”In the Days of Old” Thomas Love Peacock Song. ”How delicious is the winning” Thomas Campbell Stanzas. let the solid ground” Alfred Tennyson Amaturus William Johnson-Cory The Surface and the Depths Lewis Morris A Ballad of Dreamland Algernon Charles Swinburne Endymion Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Fate Susan Marr Spalding ”Give all to Love” Ralph Waldo Emerson ”O.Love’s Horoscope Richard Crashaw ”Ah.

”Ask me no more where Jove bestows” Thomas Carew A Devout Lover Thomas Randolph On a Girdle Edmund Waller Castara William Habington To Amarantha that She would Dishevel her Hair Richard Lovelace Chloe Divine Thomas D’Urfey My Peggy Allan Ramsay Song.On Hampstead Heath Wilfrid Wilson Gibson Once on a Time Kendall Banning IN PRAISE OF HER First Song from ”Astrophel and Stella” Philip Sidney Silvia William Shakespeare Cupid and Campaspe John Lyly Apollo’s Song from ”Midas” John Lyly ”Fair is my Love for April’s in her Face” Robert Greene Samela Robert Greene Damelus’ Song of His Diaphenia Henry Constable Madrigal. ”The shape alone let others Prize” Mark Akenside Kate of Aberdeen John Cunningham 14 . ”O ruddier than the cherry” John Gay ”Tell me. if this be Love” George Lyttleton The Fair Thief Charles Wyndham Amoret Mark Akenside Song. my Heart. ”My Love in her attire doth show her wit” Unknown On Chloris Walking in the Snow William Strode ”There is a Lady Sweet and Kind” Unknown Cherry-Ripe Thomas Campion Amarillis Thomas Campion Elizabeth of Bohemia Henry Wotton Her Triumph Ben Jonson Of Phillis William Drummond A Welcome William Browne The Complete Lover William Browne Rubies and Pearls Robert Herrick Upon Julia’s Clothes Robert Herrick To Cynthia on Concealment of her Beauty Francis Kynaston Song.

”This peach is pink with such a pink” Norman Gale In February Henry Simpson ”Love. ”Nay. I Marvel What You Are” Trumbull Stickney Ballade of My Lady’s Beauty Joyce Kilmer Ursula Robert Underwood Johnson 15 . ”There be none of Beauty’s daughters” George Gordon Byron ”Flowers I would Bring” Aubrey Thomas de Vere ”It is not Beauty I Demand” George Darley Song. but you.Song. Mally’s Sweet” Robert Burns The Lover’s Choice Thomas Bedingfield Rondeau Redouble John Payne ”My Love She’s but a Lassie yet” James Hogg Jessie. ”She is not fair to outward view” Hartley Coleridge Song. ”A violet in her lovely hair” Charles Swain Eileen Aroon Gerald Griffin Annie Laurie Unknown To Helen Edgar Allan Poe ”A Voice by the Cedar Tree” Alfred Tennyson Song. Pansie” Thomas Ashe To Daphne Walter Besant ”Girl of the Red Mouth” Martin MacDermott The Daughter of Mendoza Mirabeau Bonaparte Lamar ”If She be made of White and Red” Herbert P. ”Who has robbed the ocean cave” John Shaw Chloe Robert Burns ”O Mally’s Meek. who do not love her” Robert Browning The Henchman John Green1eaf Whittier Lovely Mary Donnelly William Allingham Love in the Valley George Meredith Marian George Meredith Praise of My Lady William Morris Madonna Mia Algernon Charles Swinburne ”Meet we no Angels. the Flower o’ Dunblane Robert Tannahill Margaret and Dora Thomas Campbell Dagonet’s Canzonet Ernest Rhys Stanzas for Music. Horne The Lover’s Song Edward Rowland Sill ”When First I Saw Her” George Edward Woodberry My April Lady Henry Van Dyke The Milkmaid Austin Dobson Song.

by that loosened hair” Bliss Carman Song. ’is King of Kings’” Rupert Brooke Song. ”Ladies. O None but You” Thomas Campion Of Corinna’s Singing Thomas Campion ”Were my Heart as some Men’s are” Thomas Campion ”Kind are her Answers” Thomas Campion To Celia Ben Jonson Song. ”’Oh! Love. . who may Command him Anything Robert Herrick The Bracelet: To Julia Robert Herrick 16 . though to your conquering eyes” George Etherege To a Lady Asking Him how Long He would Love Her” George Etherege To Aenone Robert Herrick To Anthea. In Church Alan Seeger After Two Years Richard Aldington Praise Seumas O’Sullivan PLAINTS AND PROTESTATIONS ”Forget not Yet” Thomas Wyatt Fawnia Robert Greene The Passionate Shepherd to His Love Christopher Marlowe The Nymph’s Reply to the Passionate Shepherd Walter Raleigh ”Wrong not. ”Love. .Villanelle of His Lady’s Treasures Ernest Dowson Song. ”Go and catch a falling star” John Donne The Message John Donne Song. ”How do I love you” Irene Rutherford McLeod To . ”O. like a queen’s her happy tread” William Watson Any Lover.’ they said. . Sweet Empress of My Heart” Walter Raleigh To His Coy Love Michael Drayton Her Sacred Bower Thomas Campion To Lesbia Thomas Campion ”Love me or Not” Thomas Campion ”There is None. do not wanton with those eyes” Ben Jonson Song. ”O. Any Lass Richard Middleton Songs Ascending Witter Bynner Song.

I must Confess” John Wilmot Song. Dearest. ”Too late. ”Let my voice ring out and over the earth” James Thomson Gifts James Thomson Amynta Gilbert Elliot ”O Nancy! wilt Thou go with Me” Thomas Percy Cavalier’s Song Robert Cunninghame-Graham ”My Heart is a Lute” Anne Barnard 17 . ”Only tell her that I love” John Cutts ”False though She be” William Congreve To Silvia Anne Finch ”Why. I but Think of Thee” Suckling or Felltham A Doubt of Martyrdom John Suckling To Chloe William Cartwright I’ll Never Love Thee More James Graham To Althea. Fair Maid” Unknown To Celia Charles Cotton To Celia Charles Sedley A Song. Celia. ”Come. ”My dear mistress Has a Heart” John Wilmot Love and Life John Wilmot Constancy John Wilmot Song. alas.To the Western Wind Robert Herrick To my Inconstant Mistress Thomas Carew Persuasions to Enjoy Thomas Carew Mediocrity in Love Rejected Thomas Carew The Message Thomas Heywood ”How Can the Heart forget Her” Francis Davison To Roses in the Bosom of Castara William Habington To Flavia Edmund Waller ”Love not Me for Comely Grace” Unknown ”When. let’s agree at last” John Sheffield The Enchantment Thomas Otway Song. Lovely Charmer” Unknown Against Indifference Charles Webbe A Song to Amoret Henry Vaughan The Lass of Richmond Hill James Upton Song. from Prison Richard Lovelace Why I Love Her Alexander Brome To his Coy Mistress Andrew Marvell A Deposition from Beauty Thomas Stanley ”Love in thy Youth.

Song. E. The Flower of Beauty George Darley My Share of the World Alice Furlong Song. if all Those Endearing Young Charms” Thomas Moore The Nun Leigh Hunt Only of Thee and Me Louis Untermeyer To . ”It is the miller’s daughter” Alfred Tennyson Lilian Alfred Tennyson Bugle Song. ”Had I a heart for falsehood framed” Richard Brinsley Sheridan Meeting George Crabbe ”O Were my Love you Lilac Fair” Robert Burns ”Bonnie Wee Thing” Robert Burns Rose Aylmer Walter Savage Landor ”Take back the Virgin Page” Thomas Moore ”Believe me. from ”The Princess” Alfred Tennyson Ronsard to His Mistress William Makepeace Thackeray ”When You are Old” William Butler Yeats Song. ”You’ll love me yet. ”Love’s on the highroad” Dana Burnett The Secret Love A. and I can tarry” Robert Browning Love in a Life Robert Browning Life in a Love Robert Browning The Welcome Thomas Osborne Davis Urania Matthew Arnold Three Shadows Dante Gabriel Rossetti Since we Parted Edward Robert Bulwer Lytton A Match Algernon Charles Swinburne A Ballad of Life Algernon Charles Swinburne A Leave-Taking Algernon Charles Swinburne A Lyric Algernon Charles Swinburne Maureen John Todhunter A Love Symphony Arthur O’Shaughnessy 18 . ”A lake and a fairy boat” Thomas Hood ”Smile and Never Heed Me” Charles Swain Are They not all Ministering Spirits Robert Stephen Hawker Maiden Eyes Gerald Griffin Hallowed Places Alice Freeman Palmer The Lady’s ”Yes” Elizabeth Barrett Browning Song.Percy Bysshe Shelley From the Arabic Percy Bysshe Shelley The Wandering Knight’s Song John Gibson Lockhart Song.

C. Ernest Radford The Serf’s Secret William Vaughn Moody ”O. Low To Arcady Charles Buxton Going Wild Wishes Ethel M. Weir Mitchell 19 . Inexpressible as Sweet” George Edward Woodberry The Cyclamen Arlo Bates The West-Country Lover Alice Brown ”Be Ye in Love with April-Tide” Clinton Scollard Unity Alfred Noyes The Queen William Winter A Lover’s Envy Henry Van Dyke Star Song Robert Underwood Johnson ”My Heart Shall be Thy Garden” Alice Meynell At Night Alice Meynell Song. Tell me Yes” John Godfrey Saxe ”Do I Love Thee” John Godfrey Saxe ”O World. Dear. in the Dew” Mary Newmarch Prescott Nanny Francis Davis A Trifle Henry Timrod Romance Robert Louis Stevenson ”Or Ever the Knightly Years were Gone” William Ernest Henley Rus in Urbe Clement Scott My Road Oliver Opdyke A White Rose John Boyle O’Reilly ”Some Day of Days” Nora Perry The Telephone Robert Frost Where Love is Amelia Josephine Burr That Day You Came Lizette Woodworth Reese Amantium Irae Ernest Dowson In a Rose Garden John Bennett ”God Bless You. To-day” John Bennett To-day Benjamin R. ”Song is so old” Hermann Hagedorn ”All Last Night” Lascelles Abercrombie The Last Word Frederic Lawrence Knowles ”Heart of my Heart” Unknown My Laddie Amelie Rives The Shaded Pool Norman Gale Good-Night S.Love on the Mountain Thomas Boyd Kate Temple’s Song Mortimer Collins My Queen Unknown ”Darling. be Nobler” Laurence Binyon ”In the Dark. Hewitt ”Because of You” Sophia Almon Hensley Then Rose Terry Cooke The Missive Edmund Gosse Plymouth Harbor Mrs.

The Mystic Witter Bynner ”I Am the Wind” Zoe Akins ”I Love my Life, But not Too Well” Harriet Monroe ”This is my Love for You” Grace Fallow Norton MY LADY’S LIPS Lips and Eyes Thomas Middleton The Kiss Ben Jonson ”Take, O Take Those Lips Away” John Fletcher A Stolen Kiss George Wither Song, ”My Love bound me with a kiss” Unknown To Electra Robert Herrick ”Come, Chloe, and Give Me Sweet Kisses” Charles Hanbury Williams A Riddle William Cowper To a Kiss John Wolcot Song, ”Often I have heard it said” Walter Savage Landor The First Kiss of Love George Gordon Byron ”Jenny Kissed Me” Leigh Hunt ”I Fear Thy Kisses, Gentle Maiden” Percy Bysshe Shelley Love’s Philosophy Percy Bysshe Shelley Song, ”The moth’s kiss, first” Robert Browning Summum Bonum Robert Browning The First Kiss Theodore Watts-Dunton To My Love John Godfrey Saxe To Lesbia John Godfrey Saxe Make Believe Alice Cary Kissing’s No Sin Unknown To Anne William Maxwell Song, ”There is many a love in the land, my love” Joaquin Miller Phyllis and Corydon Arthur Colton AT HER WINDOW ”Hark, Hark, the Lark” William Shakespeare ”Sleep, Angry Beauty” Thomas Campion Matin Song Nathaniel Field The Night-Piece: To Julia Robert Herrick Morning William D’Avenant Matin Song Thomas Heywood The Rose Richard Lovelace Song, ”See, see, she wakes! 20

Sabina wakes” William Congreve Mary Morison Robert Burns Wake, Lady Joanna Baillie The Sleeping Beauty Samuel Rogers ”The Young May Moon” Thomas Moore ”Row Gently Here” Thomas Moore Morning Serenade Madison Cawein Serenade Aubrey Thomas De Vere Lines to an Indian Air Percy Bysshe Shelley Good-Night Percy Bysshe Shelley Serenade George Darley Serenade Thomas Hood Serenade Edward Coote Pinkney Serenade Henry Timrod Serenade Henry Wadsworth Longfellow ”Come into the Garden, Maud” Alfred Tennyson At Her Window Frederick Locker-Lampson Bedouin Song Bayard Taylor Night and Love Edward George Earle Bulwer-Lytton Nocturne Thomas Bailey Aldrich Palabras Carinosas Thomas Bailey Aldrich Serenade Oscar Wilde The Little Red Lark Alfred Perceval Graves Serenade Richard Middleton THE COMEDY OF LOVE A Lover’s Lullaby George Gascoigne Phillida and Corydon Nicholas Breton ”Crabbed Age and Youth” William Shakespeare ”It Was a Lover and His Lass” William Shakespeare ”I Loved a Lass” George Wither To Chloris Charles Sedley Song, ”The merchant, to secure his Treasure” Matthew Prior Pious Selinda William Congreve Fair Hebe John West A Maiden’s Ideal of a Husband Henry Carey ”Phillada Flouts Me” Unknown ”When Molly Smiles” Unknown Contentions Unknown ”I Asked My Fair, One Happy Day” Samuel Taylor Coleridge The Exchange Samuel Taylor Coleridge ”Comin’ Through the Rye” Robert Burns ”Green Grow the Rashes, O” Robert Burns Defiance Walter Savage Landor Of Clementina Walter Savage Landor 21

”The Time I’ve Lost in Wooing” Thomas Moore Dear Fanny Thomas Moore A Certain Young Lady Washington Irving ”Where Be You Going, You Devon Maid” John Keats Love in a Cottage Nathaniel Parker Willis Song of the Milkmaid from ”Queen Mary” Alfred Tennyson ”Wouldn’t You Like to Know” John Godfrey Saxe ”Sing Heigh-ho” Charles Kingsley The Golden Fish George Arnold The Courtin’ James Russell Lowell L’Eau Dormante Thomas Bailey Aldrich A Primrose Dame Gleeson White If James Jeffrey Roche Don’t James Jeffrey Roche An Irish Love-Song Robert Underwood Johnson Growing Old Walter Learned Time’s Revenge Walter Learned In Explanation Walter Learned Omnia Vincit Alfred Cochrane A Pastoral Norman Gale A Rose Arlo Bates ”Wooed and Married and A’” Alexander Ross ”Owre the Moor Amang the Heather” Jean Glover Marriage and the Care O’t Robert Lochore The Women Folk James Hogg ”Love is Like a Dizziness” James Hogg ”Behave Yoursel’ before Folk” Alexander Rodger Rory O’More; or, Good Omens Samuel Lover Ask and Have Samuel Lover Kitty of Coleraine Charles Dawson Shanly The Plaidie Charles Sibley Kitty Neil John Francis Waller ”The Dule’s i’ this Bonnet o’ Mine” Edwin Waugh The Ould Plaid Shawl Francis A. Fahy Little Mary Cassidy Francis A. Fahy The Road Patrick R. Chalmers Twickenham Ferry Theophile Marzials THE HUMOR OF LOVE Song, ”I prithee send me back my Heart” John Suckling A Ballad Upon a Wedding John Suckling To Chloe Jealous Matthew Prior 22

Jack and Joan Thomas Campion Phillis and Corydon Richard Greene Sally in Our Alley Henry Carey The Country Wedding Unknown ”O Merry may the Maid be” John Clerk The Lass o’ Gowrie Carolina Nairne The Constant Swain and Virtuous Maid Unknown When the Kye Comes Hame James Hogg The Low-Backed Car Samuel Lover The Pretty Girl of Loch Dan Samuel Ferguson Muckle-Mouth Meg Robert Browning Muckle-Mou’d Meg James Ballantine Glenlogie Unknown Lochinvar Walter Scott Jock of Hazeldean Walter Scott Candor Henry Cuyler Bunner ”Do you Remember” Thomas Haynes Bayly Because Edward Fitzgerald Love and Age Thomas Love Peacock To Helen Winthrop Mackworth Praed At the Church Gate William Makepeace Thackeray Mabel, in New Hampshire James Thomas Fields Toujours Amour Edmund Clarence Stedman The Doorstep Edmund Clarence Stedman The White Flag John Hay A Song of the Four Seasons Austin Dobson The Love-Knot Nora Perry Riding Down Nora Perry ”Forgettin’” Moira O’Neill ”Across the Fields to Anne” Richard Burton Pamela in Town Ellen Mackay Hutchinson Cortissoz Yes? Henry Cuyler Bunner The Prime of Life Walter Learned Thoughts on the Commandments George Augustus Baker THE IRONY OF LOVE ”Sigh no More, Ladies” William Shakespeare A Renunciation Edward Vere A Song, ”Ye happy swains, whose hearts are free” George Etherege To His Forsaken Mistress Robert Ayton To an Inconstant Robert Ayton Advice to a Girl Thomas Campion Song, ”Follow a shadow, it still flies you” Ben Jonson True Beauty Francis Beaumont The Indifferent Francis Beaumont The Lover’s Resolution George Wither 23

His Further Resolution Unknown Song, ”Shall I tell you whom I love” William Browne To Dianeme Robert Herrick Ingrateful Beauty Threatened Thomas Carew Disdain Returned Thomas Carew ”Love Who Will, for I’ll Love None” William Browne Valerius on Women Thomas Heywood Dispraise of Love, and Lovers’ Follies Francis Davison The Constant Lover John Suckling Song, ”Why so pale and wan, fond Lover” John Suckling Wishes to His Supposed Mistress Richard Crashaw Song, ”Love in fantastic Triumph sate” Aphra Behn Les Amours Charles Cotton Rivals William Walsh I Lately Vowed, but ’Twas in Haste John Oldmixon The Touchstone Samuel Bishop Air, ”I ne’er could any luster see” Richard Brinsley Sheridan ”I Took a Hansom on Today” William Ernest Henley Da Capo Henry Cuyler Bunner Song Against Women Willard Huntington Wright Song of Thyrsis Philip Freneau The Test Walter Savage Landor ”The Fault is not Mine” Walter Savage Landor The Snake Thomas Moore ”When I Loved You” Thomas Moore A Temple to Friendship Thomas Moore The Glove and the Lions Leigh Hunt To Woman George Gordon Byron Love’s Spite Aubrey Thomas de Vere Lady Clara Vere de Vere Alfred Tennyson Shadows Richard Monckton Milnes Sorrows of Werther William Makepeace Thackeray The Age of Wisdom William Makepeace Thackeray Andrea del Sarto Robert Browning My Last Duchess Robert Browning Adam, Lilith, and Eve Robert Browning The Lost Mistress Robert Browning Friend and Lover Mary Ainge de Vere Lost Love Andrew Lang Vobiscum est Iope Thomas Campion Four Winds Sara Teasdale To Marion Wilfrid Scawen Blunt 24

Crowned Amy Lowell Hebe James Russell Lowell ”Justine, You Love me Not” John Godfrey Saxe Snowdrop William Wetmore Story When the Sultan Goes to Ispahan Thomas Bailey Aldrich The Shadow Dance Louise Chandler Moulton ”Along the Field as we Came by” Alfred Edward Housman ”When I was One-and-Twenty” Alfred Edward Housman ”Grieve Not, Ladies” Anna Hempstead Branch Suburb Harold Monro The Betrothed Rudyard Kipling LOVE’S SADNESS ”The Night has a Thousand Eyes” Francis William Bourdillon ”I Saw my Lady Weep” Unknown Love’s Young Dream Thomas Moore ”Not Ours the Vows” Bernard Barton The Grave of Love Thomas Love Peacock ”We’ll go no More a Roving” George Gordon Byron Song, ”Sing the old song, amid the sounds dispersing” Aubrey Thomas de Vere The Question Percy Bysshe Shelley The Wanderer Austin Dobson Egyptian Serenade George William Curtis The Water Lady Thomas Hood ”Tripping Down the Field-path” Charles Swain Love Not Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton ”A Place in Thy Memory” Gerald Griffin Inclusions Elizabeth Barrett Browning Mariana Alfred Tennyson Ask Me no More Alfred Tennyson A Woman’s Last Word Robert Browning The Last Ride Together Robert Browning Youth and Art Robert Browning Two in the Campagna Robert Browning One Way of Love Robert Browning ”Never the Time and the Place” Robert Browning Song, ”Oh! that we two were Maying” Charles Kingsley For He Had Great Possessions Richard Middleton Windle-straws Edward Dowden Jessie Thomas Edward Brown The Chess-board Edward Robert Bulwer Lytton Aux Italiens Edward Robert Bulwer Lytton 25

Song, ”I saw the day’s white rapture” Charles Hanson Towne The Lonely Road Kenneth Rand Evensong Ridgely Torrence The Nymph’s Song to Hylas William Morris No and Yes Thomas Ashe Love in Dreams John Addington Symonds ”A Little While I fain would Linger Yet” Paul Hamilton Hayne Song, ”I made another garden, yea” Arthur O’Shaughnessy Song, ”Has summer come without the rose” Arthur O’Shaughnessy After Philip Bourke Marston After Summer Philip Bourke Marston Rococo Algernon Charles Swinburne Rondel Algernon Charles Swinburne The Oblation Algernon Charles Swinburne The Song of the Bower Dante Gabriel Rossetti Song, ”We break the glass, whose sacred wine” Edward Coote Pinkney Maud Muller John Greenleaf Whittier La Grisette Oliver Wendell Holmes The Dark Man Nora Hopper Eurydice Francis William Bourdillon A Woman’s Thought Richard Watson Gilder Laus Veneris Louise Chandler Moulton Adonais Will Wallace Harney Face to Face Frances Cochrane Ashore Laurence Hope Khristna and His Flute Laurence Hope Impenitentia Ultima Ernest Dowson Non Sum Quails Eram Bonae sub Regno Cynarae Ernest Dowson Quid non Speremus, Amantes? Ernest Dowson ”So Sweet Love Seemed” Robert Bridges An Old Tune Andrew Lang Refuge William Winter Midsummer Ella Wheeler Wilcox Ashes of Roses Elaine Goodale Sympathy Althea Gyles The Look Sara Teasdale ”When My Beloved Sleeping Lies” Irene Rutherford McLeod Love and Life Julie Mathilde Lippman Love’s Prisoner Mariana Griswold Van Rensselaer Rosies Agnes I. Hanrahan At the Comedy Arthur Stringer ”Sometime It may Be” Arthur Colton ”I heard a Soldier” Herbert Trench 26

The Last Memory Arthur Symonds ”Down by the Salley Gardens” William Butler Yates Ashes of Life Edna St. Vincent Millay A Farewell Alice Brown THE PARTED LOVERS Song, ”O mistress mine, where are you roaming” William Shakespeare ”Go, Lovely Rose” Edmund Waller To the Rose: A Song Robert Herrick Memory William Browne To Lucasta, Going to the Wars Richard Lovelace To Lucasta, Going beyond the Seas Richard Lovelace Song to a Fair Young Lady, Going out of the Town in the Spring John Dryden Song, ”To all you ladies now at land” Charles Sackville Song, ”In vain you tell your parting lover” Matthew Prior Black-Eyed Susan John Gay Irish Molly O Unknown Song, ”At setting day and rising morn” Allan Ramsay Lochaber no More Allan Ramsey Willie and Helen Hew Ainslie Absence Richard Jago ”My Mother Bids me Bind my Hair” Anne Hunter ”Blow High! Blow Low” Charles Dibdin The Siller Croun Susanna Blamire ”My Nannie’s Awa” Robert Burns ”Ae Fond Kiss” Robert Burns ”The Day Returns” Robert Burns My Bonnie Mary Robert Burns A Red, Red Rose Robert Burns I Love My Jean Robert Burns and John Hamilton The Rover’s Adieu, from ”Rokeby” Walter Scott ”Loudoun’s Bonnie Woods and Braes” Robert Tannahill ”Fare Thee Well” George Gordon Byron ”Maid of Athens, Ere We Part” George Gordon Byron ”When We Two Parted” George Gordon Byron ”Go, Forget Me” Charles Wolfe Last Night George Darley 27

Adieu Thomas Carlyle Jeanie Morrison William Motherwell The Sea-lands Orrick Johns Fair Ines Thomas Hood A Valediction Elizabeth Barrett Browning Farewell John Addington Symonds ”I Do Not Love Thee” Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton The Palm-tree and the Pine Richard Monckton Milnes ”O Swallow. Compton Mackenzie Song. Pickthall 28 . ”’Tis said that absence Conquers love” Frederick William Thomas Parting Gerald Massey The Parting Hour Olive Custance A Song of Autumn Rennell Rodd The Girl I Left Behind Me Unknown ”When We are Parted” Hamilton Aide Remember or Forget Hamilton Aide Nancy Dawson Herbert P. and fair the day” William Morris At Parting Algernon Charles Swinburne ”If She But Knew” Arthur O’Shaughnessy Kathleen Mavourneen Louisa Macartney Crawford Robin Adair Caroline Keppel ”If You Were Here” Philip Bourke Marston ”Come to Me. C. Swallow Flying South” Alfred Tennyson The Flower’s Name Robert Browning To Marguerite Matthew Arnold Separation Matthew Arnold Longing Matthew Arnold Divided Jean Ingelow My Playmate John Greenleaf Whittier A Farewell Coventry Patmore Departure Coventry Patmore A song of Parting H. ”Fair is the night. Hawley For Ever William Caldwell Roscoe Auf Wiedersehen James Russell Lowell ”Forever and a Day” Thomas Bailey Aldrich Old Gardens Arthur Upson Ferry Hinksey Laurence Binyon Wearyin’ fer You Frank L. C. Horne My Little Love Charles B. Stanton The Lovers of Marchaid Marjorie L. Dearest” Joseph Brenan Song.

Song. R. ”My silks and fine array” William Blake The Flight of Love Percy Bysshe Shelley ”Farewell! If ever Fondest Prayer” George Gordon Byron Porphyria’s Lover Robert Browning Modern Beauty Arthur Symons La Belle Dame Sans Merci John Keats Tantalus–Texas Joaquin Miller Enchainment Arthur O’Shaughnessy Auld Robin Gray Anne Barnard Lost Light Elizabeth Akers A Sigh Harriet Prescott Spofford Hereafter Harriet Prescott Spofford Endymion Oscar Wilde ”Love is a Terrible Thing” Grace Fallow Norton The Ballad of the Angel Theodosia Garrison ”Love Came Back at Fall o’ Dew” Lizette Woodworth Reese I Shall not Care Sara Teasdale Outgrown Julia C. Think Not I Forget” Willa Sibert Cather Little Wild Baby Margaret Thomson Janvier A Cradle Song Nicholas Breton Lady Anne Bothwell’s Lament Unknown A Woman’s Love John Hay 29 . Dorr A Tragedy Edith Nesbit Left Behind Elizabeth Akers The Forsaken Merman Matthew Arnold The Portrait Edward Robert Bulwer Lytton The Rose and Thorn Paul Hamilton Hayne To Her–Unspoken Amelia Josephine Burr A Light Woman Robert Browning From the Turkish George Gordon Byron A Summer Wooing Louise Chandler Moulton Butterflies John Davidson Unseen Spirits Nathaniel Parker Willis ”Grandmither. ”She’s somewhere in the sunlight strong” Richard Le Gallienne The Lover Thinks of His Lady in the North Shaemas O Sheel Chanson de Rosemonde Richard Hovey Ad Domnulam Suam Ernest Dawson Marian Drury Bliss Carman Love’s Rosary Alfred Noyes When She Comes Home James Whitcomb Riley THE TRAGEDY OF LOVE Song.

”’Twas when the seas were roaring” John Gay The Braes of Yarrow John Logan The Churchyard on the Sands Lord de Tabley The Minstrel’s Song from ”Aella” Thomas Chatterton Highland Mary Robert Burns 30 . I Cannot Mind My Wheel” Walter Savage Landor Airly Beacon Charles Kingsley A Sea Child Bliss Carman From the Harbor Hill Gustav Kobbe Allan Water Matthew Gregory Lewis Forsaken Unknown Bonnie Doon Robert Burns The Two Lovers Richard Hovey The Vampire Rudyard Kipling Agatha Alfred Austin ”A Rose Will Fade” Dora Sigerson Shorter Affaire d’Amour Margaret Deland A Casual Song Roden Noel The Way of It John Vance Cheney ”When Lovely Woman Stoops to Folly” Oliver Goldsmith Folk-Song Louis Untermeyer A Very Old Song William Laird ”She Was Young and Blithe and Fair” Harold Monro The Lass that Died of Love Richard Middleton The Passion-Flower Margaret Fuller Norah Zoe Akins Of Joan’s Youth Louise Imogen Guiney There’s Wisdom in Women Rupert Brooke Goethe and Frederika Henry Sidgwick The Song of the King’s Minstrel Richard Middleton Annie Shore and Johnnie Doon Patrick Orr Emmy Arthur Symons The Ballad of Camden Town James Elroy Flecker LOVE AND DEATH Helen of Kirconnell Unknown Willy Drowned in Yarrow Unknown Annan Water Unknown The Lament of the Border Widow Unknown Aspatia’s Song from ”The Maid’s Tragedy” John Fletcher A Ballad.A Tragedy Theophile Marzials ”Mother.

Norton The Watcher James Stephens The Three Sisters Arthur Davison Ficke Ballad May Kendall ”O that ’Twere Possible” Alfred Tennyson ”Home They Brought Her Warrior Dead” Alfred Tennyson Evelyn Hope Robert Browning Remembrance Emily Bronte Song.To Mary in Heaven Robert Burns Lucy William Wordsworth Proud Maisie Walter Scott Song. Gates ”Oh! Snatched away in Beauty’s Bloom” George Gordon Byron To Mary Charles Wolfe My Heart and I Elizabeth Barrett Browning Rosalind’s Scroll Elizabeth Barrett Browning Lament of the Irish Emigrant Helen Selina Sheridan The King of Denmark’s Ride Caroline E. my dearest” Christina Georgina Rossetti Sarrazine’s Song to Her Dead Lover Arthur O’Shaughnessy Love and Death Rosa Mulholland To One in Paradise Edgar Allan Poe Annabel Lee Edgar Allan Poe For Annie Edgar Allan Poe Telling the Bees John Greenleaf Whittier A Tryst Louise Chandler Moulton Love’s Resurrection Day Louise Chandler Moulton Heaven Martha Gilbert Dickinson Janette’s Hair Charles Graham Halpine The Dying Lover Richard Henry Stoddard ”When the Grass Shall Cover Me” Ina Coolbrith 31 . H. ”When I am dead. S.”The linnet in the rocky dells” Emily Bronte Song of the Old Love Jean Ingelow Requiescat Matthew Arnold Too Late Dinah Maria Mulock Craik Four Years Dinah Maria Mulock Craik Barbara Alexander Smith Song. ”Earl March looked on His dying child” Thomas Campbell The Maid’s Lament Walter Savage Landor ”She is Far from the Land” Thomas Moore ”At the Mid Hour of Night” Thomas Moore On a Picture by Poussin John Addington Symonds Threnody Ruth Guthrie Harding Strong as Death Henry Cuyler Banner ”I Shall not Cry Return” Ellen M.

”O sweet delight” Thomas Campion The Good-Morrow John Donne ”There’s Gowd in the Breast” James Hogg The Beggar Maid Alfred Tennyson Refuge A. Benedict Requiescat Rosamund Marriott Watson The Four Winds Charles Henry Luders The King’s Ballad Joyce Kilmer Heliotrope Harry Thurston Peck ”Lydia is Gone this Many a Year” Lizette Woodworth Reese After Lizette Woodworth Reese Memories Arthur Stringer To Diane Helen Hay Whitney ”Music I Heard” Conrad Aiken Her Dwelling-place Ada Foster Murray The Wife from Fairyland Richard Le Gallienne In the Fall o’ Year Thomas S. ”You would have understood me. Jr The Invisible Bride Edwin Markham Rain on a Grave Thomas Hardy Patterns Amy Lowell Dust Rupert Brooke Ballad. Jones. At Sunset Louis V.Give Love Today Ethel Talbot Until Death Elizabeth Akers Florence Vane Phillip Pendleton Cooke ”If Spirits Walk” Sophie Jewett Requiescat Oscar Wilde Lyric.E. Ledoux ”One Morning Oh! so Early” Jean Ingelow Across the Door Padraic Colum May Margaret Theophile Marzials Rondel. had you waited” Ernest Dowson Romance Andrew Lang Good-Night Hester A. I sat against her feet” Algernon Charles Swinburne A Spring Journey Alice Freeman Palmer 32 . ”The roses in my garden” Maurice Baring ”The Little Rose is Dust. My Dear” Grace Hazard Conkling Dirge Adelaide Crapsey The Little Red Ribbon James Whitcomb Riley The Rosary Robert Cameron Rogers LOVE’S FULFILLMENT ”My True-love Hath My Heart” Philip Sidney Song. ”Kissing her hair.

”Flower of the medlar” Theophile Marzials ”When Death to Either shall Come” Robert Bridges The Reconciliation Alfred Tennyson Song. Mortimer Collins Spring Passion Joel Elias Spingarn Advice to a Lover S.The Brookside Richard Monckton Milnes Song. ”For me the jasmine buds unfold” Florence Earle Coates What My Lover Said Homer Greene May-Music Rachel Annand Taylor Song. ”Wait but a little while” Norman Gale Content Norman Gale Che Sara Sara Victor Plarr ”Bid Adieu to Girlish Days” James Joyce To F.C. Saw Ye the Lass” Richard Ryan Love at Sea Algernon Charles Swinburne Mary Beaton’s Song Algernon Charles Swinburne Plighted Dinah Maria Mulock Craik A Woman’s Question Adelaide Anne Procter ”Dinna Ask Me” John Dunlop A Song. low song of night” Hildegarde Hawthorne The Reason James Oppenheim ”My Own Cailin Donn” George Sigerson Nocturne Amelia Josephine Burr Surrender Amelia Josephine Burr ”By Yon Burn Side” Robert Tannahill A Pastoral. Charles Jellicoe ”Yes” Richard Doddridge Blackmore 33 . ”Sing me a sweet. ”Love within the lover’s breast” George Meredith Love among the Ruins Robert Browning Earl Mertoun’s Song Robert Browning Meeting at Night Robert Browning Parting at Morning Robert Browning The Turn of the Road Alice Rollit Coe ”My Delight and Thy Delight” Robert Bridges ”O. ”Flame at the core of the World” Arthur Upson A Memory Frederic Lawrence Knowles Love Triumphant Frederic Lawrence Knowles Lines.

Love Samuel Taylor Coleridge Nested Habberton Lulham The Letters Alfred Tennyson Prothalamion Edmund Spenser Epithalamion Edmund Spenser The Kiss Sara Teasdale Marriage Wilfrid Wilson Gibson The Newly-wedded Winthrop Mackworth Praed I Saw Two Clouds at Morning John Gardiner Calkins Brainard Holy Matrimony John Keble The Bride Laurence Hope A Marriage Charm Nora Hopper ”Like a Laverock in the Lift” Jean Ingelow My Owen Ellen Mary Patrick Downing Doris: A Pastoral Arthur Joseph Munby ”He’d Nothing but His Violin” Mary Kyle Dallas Love’s Calendar William Bell Scott Home Dora Greenwell Two Lovers George Eliot The Land of Heart’s Desire Emily Huntington Miller My Ain Wife Alexander Laing The Irish Wife Thomas D’Arcy McGee My Wife’s a Winsome Wee Thing Robert Burns Lettice Dinah Maria Mulock Craik ”If Thou Wert by My Side. My Love” Reginald Heber The Shepherd’s Wife’s Song Robert Greene ”Truth doth Truth Deserve” Philip Sidney The Married Lover Coventry Patmore My Love James Russell Lowell Margaret to Dolcino Charles Kingsley Dolcino to Margaret Charles Kingsley At Last Richard Henry Stoddard The Wife to Her Husband Unknown A Wife’s Song William Cox Bennett The Sailor’s Wife William Julius Mickle Jerry an’ Me Hiram Rich ”Don’t be Sorrowful. Darling” Rembrandt Peale Winifreda Unknown An Old Man’s Idyl Richard Realf The Poet’s Song to his Wife Bryan Waller Procter John Anderson Robert Burns To Mary Samuel Bishop The Golden Wedding David Gray Moggy and Me James Hogg 34 .

Lay Thy Hand in Mine. Dear” Gerald Massey The Exequy Henry King LOVE SONNETS Sonnets from ”Amoretti” Edmund Spenser Sonnets from ”Astrophel and Stella” Philip Sidney Sonnets from ”To Delia” Samuel Daniel Sonnets from ”Idea” Michael Drayton Sonnets from ”Diana” Henry Constable Sonnets William Shakespeare ”Alexis. Here She Stayed” William Drummond ”Were I as Base as is the Lowly Plain” Joshua Sylvester A Sonnet of the Moon Charles Best To Mary Unwin William Cowper ”Why art Thou Silent” William Wordsworth Sonnets from ”The House of Life” Dante Gabriel Rossetti Sonnets Christina Georgina Rossetti How My Songs of Her Began Philip Bourke Marston At the Last Philip Bourke Marston To One who Would Make a Confession Wilfrid Scawen Blunt The Pleasures of Love Wilfrid Scawen Blunt ”Were but my Spirit Loosed upon the Air” Louise Chandler Moulton Renouncement Alice Meynell ”My Love for Thee” Richard Watson Gilder Sonnets after the Italian Richard Watson Gilder Stanzas from ”Modern Love” George Meredith Love in the Winds Richard Hovey ”Oh. Death Will Find Me” Rupert Brooke The Busy Heart Rupert Brooke The Hill Rupert Brooke Sonnets from ”Sonnets to Miranda” William Watson Sonnets from ”Thysia” Morton Luce Sonnets from ”Sonnets from the Portuguese” Elizabeth Barrett Browning One Word More Robert Browning 35 .”O.

Robinson Music of the Dawn Virginia Bioren Harrison Sunrise on Mansfield Mountain Alice Brown Ode to Evening William Collins ”It is a Beauteous Evening Calm and Free” William Wordsworth Gloaming Robert Adger Bowen Evening Melody Aubrey de Vere In the Cool of the Evening Alfred Noyes Twilight Olive Custance Twilight at Sea Amelia C. Vincent Millay Wild Honey Maurice Thompson Patmos Edith M. Welby ”This is My Hour” Zoe Akins 36 .PART III POEMS OF NATURE ”The World is too Much With Us” William Wordsworth MOTHER NATURE The Book of the World William Drummond Nature Jones Very Compensation Celia Thaxter The Last Hour Ethel Clifford Nature Henry David Thoreau Song of Nature Ralph Waldo Emerson ”Great Nature is an Army Gay” Richard Watson Gilder To Mother Nature Frederic Lawrence Knowles Quiet Work Matthew Arnold Nature Henry Wadsworth Longfellow ”As an Old Mercer” Mahlon Leonard Fisher Good Company Karle Wilson Baker ”Here is the Place where Loveliness Keeps House” Madison Cawein God’s World Edna St. ”Phoebus. Mary F. arise” William Drummond Hymn of Apollo Percy Bysshe Shelley Prelude to ”The New Day” Richard Watson Gilder Dawn on the Headland William Watson The Miracle of the Dawn Madison Cawein Dawn-angels A. Thomas DAWN AND DARK Song.

from ”In Memoriam” Alfred Tennyson The Spring Returns Charles Leonard Moore ”When the Hounds of Spring” Algernon Charles Swinburne Song. ”Again rejoicing Nature sees” Robert Burns To Spring William Blake An Ode on the Spring Thomas Gray Spring Henry Timrod The Meadows in Spring Edward Fitzgerald The Spring William Barnes ”When Spring Comes Back to England” Alfred Noyes New Life Amelia Josephine Burr ”Over the Wintry Threshold” Bliss Carman March William Morris Song in March William Gilmore Simms March Nora Hopper Written in March William Wordsworth 37 .Song to the Evening Star Thomas Campbell The Evening Cloud John Wilson Song: To Cynthia Ben Jonson My Star Robert Browning Night William Blake To Night Percy Bysshe Shelly To Night Joseph Blanco White Night John Addington Symonds Night James Montgomery He Made the Night Lloyd Mifflin Hymn to the Night Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Night’s Mardi Gras Edward J. Jr A Wood Song Ralph Hodgson THE CHANGING YEAR A Song for the Seasons Bryan Waller Procter A Song of the Seasons Cosmo Monkhouse Turn o’ the Year Katherine Tynan The Waking Year Emily Dickinson Song. Logan. ”The year’s at the spring” Robert Browning Early Spring Alfred Tennyson Lines Written in Early Spring William Wordsworth In Early Spring Alice Meynell Spring Thomas Nashe A Starling’s Spring Rondel James Cousins ”When Daffodils begin to Peer” William Shakespeare Spring. Wheeler Dawn and Dark Norman Gale Dawn George B.

Roberts Sweet Wild April William Force Stead Spinning in April Josephine Preston Peabody Song: On May Morning John Milton A May Burden Francis Thompson Corinna’s Going a-Maying Robert Herrick ”Sister. April” William Watson An April Adoration Charles G. from ”The Vision of Sir Launfal” James Russell Lowell June Harrison Smith Morris Harvest Ellen Mackay Hutchinson Cortissoz Scythe Song Andrew Lang September George Arnold Indian Summer Emily Dickinson Prevision Ada Foster Murray A Song of Early Autumn Richard Watson Gilder To Autumn John Keats Ode to Autumn Thomas Hood Ode to the West Wind Percy Bysshe Shelley Autumn: a Dirge Percy Bysshe Shelley Autumn Emily Dickinson ”When the Frost is on the Punkin” James Whitcomb Riley Kore Frederic Manning Old October Thomas Constable November C. Awake” Unknown May Edward Hovell-Thurlow May Henry Sylvester Cornwell A Spring Lilt Unknown Summer Longings Denis Florence MacCarthy Midsummer John Townsend Trowbridge A Midsummer Song Richard Watson Gilder June. Cleaveland November Mahlon Leonard Fisher Storm Fear Robert Frost Winter: a Dirge Robert Burns Old Winter Thomas Noel The Frost Hannah Flagg Gould The Frosted Pane Charles G. L. D. Roberts The Frost Spirit John Greenleaf Whittier Snow Elizabeth Akers To a Snowflake Francis Thompson The Snow-Shower William Cullen Bryant Midwinter John Townsend Trowbridge A Glee for Winter Alfred Domett The Death of the Old Year Alfred Tennyson Dirge for the Year Percy Bysshe Shelley 38 . ”April. from Abroad Robert Browning Song.The Passing of March Robert Burns Wilson Home Thoughts. D.

Spare that Tree” George Pope Morris The Beech Tree’s Petition Thomas Campbell The Poplar Field William Cowper The Planting of the Apple-Tree William Cullen Bryant Of an Orchard Katherine Tynan An Orchard at Avignon A. Mary F. Sweet Afton” Robert Burns Canadian Boat-Song Thomas Moore The Marshes of Glynn Sidney Lanier The Trosachs William Wordsworth Hymn before Sunrise in the Vale of Chamouni Samuel Taylor Coleridge The Peaks Stephen Crane Kinchinjunga Cale Young Rice The Hills Julian Grenfell Hemlock Mountain Sarah N. Cleghorn Sunrise on Rydal Water John Drinkwater The Deserted Pasture Bliss Carman To Meadows Robert Herrick The Cloud Percy Bysshe Shelley April Rain Robert Loveman Summer Invocation William Cox Bennett April Rain Mathilde Blind To the Rainbow Thomas Campbell 39 . Robinson The Tide River Charles Kingsley The Brook’s Song Alfred Tennyson Arethusa Percy Bysshe Shelley The Cataract of Lodore Robert Southey Song of the Chattahoochee Sidney Lanier ”Flow Gently.WOOD AND FIELD AND RUNNTNG BROOK Waldeinsamkeit Ralph Waldo Emerson ”When in the Woods I Wander All Alone” Edward Hovell-Thurlow Aspects of the Pines Paul Hamilton Hayne Out in the Fields Unknown Under the Leaves Albert Laighton ”On Wenlock Edge” Alfred Edward Housman ”What Do We Plant” Henry Abbey The Tree Jones Very The Brave Old Oak Henry Fothergill Chorley ”The Girt Woak Tree that’s in the Dell” William Barnes To the Willow-tree Robert Herrick Enchantment Madison Cawein Trees Joyce Kilmer The Holly-tree Robert Southey The Pine Augusta Webster ”Woodman.

GREEN THINGS GROWING My Garden Thomas Edward Brown The Garden Andrew Marvell A Garden Andrew Marvell A Garden Song Austin Dobson In Green Old Gardens Violet Fane A Benedictine Garden Alice Brown An Autumn Garden Bliss Carman Unguarded Ada Foster Murray The Deserted Garden Elizabeth Barrett Browning A Forsaken Garden Algernon Charles Swinburne Green Things Growing Dinah Maria Mulock Craik A Chanted Calendar Sydney Dobell Flowers Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Flowers Thomas Hood A Contemplation Upon Flowers Henry King Almond Blossom Edwin Arnold White Azaleas Harriet McEwen Kimball Buttercups Wilfrid Thorley The Broom Flower Mary Howitt The Small Celandine William Wordsworth To the Small Celandine William Wordsworth Four-leaf Clover Ella Higginson Sweet Clover Wallace Rice ”I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud” William Wordsworth To Daffodils Robert Herrick To a Mountain Daisy Robert Burns A Field Flower James Montgomery To Daisies. Blanden The Wild Honeysuckle Philip Freneau The Ivy Green Charles Dickens Yellow Jessamine Constance Fenimore Woolson Knapweed Arthur Christopher Benson Moly Edith Matilda Thomas The Morning-Glory Florence Earle Coates The Mountain Heart’s-Ease Bret Harte 40 . Not to Shut so Soon Robert Herrick Daisies Bliss Carman To the Daisy William Wordsworth To Daisies Francis Thompson To the Dandelion James Russell Lowell Dandelion Annie Rankin Annan The Dandelions Helen Gray Cone To the Fringed Gentian William Cullen Bryant Goldenrod Elaine Goodale Eastman Lessons from the Gorse Elizabeth Barrett Browning The Voice of The Grass Sarah Roberts Boyle A Song the Grass Sings Charles G.

The Primrose Robert Herrick To Primroses filled with Morning Dew Robert Herrick To an Early Primrose Henry Kirke White The Rhodora Ralph Waldo Emerson The Rose William Browne Wild Roses Edgar Fawcett The Rose of May Mary Howitt A Rose Richard Fanshawe The Shamrock Maurice Francis Egan To Violets Robert Herrick The Violet William Wetmore Story To a Wood-Violet John Banister Tabb The Violet and the Rose Augusta Webster To a Wind-Flower Madison Cawein To Blossoms Robert Herrick ”’Tis the Last Rose of Summer” Thomas Moore The Death of the Flowers William Cullen Bryant GOD’S CREATURES Once on a Time Margaret Benson To a Mouse Robert Burns The Grasshopper Abraham Cowley On the Grasshopper and Cricket John Keats To the Grasshopper and the Cricket Leigh Hunt The Cricket William Cowper To a Cricket William Cox Bennett To an Insect Oliver Wendell Holmes The Snail William Cowper The Housekeeper Charles Lamb The Humble-Bee Ralph Waldo Emerson To a Butterfly William Wordsworth Ode to a Butterfly Thomas Wentworth Higginson The Butterfly Alice Freeman Palmer Fireflies Edgar Fawcett The Blood Horse Bryan Waller Procter Birds Moira O’Neill Birds Richard Henry Stoddard Sea-Birds Elizabeth Akers The Little Beach Bird Richard Henry Dana The Blackbird Frederick Tennyson The Blackbird Alfred Edward Housman The Blackbird William Ernest Henley The Blackbird William Barnes Robert of Lincoln William Cullen Bryant The O’Lincon Family Wilson Flagg 41 .

Roberts The Heron Edward Hovell-Thurlow The Jackdaw William Cowper The Green Linnet William Wordsworth To the Man-of-War-Bird Walt Whitman The Maryland Yellow-Throat Henry Van Dyke Lament of a Mocking-bird Frances Anne Kemble ”O Nightingale! Thou Surely Art” William Wordsworth Philomel Richard Barnfield Philomela Matthew Arnold On a Nightingale in April William Sharp To the Nightingale William Drummond The Nightingale Mark Akenside To the Nightingale John Milton Philomela Philip Sidney Ode to a Nightingale John Keats Song. D.The Bobolink Thomas Hill My Catbird William Henry Venable The Herald Crane Hamlin Garland The Crow William Canton To the Cuckoo John Logan The Cuckoo Frederick Locker-Lampson To the Cuckoo William Wordsworth The Eagle Alfred Tennyson The Hawkbit Charles G. ’Tis sweet to hear the merry lark Hartley Coleridge Bird Song Laura E. Richards The Song the Oriole Sings William Dean Howells To an Oriole Edgar Fawcett Song: the Owl Alfred Tennyson ”Sweet Suffolk Owl” Thomas Vautor The Pewee John Townsend Trowbridge Robin Redbreast George Washington Doane Robin Redbreast William Allingham The Sandpiper Celia Thaxter The Sea-Mew Elizabeth Barrett Browning To a Skylark William Wordsworth To a Skylark William Wordsworth The Skylark James Hogg The Skylark Frederick Tennyson To a Skylark Percy Bysshe Shelley The Stormy Petrel Bryan Waller Procter The First Swallow Charlotte Smith To a Swallow Building Under our Eaves Jane Welsh Carlyle Chimney Swallows Horatio Nelson Powers Itylus Algernon Charles Swinburne The Throstle Alfred Tennyson Overflow John Banister Tabb 42 .

Fox Smith ”A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea” Allan Cunningham The Sea Bryan Waller Procter Sailor’s Song from ”Death’s Jest Book” Thomas Lovell Beddoes ”A Life on the Ocean Wave” Epes Sargent Tacking Ship off Shore Walter Mitchell In Our Boat Dinah Maria Mulock Craik Poor Jack Charles Dibdin ”Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep” Emma Hart Willard Outward John G. Neihardt A Passer-by Robert Bridges Off Riviere du Loup Duncan Campbell Scott Christmas at Sea Robert Louis Stevenson The Port o’ Heart’s Desire John S. Thrush” Joseph Russell Taylor The Black Vulture George Sterling Wild Geese Frederick Peterson To a Waterfowl William Cullen Bryant The Wood-Dove’s Note Emily Huntington Miller THE SEA Song for all Seas. McGroarty On the Quay John Joy Bell The Forging of the Anchor Samuel Ferguson Drifting Thomas Buchanan Read ”How’s My Boy” Sydney Dobell The Long White Seam Jean Ingelow Storm Song Bayard Taylor The Mariner’s Dream William Dimond The Inchcape Rock Robert Southey The Sea Richard Henry Stoddard The Sands of Dee Charles Kingsley The Three Fishers Charles Kingsley Ballad Harriet Prescott Spofford 43 . all Ships Walt Whitman Stanzas from ”The Triumph of Time” Algernon Charles Swinburne The Sea from ”Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage” George Gordon Byron On the Sea John Keats ”With Ships the Sea was Sprinkled” William Wordsworth A Song of Desire Frederic Lawrence Knowles The Pines and the Sea Christopher Pearse Cranch Sea Fever John Masefield Hastings Mill C.Joy-Month David Atwood Wasson My Thrush Mortimer Collins ”Blow Softly.

The Northern Star Unknown The Fisher’s Widow Arthur Symons Caller Herrin’ Carolina Nairne Hannah Binding Shoes Lucy Larcom The Sailor William Allingham The Burial of the Dane Henry Howard Brownell Tom Bowling Charles Dibdin Messmates Henry Newbolt The Last Buccaneer Charles Kingsley The Last Buccaneer Thomas Babington Macaulay The Leadman’s Song Charles Dibdin Homeward Bound William Allingham THE SIMPLE LIFE The Lake Isle of Innisfree William Butler Yeats A Wish Samuel Rogers Ode on Solitude Alexander Pope ”Thrice Happy He” William Drummond ”Under the Greenwood Tree” William Shakespeare Coridon’s Song John Chalkhill The Old Squire Wilfrid Scawen Blunt Inscription in a Hermitage Thomas Warton The Retirement Charles Cotton The Country Faith Norman Gale Truly Great William H. Davies Early Morning at Bargis Hermann Hagedorn The Cup John Townsend Trowbridge A Strip of Blue Lucy Larcom An Ode to Master Anthony Stafford Thomas Randolph ”The Midges Dance Aboon the Burn” Robert Tannahill The Plow Richard Hengist Horne The Useful Plow Unknown ”To One Who has Been Long in City Pent” John Keats The Quiet Life William Byrd The Wish Abraham Cowley Expostulation and Reply William Wordsworth The Tables Turned William Wordsworth Simple Nature George John Romanes ”I Fear no Power a Woman Wields” Ernest McGaffey A Runnable Stag John Davidson Hunting Song Richard Hovey ”A-Hunting We Will Go” Henry Fielding The Angler’s Invitation Thomas Tod Stoddart The Angler’s Wish Izaak Walton The Angler John Chalkhill 44 .

AND POEMS HUMOROUS AND SATIRIC Ballade of the Primitive Jest Andrew Lang THE KINDLY MUSE 45 . Roberts From Romany to Rome Wallace Irwin The Toil of the Trail Hamlin Garland ”Do You Fear the Wind?” Hamlin Garland The King’s Highway John S. Pauline Johnson The Gipsy Trail Rudyard Kipling Wanderlust Gerald Gould The Footpath Way Katherine Tynan A Maine Trail Gertrude Huntington McGiffert Afoot Charles G.WANDERLUST To Jane: the Invitation Percy Bysshe Shelley ”My Heart’s in the Highlands” Robert Burns ”Afar in the Desert” Thomas Pringle Spring Song in the City Robert Buchanan In City Streets Ada Smith The Vagabond Robert Louis Stevenson In the Highlands Robert Louis Stevenson The Song my Paddle Sings E. D. McGroarty The Forbidden Lure Fannie Stearns Davis The Wander-Lovers Richard Hovey The Sea-Gipsy Richard Hovey A Vagabond Song Bliss Carman Spring Song Bliss Carman The Mendicants Bliss Carman The Joys of the Road Bliss Carman The Song of the Forest Ranger Herbert Bashford A Drover Padraic Colum Ballad of Low-lie-down Madison Cawein The Good Inn Herman Knickerbocker Viele Night for Adventures Victor Starbuck Song. ”Something calls and whispers” Georgiana Goddard King The Voortrekker Rudyard Kipling The Long Trail Rudyard Kipling PART IV FAMILIAR VERSE.

Arguing Alfred Cochrane To Anthea. upon a Pipkin of Jelly Sent to a Lady Robert Herrick Chivalry at a Discount Edward Fitzgerald The Ballad of Bouillabaisse William Makepeace Thackeray To my Grandmother Frederick Locker-Lampson My Mistress’s Boots Frederick Locker-Lampson A Garden Lyric Frederick Locker-Lampson Mrs. who May Command Him Anything Alfred Cochrane The Eight-Day Clock Alfred Cochrane A Portrait Joseph Ashby-Sterry ”Old Books are Best” Beverly Chew Impression Edmund Gosse ”With Strawberries” William Ernest Henley Ballade of Ladies’ Names William Ernest Henley To a Pair of Egyptian Slippers Edwin Arnold Without and Within James Russell Lowell ”She was a Beauty” Henry Cuyler Bunner Nell Gwynne’s Looking-Glass Laman Blanchard Mimnermus in Church William Johnson-Cory Clay Edward Verrall Lucas 46 . Smith Frederick Locker-Lampson The Skeleton in the Cupboard Frederick Locker-Lampson A Terrible Infant Frederick Locker-Lampson Companions Charles Stuart Calverley Dorothy Q Oliver Wendell Holmes My Aunt Oliver Wendell Holmes The Last Leaf Oliver Wendell Holmes Contentment Oliver Wendell Holmes The Boys Oliver Wendell Holmes The Jolly Old Pedagogue George Arnold On an Intaglio Head of Minerva Thomas Bailey Aldrich Thalia Thomas Bailey Aldrich Pan in Wall Street Edmund Clarence Stedman Upon Lesbia .Time to be Wise Walter Savage Landor Under the Lindens Walter Savage Landor Advice Walter Savage Landor To Fanny Thomas Moore ”I’d be a Butterfly” Thomas Haynes Bayly ”I’m not a Single Man” Thomas Hood To —– Winthrop Mackworth Praed The Vicar Winthrop Mackworth Praed The Belle of the Ball-room Winthrop Mackworth Praed The Fine Old English Gentleman Unknown A Ternerie of Littles.

47 . Rose” Austin Dobson Urceus Exit Austin Dobson A Corsage Bouquet Charles Henry Luders Two Triolets Harrison Robertson The Ballad of Dead Ladies Dante Gabriel Rossetti Ballade of Dead Ladies Andrew Lang A Ballad of Dead Ladies Justin Huntly McCarthy If I Were King Justin Huntly McCarthy A Ballade of Suicide Gilbert Keith Chesterton Chiffons! William Samuel Johnson The Court Historian Walter Thornbury Miss Lou Walter de La Mare The Poet and the Wood-louse Helen Parry Eden Students Florence Wilkinson ”One. Babette” Austin Dobson A Dialogue from Plato Austin Dobson The Ladies of St. Three” Henry Cuyler Bunner The Chaperon Henry Cuyler Bunner ”A Pitcher of Mignonette” Henry Cuyler Bunner Old King Cole Edwin Arlington Robinson The Master Mariner George Sterling A Rose to the Living Nixon Waterman A Kiss Austin Dobson Biftek aux Champignons Henry Augustin Beers Evolution Langdon Smith A Reasonable Affliction Matthew Prior A Moral in Sevres Mildred Howells On the Fly-leaf of a Book of Old Plays Walter Learned The Talented Man Winthrop Mackworth Praed A Letter of Advice Winthrop Mackworth Praed A Nice Correspondent Frederick Locker-Lampson Her Letter Bret Harte A Dead Letter Austin Dobson The Nymph Complaining for the Death of her Fawn Andrew Marvell On the Death of a Favorite Cat Drowned in a Tub of Goldfishes Thomas Gray Verses on a Cat Charles Daubeny Epitaph on a Hare William Cowper On the Death of Mrs. Two. James’s Austin Dobson The Cure’s Progress Austin Dobson A Gentleman of the Old School Austin Dobson On a Fan Austin Dobson ”When I Saw You Last.Aucassin and Nicolete Francis William Bourdillon Aucassin and Nicolette Edmund Clarence Stedman On the Hurry of This Time Austin Dobson ”Good-Night.

Down in the City Robert Browning All Saints’ Edmund Yates An Address to the Unco Guid Robert Burns The Deacon’s Masterpiece Oliver Wendell Holmes Ballade of a Friar Andrew Lang The Chameleon James Merrick The Blind Men and the Elephant John Godfrey Saxe The Philosopher’s Scales Jane Taylor The Maiden and the Lily John Fraser The Owl-Critic James Thomas Fields The Ballad of Imitation Austin Dobson The Conundrum of the Workshops Rudyard Kipling The V-a-s-e James Jeffrey Roche 48 . Chalmers THE BARB OF SATIRE The Vicar of Bray Unknown The Lost Leader Robert Browning Ichabod John Greenleaf Whittier What Mr. Robinson Thinks James Russell Lowell The Debate in the Sennit James Russell Lowell The Marquis of Carabas Robert Brough A Modest Wit Selleck Osborn Jolly Jack William Makepeace Thackeray The King of Brentford William Makepeace Thackeray Kaiser & Co A.Throckmorton’s Bullfinch William Cowper An Elegy on a Lap-Dog John Gay My Last Terrier John Halsham Geist’s Grave Matthew Arnold ”Hold” Patrick R. Macgregor Rose Nongtongpaw Charles Dibdin The Lion and the Cub John Gay The Hare with Many Friends John Gay The Sycophantic Fox and the Gullible Raven Guy Wetmore Carryl The Friend of Humanity and the Knife-Grinder George Canning Villon’s Straight Tip to all Cross Coves William Ernest Henley Villon’s Ballade Andrew Lang A Little Brother of the Rich Edward Sandford Martin The World’s Way Thomas Bailey Aldrich For My Own Monument Matthew Prior The Bishop Orders His Tomb at Saint Praxed’s Church Robert Browning Up at a Villa .

A. Mortimer Collins ”As Like the Woman as You Can” William Ernest Henley ”No Fault in Women” Robert Herrick ”Are Women Fair” Francis Davison (?) A Strong Hand Aaron Hill Women’s Longing John Fletcher Triolet Robert Bridges The Fair Circassian Richard Garnett The Female Phaeton Matthew Prior The Lure John Boyle O’Reilly The Female of the Species Rudyard Kipling The Woman with the Serpent’s Tongue William Watson Suppose Anne Reeve Aldrich Too Candid by Half John Godfrey Saxe Fable Ralph Waldo Emerson Woman’s Will Unknown Woman’s Will John Godfrey Saxe Plays Walter Savage Landor Remedy Worse than the Disease Matthew Prior The Net of Law James Jeffrey Roche Cologne Samuel Taylor Coleridge Epitaph on Charles II John Wilmot Certain Maxims of Hafiz Rudyard Kipling A Baker’s Duzzen uv Wise Sawz Edward Rowland Sill Epigram Samuel Taylor Coleridge Epigram Unknown Epigram Richard Garnett Epigram Richard Garnett Epigram Walter Savage Landor Epigram William Erskine Epigram Richard Brinsley Sheridan Epigram Alexander Pope Epigram Samuel Johnson Epigram John Gay Epigram Alexander Pope Epigram Samuel Taylor Coleridge Epigram Unknown 49 .Hem and Haw Bliss Carmen Miniver Cheevy Edwin Arlington Robinson Then Ag’in Sam Walter Foss A Conservative Charlotte Perkins Stetson Gilman Similar Cases Charlotte Perkins Stetson Gilman Man and the Ascidian Andrew Lang The Calf-Path Sam Walter Foss Wedded Bliss Charlotte Perkins Stetson Gilman Paradise: A Hindoo Legend George Birdseye Ad Chloen. M.

the Younger The Jam-pot Rudyard Kipling Ballad Charles Stuart Calverley The Poster-girl Carolyn Wells After Dilletante Concetti Henry Duff Traill If Mortimer Collins Nephilidia Algernon Charles Swinburne 50 . Fanshaw Only Seven Henry Sambrooke Leigh Lucy Lake Newton Mackintosh Jane Smith Rudyard Kipling Father William Lewis Carroll The New Arrival George Washington Cable Disaster Charles Stuart Calverley ’Twas Ever Thus Henry Sambrooke Leigh A Grievance James Kenneth Stephen ”Not a Sou Had he Got” Richard Harris Barham The Whiting and the Snail Lewis Carroll The Recognition William Sawyer The Higher Pantheism in a Nutshell Algernon Charles Swinburne The Willow-tree William Makepeace Thackeray Poets and Linnets Tom Hood.Epigram Epigram Epigram Epigram Epigram Epigram Epigram Epigram Epigram Epigram Samuel Taylor Coleridge Unknown Matthew Prior George Macdonald Jonathan Swift Byron’s epitaph for Pitt David Garrick John Harington John Byrom Richard Garnett Epigram Thomas Moore Epigram Unknown Epigram Samuel Taylor Coleridge Epigram John Dryden Epigram Thomas Hood Written on a Looking-glass Unknown An Epitaph George John Cayley On the Aristocracy of Harvard John Collins Bossidy On the Democracy of Yale Frederick Scheetz Jones A General Summary Rudyard Kipling THE MIMICS An Omar for Ladies Josephine Daskam Bacon ”When Lovely Woman” Phoebe Cary Fragment in Imitation of Wordsworth Catherine M.

Dropped from the skies. when his wings He furleth let fair things Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook: He has his Winter too of pale misfeature. 51 . Strong How Often Ben King ”If I should Die To-night” Ben King Sincere Flattery James Kenneth Stephen Culture in the Slums William Ernest Henley The Poets at Tea Barry Pain Wordsworth James Kenneth Stephen PART I POEMS OF YOUTH AND AGE THE HUMAN SEASONS Four Seasons fill the measure of the year. Only two cherry lips.Commonplaces Rudyard Kipling The Promissory Note Bayard Taylor Mrs. when fancy clear Takes in all beauty with an easy span: He has his Summer. contented so to look On mists in idleness . Judge Jenkins Bret Harte The Modern Hiawatha George A. There are four seasons in the mind of man: He has his lusty Spring. John Keats [1795-1821] THE BABY ”ONLY A BABY SMALL” Only a baby small. Only a laughing face. when luxuriously Spring’s honeyed cud of youthful thought he loves To ruminate. Or else he would forego his mortal nature. and by such dreaming high Is nearest unto Heaven: quiet coves His soul has in its Autumn. Two sunny eyes.

and sighs.” What shall I call thee? ”I happy am. This year a wilderness maybe. Only a life to love While we are here. Only a little brain. And yet it was only a baby! Cooing. and gurgles. Only a little heart.” 52 . but how dear to us. and laughter. Joy is my name. Never at rest. Troubled with naught. Chaos of fears and of blisses. and cries. Only two little hands. and of raptures. Empty of thought. Something to die for maybe. Matthias Barr [1831-?] ONLY Something to live for came to the place. Something to give even sorrow a grace. God knoweth best. Dimples for tenderest kisses. Harriet Prescott Spofford [1835-1921] INFANT JOY ”I have no name. Curly and soft. I am but two days old. But heaven stooped under the roof on the morn That it brought them only a baby. Last year.One chubby nose. the rose and the thorn. Ten little toes. like all years. Small. Only a baby small. Chaos of hopes. Only a tender flower Sent us to rear. Only a tongue that wags Loudly and oft. Only a golden head.

baby dear? Out of the everywhere into the here. Where did you get that little tear? I found it waiting when I got here. you dear? God thought about you. Feet. What makes your cheek like a warm white rose? I saw something better than any one knows. What makes your forehead so smooth and high? A soft hand stroked it as I went by. and so I grew. but two days old. 53 . I sing the while. Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss? Three angels gave me at once a kiss. and so I am here. How did they all just come to be you? God thought about me. where did you come. and it came out to hear. Sweet joy I call thee. Thou dost smile.Sweet joy befall thee! Pretty joy! Sweet joy. Sweet joy befall thee! William Blake [1757-1827] BABY From ”At the Back of the North Wind” Where did you come from. Where did you get this pearly ear? God spoke. What makes the light in them sparkle and spin? Some of the starry spikes left in. Where did you get those arms and hands? Love made itself into bonds and bands. you darling things? From the same box as the cherubs’ wings. Where did you get those eyes so blue? Out of the sky as I came through. But how did you come to us.

And in her laughing eyes the snares That hearts entangle unawares. all silently? What tenderness of archangels In silver. This dainty new divinity. 54 . Who with deep eyes and wistful smile Remembered Earth a little while. white lily and pink rose. All breathing and aware thou art.George Macdonald [1824-1905] TO A NEW-BORN BABY GIRL And did thy sapphire shallop slip Its moorings suddenly. Venus’ child? She shows Her hues. the adoring sigh of her. Her voice. To spare thee word of vales and streams. Grace Hazard Conkling [1878TO LITTLE RENEE ON FIRST SEEING HER LYING IN HER CRADLE Who is she here that now I see. The human accents of the breeze Through swaying star-acquainted trees Shall seem a voice heard earlier. Love’s sister. And dream in very Paradise The worship of thy mother’s eyes. And hear within the hollow sky Thy friends the angels rushing by. When thou amid rosy cherub-play Didst hear her call thee. thrilling syllables Pursued thee. These shall recall that thou hast known Their distant country as thine own. to dip Adown the clear. ethereal sea From star to star. And publish heaven through thy dreams. or what dulcet hymn Low-chanted by the cherubim? And thou departing must have heard The holy Mary’s farewell word. Now have we seen by early sun. far away. Thy miracle of life begun. Now from the coasts of morning pale Comes safe to port thy tiny sail. With beauty templed in thy heart To let thee recognize the thrill Of wings along far azure hill.

and thou. content Were I if I could but rehearse One stave of Wither’s starry verse. Transform them then and make them doves. Soar far too swift for verse of mine One strain to compass of your song. But I. Within its vibrant hollows wake Such dulcet voices for her sake As. well I know that not for us Are Virgil and Theocritus. Nor Leda’s child and Jupiter’s Is she... the first. Will tune for her my humble lay. for she would give Sore wounds that none might take and live. That they may circle ever low Above the abode where you shall grow 55 ..Ah. Ah. little Muse still far too high On weak. Yet no such wanton strain is hers. I long have stood and sought to hear Borne with the warm midsummer breeze With scent of hay and hum of bees Faintly from far-off Sicily. woe to men if Love should yield His arrows to this girl to wield Even in play. Or in some garden-spot suspire One breath of Marvell’s magic fire When in the green and leafy shade He sees dissolving all that’s made. Invoking this new Muse to render My oaten reed more sweet and tender. Weave such wrought richness as recalls Britannia’s lovely Pastorals. And by the bright Pierian spring She shall receive an offering From every youth who pipes a strain Beside his flocks upon the plain. though swans no softer are Than whom she fairer is by far. Soft-moaning birds that Venus loves. Sweet Spenser. clipped wings my wishes fly. For she was born beside the rill That gushes from Parnassus’ hill. of their god-like line. this very day. curved hand at straining ear. And that the golden age is past Whereof they sang. the last. Yet there are poets that prolong Of your rare voice the ravishment In silver cadences. Ah.

You try to talk . like folk who once Were only One. you see. though you Are only hard you try! You’re only One. you. William Aspenwall Bradley [1878RHYME OF ONE You sleep upon your mother’s breast. And talk of times when he (the Dear!) Was hardly One? Dear Child. And fly your kite. long a wished-for Guest. 56 . While you are One. you wonder why You cannot run.Into your gracious womanhood. ’tis your poor lot to be My little Son. He’ll dance. Ere long you won’t be such a dunce: You’ll eat your bun. though I am old. you may have your joy. Who isn’t One. You’ll rhyme and woo. may own a Boy. I’m glad. Perhaps you’ll pun! Such feats are never done by folk Before they’re One. and fight and joke. A Baby-Boy. and laugh. Whose age is One. Your race begun. he’ll do As you have done: (You crown a happy home. A welcome. And you shall feed the gentle brood From out your hand . too. Yes.) But when he’s grown shall you be here To share his fun.content they’ll be Only to coo their songs to thee. Some day. and crow. yourself. And envy none.

ready-made for you.Frederick Locker-Lampson [1821-1895] TO A NEW-BORN CHILD Small traveler from an unseen shore. of a rarer kind 57 . To you. ’Tis hard for little babes to prize The tender love that underlies A life of trouble. good-morrow. Without your striving. But hush your cries. No wonder now you would have stayed. The journey’s over. There yet are many hearts ajar For your arriving. You might have come to a worse place. and yet Your cries redouble. But now you are so far from home Repent the trial. For. my little maid. You are as fair a little dame As ever from a glad world came To one of sorrow. Perhaps you really wished to come. By mortal eye ne’er seen before. You’ll soon forget them. We call you gentle names. But that’s a riddle you and I Can scarce unravel. but you fret. And if at first you miss your wings. What! did you leave celestial bliss To bless us with a daughter’s kiss? What self-denial! Have patience for a little space. Fair Angel-rover. The earth is full of lovely things. We smile above you. utter stranger as you are. And others. And have you come from Heaven to earth? That were a road of little mirth. ”Why did I come?” you seem to cry. A doleful travel. And trusty friends and lovers true Are waiting.

such sweet angel-seemings. Mischiefs done with such a winning Archness. Cosmo Monkhouse [1840-1901] BABY MAY Cheeks as soft as July peaches. Breakings dire of plates and glasses. Ever some new tiny notion Making every limb all motion Catching up of legs and arms. 58 . Pullings off of all that’s able To be caught from tray or table.Will grow upon your tender mind If you will let them Until you find that your exchange Of Heaven for earth expands your range E’en as a flier. Graspings small at all that passes. Crows and laughs and tearful eyes. That we’d ever have such dreamings. Minutes filled with shadeless gladness. And that your mother. Silences .small meditations. Clutching fingers . Slumbers . If we do what we should. Deep as thoughts of cares for nations. Lights and shadows swifter born Than on wind-swept Autumn corn. All the thoughts of whose possessing Must be wooed to light by guessing. may fly Than Angels higher.round large eyes Ever great with new surprise. Happy smiles and wailing cries. Kickings up and straining risings. Hands all wants and looks all wonder At all things the heavens under. that we prize such sinning. Lips whose dewy scarlet teaches Poppies paleness . Tiny scorns of smiled reprovings That have more of love than lovings. Minutes just as brimmed with sadness. Breaking into wisest speeches In a tongue that nothing teaches. Throwings back and small alarms.straightening jerks. you and I. Twining feet whose each toe works. Mother’s ever new surprisings.

delight in sadness. Pleasure high above all pleasure. Of rose leaves fashioned in the south Is shaped the marvel of her mouth.Till from sleep we see thee breaking. nay! She is my baby girl. that’s my baby. Of winds that wave the western fir Is made the velvet touch of her. Sweetness distancing all sweetness. blessed one! What think you of the light of the sun? 59 . Loveliness beyond completeness. Of all earth’s songs God took the half To make the ripple of her laugh. ’Mid twilight thrushes that rejoice Is found the cadence of her voice. ”Pray who is she?” This maid that is so dear to me. ”A reigning queen in Fashion’s whirl?” Nay. Gladness brimming over gladness. Herbert Bashford [1871-1928] SONGS FOR FRAGOLETTA I Fragoletta. I hear you ask. Of that fine gold the autumns wear Is wrought the glory of her hair. William Cox Bennett [1820-1895] ALICE Of deepest blue of summer skies Is wrought the heaven of her eyes. And from the honeyed lips of bliss Is drawn the sweetness of her kiss. Joy in care . Beauty all that beauty may be That’s May Bennett. And we’d always have thee waking. Wealth for which we know no measure.

if you are good. except those eyes of blue. You shall . Lying snug in mother’s breast? Ah! I knew that sweetness. Love your mother. III That. Fragoletta. soon. now you’re born. and . I’ll take you out to see the moon. Limb upon limb like petals laid. Love the miracle of sight. And smell them. That rattles so the window-blind. To kiss away the window’s tears. That. Love the lovely working light. Fragoletta. talking. looking up at me. Nothing of you that can do Aught. Fragrant as a branch of myrrh? Helpless little hands and me! And some night. Open and shut . 60 . How they open. Love the thousand things to do Little girl. before you! But.Do you think the dark was best. You must learn to love the morn. Fragoletta. And for the first time. too. Baby-eyelids.look on flowers. too. We’ll go and picnic in a star. baby-eyes. Fragoletta. is the wind. I envy you! Love the thousand things to see. Fragoletta. all together In the happy windy weather. so wise. And hear the green leaves in the wood blue. II Blue eyes. O so helpless! O so sweet! Tiny tongue that cannot talk.think of it! . Lying in your cradle there. I wonder what you really see. And if the journey’s not too far For little limbs so lately made. But lo! The golden sun appears. child of ours. is the rain Beating upon the window-pane. how they close! Eyelids of the baby-rose. Tiny feet that cannot walk.

against the whiteness pressed Of little mother’s hallowed breast. is a bird That speaks. Julia. Richard Le Gallienne [1866CHOOSING A NAME I have got a new-born sister: I was nigh the first that kissed seem ten times as far. Fragoletta. Upon a cherry tree it sings. As long as cherries ripe and ripe. Lest some one run away with her. is a flower. Its little life to peck and pipe. Look up at mother’s bended head. When the nursing-woman brought her To papa. All a May morning blows and blows. And minister unto the need Of baby-birds that feed and feed. That is why we take such care. a transitory thing. This. Each petal fleeting as a wing. A flower. Simple as all mysterious things. Open and fragrant for an hour. IV Blue eyes. Joan’s too formal for a woman. Blue eyes . And papa has made the offer. Charlotte. Now I wonder what would please her. they’re too common.And yonder shining thing’s a star. How papa’s dear eyes did glisten! She will shortly be to christen. or Louisa? Ann and Mary. All benediction over you O blue eyes looking into blue! Fragoletta is so small. 61 . That. his infant daughter. And then for everlasting goes. The while your trembling lips are fed. Fragoletta. We wonder that she lives at all Tiny alabaster girl. Hardly bigger than a pearl. yet never says a word. I shall have the naming of her.

but that looks Better in old English books. Nestles a kiss within a prayer. Nobody weighed the threads of care. Ellen’s left off long ago. None that I have named as yet Is so good as Margaret. And stooping above the precious thing. While grandmother smooths the golden curl. Mary Lamb [1764-1847] WEIGHING THE BABY ”How many pounds does the baby weigh Baby who came but a month ago? How many pounds from the crowning curl To the rosy point of the restless toe?” Grandfather ties the ’kerchief knot. The fair young mother sings the words.” Nobody weighed the baby’s smile. Blanche is out of fashion now. I will leave papa to name her. Emily is neat and fine. And carefully over his glasses peers To read the record. No index tells the mighty worth Of a little baby’s quiet breath 62 . But we had a Jane that died. What do you think of Caroline? How I’m puzzled and perplexed What to choose or think of next! I am in a little fever Lest the name that I should give her Should disgrace her or defame her. Edith’s pretty. From which a woman’s life is spun. They would say. Tenderly guides the swinging weight. ”only eight. Or the love that came with the helpless one.Jane’s a prettier name beside. if ’twas Rebecca. That she was a little Quaker. Grandfather did not weigh you fair. Murmuring softly ”Little one.” Softly the echo goes around: The father laughs at the tiny girl.

mother! laugh your merry note. Then. even as warriors grip their brands When battle’s bolt is hurled. clenched hard like tightening bands. Ethel Lynn Beers [1827-1879] ETUDE REALISTE I A baby’s feet. unceasing metronome.A soft. No flower-bells that expand and shrink Gleam half so heavenly sweet. should heaven see meet. But shrines it in this human guise. though close upcurled. Only eight pounds to hold a soul That seeks no angel’s silver wing. An angel’s lips to kiss. 63 . Patient and faithful until death. Like rose-hued sea-flowers toward the heat They stretch and spread and wink Their ten soft buds that part and meet. Be gay and glad. but don’t forget From baby’s eyes looks out a soul That claims a home in Eden yet. A baby’s hands. God only knows Its value in eternity. like rosebuds furled. A baby’s feet. Might tempt. For here on earth no weights there be That could avail. II A baby’s hands. As shine on life’s untrodden brink A baby’s feet. Nobody weighed the baby’s soul. Ope if you touch. we think. like seashells pink. Where yet no leaf expands. Within so frail and small a thing! Oh. They close.

will make the path before them All dainty. Bless all things bright enough to win A baby’s eyes. Love. ere speech begin. and pink as peach-tree blossoms. even in loveliest lands. Their speech make dumb the wise. How can they walk among the briery tangles. III A baby’s eyes. while the sweet thing laughs and lies.No rosebuds yet by dawn impearled Match. And sleep flows out and in. and fair. and soft. But when the mother’s watchful eyes are shrouded Away from sight of men. letting only The roses blossom there. Sees perfect in them Paradise! Their glance might cast out pain and sin. Edging the world’s rough ways? These rose-white feet. Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909] LITTLE FEET Two little feet. Will cull away the brambles. In April’s fragrant days. Who shall direct them then? 64 . Love. The sweetest flowers in all the world. And these dear feet are left without her guiding. for a while. Must bear a mother’s load. Alas! since Woman has the heavier burden. By mute glad godhead felt within A baby’s eyes. Dimpled. Ere lips learn words or sighs. Two tender feet upon the untried border Of life’s mysterious land. along the doubtful future. A baby’s hands. smooth. so small that both may nestle In one caressing hand. And walks the harder road.

Elizabeth Akers [1832-1911] THE BABIE Nae shoon to hide her tiny taes. Poor little untaught feet! Into what dreary mazes will they wander. And pray that He who feeds the crying ravens Will guide the baby’s feet. 65 . With na ane tooth within. deluded. Who find their journey full of pains and losses. Far more there are who wander Without a hope or friend. Her simple dress o’ sprinkled pink.How will they be allured. dimplit chin. Which find but pleasant ways: Some hearts there be to which this life is only A round of happy days. What dangers will they meet? Will they go stumbling blindly in the darkness Of Sorrow’s tearful shades? Or find the upland slopes of Peace and Beauty. But these are few. Her supple ankles white as snaw. Fair-faced and gentle-eyed. securely sheltered. betrayed. Walk side by side with Love? Some feet there be which walk Life’s track unwounded. And long to reach the end. Her puckered lips. Before whose unstained feet the world’s rude highway Stretches so fair and wide? Ah! who may read the future? For our darling We crave all blessings sweet. an’ baumy mou’. Or early blossoms sweet. Whose sunlight never fades? Will they go toiling up Ambition’s summit. The common world above? Or in some nameless vale. the tender stranger. Her een sae like her mither’s een. Nae stockin’ on her feet. Her double. How shall it be with her.

A giftie God gied us: We maun na luve the gift owre weel. And dearer far than pearls or gold. joys and woes. longings. While baby faces lie in such Close sleep as flowers at night that fold. prayers.Twa gentle. Hopes. liquid things. Round pieces dropped from out the skies. O little hands! More. clasp and hold. more than wisdom understands And love. How should you know you hold so much? Two full hearts beating you inclose. Bartholomew is hugged and kissed: He loves a flower in either fist. What is it you would. From sandy hair to rosy feet. fears. Like fern fronds curl and uncurl bold. Bartholomew’s my saucy son: No mother has a sweeter one! 66 . Bartholomew has deep blue eyes. ’Twad be nae blessin’ thus. She is the buddin’ of our luve. Our babie straight frae Heaven. We still maun luve the Giver mair. Jeremiah Eames Rankin [1828-1904] LITTLE HANDS Soft little hands that stray and clutch. Bartholomew is six months old. Wandering outstretched with wilful touch? O fingers small of shell-tipped rose. An’ see Him in the given. Her face is like an angel’s face. Laurence Binyon [1869BARTHOLOMEW Bartholomew is very sweet. love only knows. All yours to hold. An’ sae she’ll lead us up to Him. We’re glad she has nae wings.

sinking to thy life’s last sleep. And bid their dancing leaflets trip and run Before the tender feet of this my son. May Byron [1861”ON PARENT KNEES” On parent knees. That strips the hills and sweeps the cowering plains. Flung down the sky. And shivering spindrift whirled across the rocks. Inhabits all his pulses. Philip.” Look at me with thy large brown eyes. October. The creaking boughs shall croon him fairy tales. while all around thee weep. 67 . The wild wind blew him to my swinging door. that. shot with flashing rays and rains. he shall know The stress and splendor of the roaring gales. Lay on my neck thy tiny hand With love’s invisible scepter laden. a naked new-born child. Cast down their russet cloaks and golden hoods. Therefore the sea’s swift fire is in his veins. While in his ears the eternal bugles blow. my king! Round whom the enshadowing purple lies Of babyhood’s royal dignities. Philip.Norman Gale [1862THE STORM-CHILD My child came to me with the equinox. and the lordly woods. my king. And in his heart the glory of the sea. Therefore the storm-wind shall his comrade be. MY KING” ”Who bears upon his baby brow the round and top of sovereignty. And the sea’s kisses set his blood aglow. With flakes of tawny foam from off the shore. Waving lean arms of welcome one by one. William Jones [1746-1794] ”PHILIP. I am thine Esther to command Till thou shalt find a queen-handmaiden. Weeping thou sat’st while all around thee smiled: So live. Calm thou may’st smile. the wheeling swallow-flocks Cried him a greeting.

Philip. One day. 68 . Philip. Philip. Let’s see the monarch in his state. Tenderly. And some gentle heart’s bars undoing. Up from thy sweet mouth. Asleep in nest so cosy. For we that love. While watch and ward you’re keeping. and foes without. and there Sittest love-glorified.A wreath not of gold. a way Thorny and cruel and cold and gray: Rebels within thee. Philip. ”Philip.O the day when thou goest a-wooing. over thy kingdom fair. As thou sittest at the feet of God victorious. than thy brethren taller and fairer. A world of baby fairyland He visits while he’s dreaming. as we trod. Will snatch at thy crown. Rule kindly. Philip. but palm.up to thy brow. my king! When those beautiful lips are suing. my king! Thou too must tread. My Saul. Shielded from breath of breezes rough By curtains warm and rosy: He slumbers soundly in his cell. And view him while he’s sleeping. Thou dost enter. Kate. the king!” Dinah Maria Mulock Craik [1826-1887] THE KING OF THE CRADLE Draw back the cradle curtains. love-crowned. As weak as one decrepid. But march on. . my king. yet monarch! till angels shout. . glorious. With sunbeams o’er him gleaming. Martyr. my king! The spirit that there lies sleeping now May rise like a giant and make men bow As to one heaven-chosen among his peers. Monarch of pearly powder-puff. He smiles and clasps his tiny hand. ah! we love so blindly. Let me behold thee in future years! Yet thy head needeth a circlet rarer. my king.

plump. alas! it may be found The thread of life is slender! A little shoe. White hands in wait to smooth so neat His pillow when its rumpled A couch of rose leaves soft and sweet. Sometimes. And voices hush their chatter. ’Tis small and new. a little glove Affection never waning The shattered idol of our love Is all that is remaining! Then does one chance. lucky tyrant! Happy lot! Fair watchers without number. Ah. And try to catch the Speaker’s? Will that smooth brow o’er Hansard frown. in fancy. And deck it with a flower. nothing and a quarter E’er grasp a saber.Though King of Coral. To consecrate it with a tear. they pause in fear. Tread soft as they a grave draw near. Who can predict the future. hear. Lord of Bell. And Knight of Bath that’s tepid. Who sweetly sing beside his cot. Beneath the gray church tower. Its works by all men quoted? Though rosy. soft. may I ask. dimpled. Kate Your fondest aspiration! 69 . and tender. Small feet in childish patter. And hush him off to slumber. will those blue eyes In baby patois. Not one of which is crumpled! Will yonder dainty dimpled hand Size. Confused by lore statistic? Or will those lips e’er stir the town From pulpit ritualistic? Will e’er that tiny Sybarite Become an author noted? That little brain the world’s delight. and round Though fragile. lead a band To glory and to slaughter? Or. ”peepers” E’er in the House of Commons rise.

The golden chain of years scarce dipped adown From birth.Who knows the solemn laws of fate. for to-morrow! Joseph Ashby-Sterry [1838-1917] THE FIRSTBORN So fair. my blossom. my sweet.yes or no. and yet so subtly linking New selfs with old. moving wonder which is mine Mine only? Leave it with me or I perish. unseen its soul divine? Mine by the chain of love with links unbroken. Yet soon the little rosy feet must lightly Go pattering to and fro. Sweet. Leave tears. I will not let thee go. That govern all creation? Who knows what lot awaits your boy Of happiness or sorrow? Sufficient for to-day is joy. My love. Seen. Dear Lord of love divine. And in my hands the little rosy feet. so dear. my bird. This living. Thine and mine. ere once again a hold is given And nearer to God’s Throne. so warm upon my bosom. yet just so far asunder That I myself may see. Mine. and here it links with heaven. This tender miracle vouchsafed to me. What is it God hath given me to cherish. Dear Saviour. held in arms and clasped around so tightly. Flesh of my flesh. There life began. Lord. my lamb. John Arthur Goodchild [1851NO BABY IN THE HOUSE 70 . ’tis wonderful beyond all wonder. all things that I have been With present joys beyond my former thinking And future things unseen. sleep on. Sleep on. all mine Thy gift and loving token. Dear Lord. Mine . Sleep on. my little bird. One with myself.

With mystical faint fragrance Our house of life she filled. No wooden men setup in rows. And crown of all things was our wee White Rose of all the world. From out a balmy bosom Our bud of beauty grew. Upon the floors are seen. No nicknames. No toys. No grimy fingers to be washed. No little stockings to be darned. Or marshaled off in pairs. Our leaves of love were curled So close and close about our wee White Rose of all the world. ’Tis far too nice and clean.though none like us might see Such precious promise pearled 71 . Made up of baby-clothes. No baby in the house! Clara Dolliver [18 OUR WEE WHITE ROSE From ”The Mother’s Idol Broken” All in our marriage garden Grew. Revealed each hour some fairy tower Where winged hopes might build! We saw . No merry frolics after tea. No little hands to fold. smiling up to God. On tears for daintier dew: Aye nestling warm and tenderly. No scratches on the chairs. No pile of mending to be done. All ragged at the toes. ”Dove” and ”Mouse”. No tender kisses to be given. beautiful unfathomably Its little life unfurled. No stories to be told. by careless fingers strewn. O.No baby in the house. I know. It fed on smiles for sunshine. No finger-marks are on the panes. No little troubles to be soothed. A bonnier flower than ever Sucked the green warmth of the sod.

In other springs our life may be In bannered bloom unfurled. Piatt [1836-1919] ”BABY SLEEPS” She is not dead. Into the world a rosy hand in doubt He reached . When down the solemn midnight We heard the spirits sing. And dropped in the grave .Luke viii. The mother took it from the nurse’s arms. snow-soft. 52. You scarce could think so small a thing Could leave a loss so large. snow-silently Our darling bud uncurled. Like the mystery of moonlight That folds some fairy feast. The baby wept.God’s lap . Sarah M.quite all!” No. 72 . ”And that was all . surely! But The children cried so when his eyes were shut.Upon the petals of our wee White Rose of all the world. The children laughed so when they saw his eyes. But evermore the halo Of angel-light increased. never match our wee White Rose of all the world. Our life was but in spring. But never.a pale hand took one rosebud out. but sleepeth. Gerald Massey [1828-1907] INTO THE WORLD AND OUT Into the world he looked with sweet surprise.our wee White Rose of all the world. Her little light such shadow fling From dawn to sunset’s marge. ”Another bud of infancy With holy dews impearled!” And in their hands they bore our wee White Rose of all the world. Our Rose was but in blossom. . B. Snow-white.

They fell like dew upon the flowers: Then all the air grew strangely sweet. Again it weeps. How tenderly the twilights fell! Oh. So light they did not bend the bells Of the celestial asphodels. The lily swung its noiseless bell.those feet. and future unknown harms. II She came and brought delicious May. And thus came dainty Baby Bell Into this world of ours. From present griefs. When the dainty Baby Bell Came to this world of ours. the livelong day. And baby slept. The swallows built beneath the eaves. Samuel Hinds [1793-1872] BABY BELL I Have you not heard the poets tell How came the dainty Baby Bell Into this world of ours? The gates of heaven were left ajar: With folded hands and dreamy eyes. She touched a bridge of flowers . in and out the leaves The robins went. And on the porch the slender vine Held out its cups of fairy wine. She saw this planet. Bearing the holy Dead to heaven. running to and fro. Hung in the glistening depths of even Its bridges. like a star. And God doth take it from the mother’s arms. O’er which the white-winged Angels go. and soothed its vain alarms. earth was full of singing-birds And opening springtide flowers. III 73 .And hushed its fears. Like sunlight. And baby sleeps. Wandering out of Paradise.

V God’s hand had taken away the seal That held the portals of her speech. never in our hearts before Was love so lovely born: We felt we had a link between This real world and that unseen The land beyond the morn. In softened curves. Her lissome form more perfect grew. But she was holy. And for the love of those dear eyes. Around her pale angelic brow We saw a slender ring of flame. How fair she grew from day to day! What woman-nature filled her eyes. And woke the chords of joy and pain. (The mother’s being ceased on earth When Baby came from Paradise. And oft she said a few strange words Whose meaning lay beyond our reach. So full of meaning. Dear Christ! . saintly now .) For love of Him who smote our lives.O Baby. She never was a child to us. Were rich in autumn’s mellow prime. What poetry within them lay Those deep and tender twilight eyes. And in her features we could trace. IV And now the orchards. We said. And so we loved her more and more: Ah.. Her angel-nature ripened too: We thought her lovely when she came. The folded chestnut burst its shell. pure and bright As if she yet stood in the light Of those oped gates of Paradise. her mother’s face. The clustered apples burnt like flame. 74 . range on range.our hearts bowed down Like violets after rain. which were white And pink with blossoms when she came. dainty Baby Bell. For love of her whom God led forth. And time wrought just as rich a change In little Baby Bell. The grapes hung purpling.. We never held her being’s key.

smite us gently. the summer’s drifted snow Wrapped her from head to foot in flowers . And perfect grow through grief. She only looked more meek and fair! We parted back her silken hair. Thomas Bailey Aldrich [1837-1907] IN THE NURSERY MOTHER GOOSE’S MELODIES ———– Mistress Mary. We cried aloud in our belief. How does your garden grow? With cockle-shells. And thus went dainty Baby Bell Out of this world of ours.” Ah! how we loved her. the messenger. And all our thoughts ran into tears Like sunshine into rain. ”Oh. We saw its shadow ere it fell The knowledge that our God had sent His messenger for Baby Bell. We shuddered with unlanguaged pain. and silver bells. God! Teach us to bend and kiss the rod. Our hearts are broken. Her heart was folded deep in ours. God can tell. Baby Bell! VII At last he came. And all our hopes were changed to fears..We could not teach her holy things Who was Christ’s self in purity. VI It came upon us by degrees. We wove the roses round her brow White buds.. And pretty maids all in a row. The messenger from unseen lands: And what did dainty Baby Bell? She only crossed her little hands. gently. ———– 75 . quite contrary.

And he had a little gun. ———– Run-a-dub-dub. the baker. Peter. She gave them some broth without any bread. knaves all three! ———– I’ll tell you a story About Jack a Nory And now my story’s begun. his brother And now my story is done. dickory. dickory. a dollar. dock. The mouse ran up the clock. Turn ’em out. I’ll tell you another About Johnny. The candlestick-maker. Then whipped them all soundly and put them to bed. And who do you think they be? The butcher.There was an old woman who lived in a shoe. The clock struck one. What makes you come so soon? You used to come at ten o’clock But now you come at noon. 76 . ———– A dillar. Hickory. ———– There was a little man. Three men in a tub. She had so many children she didn’t know what to do. A ten o’clock scholar. dock. The mouse ran down. ———– Peter. Had a wife and couldn’t keep her. pumpkin eater. He put her in a pumpkin shell And there he kept her very well. ———– Hickory.

———– If I had as much money as I could spend. head. Old chairs to mend. I never would cry old chairs to mend. When cloudy was the weather. old chairs to mend.And his bullets were made of lead. And how do you do again? ———– If all the world were apple-pie. She went to a baker to buy her some bread. and what do you think? She lived upon nothing but victuals and drink: Victuals and drink were the chief of her diet: Yet this little old woman could never be quiet. ———– There was an old woman. old clothes to sell. How do you do. And all the trees were bread and cheese. If I had as much money as I could tell. And all the sea were ink. And I began to grin. I met a little old man Clothed all in leather. lead. I never would cry old clothes to sell. and how do you do. ———– One misty. She went to the clerk to toll the bell. I never would cry old chairs to mend. He shot Johnny Sprig Through the middle of his wig. head. And when she came back her husband was well. And knocked it right off his head. lead. Old clothes to sell. And when she came home. I never would cry old clothes to sell. He began to bow and scrape. her husband was dead. What should we have to drink? ———– 77 . moisty morning.

Pease-pudding cold. There came a great spider That sat down beside her. Nine days old. Sat among the cinders. Some like it cold. The cat and the fiddle. diddle. And whipped her little daughter For spoiling her nice new clothes. ———– Hey. Eating of curds and whey. And they all lived together in a little crooked house. The little dog laughed To see such sport. Her mother came and caught her. And the dish ran away with the spoon. And said. which caught a crooked mouse. Some like it in the pot. ———– Little Jack Horner sat in the corner Eating a Christmas pie. Warming her pretty little toes. ———– Little Polly Flinders. 78 . and pulled out a plum. The cow jumped over the moon. ———– There was a crooked man. Sat on a tuffet. diddle. He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile: He bought a crooked cat. Pease-pudding in the pot. And frightened Miss Muffet away. Some like it hot. He put in his thumb. Nine days old. and he went a crooked mile. ”What a good boy am I!” ———– Little Miss Muffet.Pease-pudding hot.

———– 79 . ———– There was a man of our town.———– Barber. And to keep himself warm. Sometimes nine. She lays eggs for gentlemen. and sometimes ten. And what will poor Robin do then. How many hairs will make a wig? ”Four-and-twenty. But where is the boy that looks after the sheep? He’s under a hay-cock. fast asleep. shave a pig. He jumped into a bramble bush. Higgleby. ———– Little Boy Blue. The sheep’s in the meadow. For if I do. And we shall have snow. Will you awake him? No. He jumped into another bush. my black hen. piggleby. my black hen. he’ll be sure to cry. not I. Poor thing! ———– Higgleby. With all his might and main. come blow up your horn.” Give the barber a pinch of snuff. And scratched out both his eyes: But when he saw his eyes were out. the cow’s in the corn. barber. Will hide his head under his wing. Poor thing? He’ll sit in a barn. ———– The north wind doth blow. And he was wondrous wise. And scratched ’em in again. piggleby. that’s enough.

There I met an old man Who would not say his prayers. One for my master. pussy-cat. Pussy-cat. And one for the little boy that lives in the lane. sir. pussy-cat. baa. Jill! ———– Goosey. Whither shall I wander. Jill! Come again. ———– Baa. Fly away. three.Three wise men of Gotham Went to sea in a bowl. down stairs. ———– Pussy-cat. My song had been longer. yes. I took him by his left leg And threw him down the stairs. ———– Bye. goosey. sir. bags full. what did you there? I frightened a little mouse under the chair. And if she’s not gone. where have you been? I’ve been to London to look at the Queen. The one named Jack. the other named Jill. Up stairs. have you any wool? Yes. Jack! Come again. one for my dame. ———– There was an old woman lived under a hill. If the bowl had been stronger. baby bunting. And in my lady’s chamber. black sheep. Jack! Fly away. gander. 80 . Daddy’s gone a-hunting To get a little rabbit-skin To wrap the baby bunting in. she lives there still. ———– There were two blackbirds sitting on a hill.

he had a fiddle. If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers. Every fiddler. tweedle dee. Some gave them white bread. went the fiddlers. 81 . And he called for his fiddlers three. His wife could eat no lean.———– Old King Cole was a merry old soul. And a merry old soul was he. betwixt them both. And so. The Queen did not like him. So Hector Protector was sent back again. and he called for his bowl. Oh. ———– The lion and the unicorn Were fighting for the crown. you see. and bells on her toes. ———– Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers. And sent them out of town. Twee tweedle dee. Hector Protector was sent to the Queen. there’s none so rare. She shall have music wherever she goes. and a very fine fiddle had he. The lion beat the unicorn All round about the town. ———– Hector Protector was dressed all in green. A peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked. Some gave them plum cake. as can compare With King Cole and his fiddlers three! ———– Ride a cock-horse to Banbury Cross. Where’s the peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked? ———– Jack Sprat could eat no fat. They licked the platter clean. Rings on her fingers. And some gave them brown. no more did the King. To see a fine lady ride on a white horse. He called for his pipe.

And feed upon strawberries. Miss Pussy. ———– 82 . Silver buckles at his knee. no.” ”That may be so. But sit on a cushion And sew a fine seam. and she peeped in. Bonny Bobby Shaftoe. I’ll not. wind. you’ll snip off our heads. ”What are you at. I’ll help you to spin. no. And send us some hot in the morn. my little men?” ”Making coats for gentlemen. Pussy passed by. He’s my love for evermair. but you don’t come in!” ———– Bobby Shaftoe’s gone to sea.” ”Shall I come in and bite off your threads?” ”No. Bonny Bobby Shaftoe. Says Tommy Snooks to Bessy Brooks. blow! and go. ———– Blow. Bobby Shaftoe’s fat and fair. ”To-morrow will be Monday.” ———– Curly locks! Curly locks! Wilt thou be mine? Thou shalt not wash dishes Nor yet feed the swine.” ”Oh. Sugar and cream. ———– Six little mice sat down to spin. mill. When he comes back. go! That the miller may grind his corn. he’ll marry me.———– As Tommy Snooks and Bessy Brooks Were walking out one Sunday. Combing down his yellow hair. That the baker may take it and into rolls make it.

and all. jiggety-jog. the cradle will fall. baby. to market. Hush-a-bye. And vowed he’d steal no more! 83 . on the tree-top. THE QUEEN OF HEARTS The Queen of Hearts She made some tarts. and drums for the King. Up Jack got and home did trot As fast as he could caper. When the wind blows the cradle will rock. ———– JACK AND JILL Jack and Jill went up the hill. All on a summer’s day. bough. The King of Hearts Called for the tarts. and wears a gold ring. The Knave of Hearts Brought back the tarts. Jack fell down and broke his crown And Jill came tumbling after. Father’s a nobleman. To fetch a pail of water. And Johnny’s a drummer. cradle.Rock-a-bye. Down will come baby. market is done. Home again. To market. home again. Home again. baby. to buy a fat hog. to buy a plum bun. home again. jiggety-jig. When the bough breaks. And Betty’s a lady. home again. The Knave of Hearts He stole those tarts. ———– To market. mother’s a queen. to buy a fat pig. to market. thy cradle is green. And with them ran away. And went to bed to mend his head With vinegar and brown paper. And beat the Knave full sore. to market. Home again. To market.

She found them indeed. He followed her to school one day That was against the rule. And tried what she could. Determined for to find them. and wiped her eye. And can’t tell where to find them. There she espied their tails side by side. as Bo-peep did stray. It made the children laugh and play. That each tail should be properly placed. And dreamed she heard them bleating. And over the hillocks she raced. But when she awoke. And every where that Mary went The lamb was sure to go. And then he ran to her. All hung on a tree to dry. Mary loves the lamb. as a shepherdess should.” 84 . she found it a joke.” ”What makes the lamb love Mary so?” The eager children cry ”O. Unto a meadow hard by. Till Mary did appear. For they were still a-fleeting. Its fleece was white as snow. but it made her heart bleed. And waited patiently about. For they’d left their tails behind them! It happened one day. you know. To see a lamb at school. She heaved a sigh. As if he said . Then up she took her little crook. Leave them alone.LITTLE BO-PEEP Little Bo-peep has lost her sheep. But still he lingered near. MARY’S LAMB Mary had a little lamb. Little Bo-peep fell fast asleep.”I’m not afraid You’ll keep me from all harm. and they’ll come home. And bring their tails behind them. And so the Teacher turned him out. and laid His head upon her arm.

As your bright and tiny spark Lights the traveler in the dark. Twinkle. ”And you each gentle animal In confidence may bind. He could not see where to go If you did not twinkle so. If you are always kind. little star. And often through my curtains peep.The Teacher did reply. Like a diamond in the sky. In the dark blue sky you keep.” Sarah Josepha Hale [1788-1879] THE STAR Twinkle. all the night. little star. A pocket full of rye. Though I know not what you are. twinkle. Then the traveler in the dark Thanks you for your tiny spark. twinkle. Twinkle. Four-and-twenty blackbirds Baked in a pie. Then you show your little light. twinkle. And make them follow at your call. Wasn’t that a dainty dish To set before the King? 85 . For you never shut your eye Till the sun is in the sky. How I wonder what you are. When the blazing sun is set. When the pie was opened The birds began to sing. Up above the world so high. And the grass with dew is wet. Jane Taylor [1783-1824) ”SING A SONG OF SIXPENCE” Sing a song of sixpence.

And oh! it was all laden With pretty things for thee! There were comfits in the cabin. ”Let me taste your ware. ”Show me first your penny”. When down came a blackbird. Which made poor Simon whistle. Says Simple Simon to the pieman. The maid was in the garden Hanging out the clothes. And the masts were made of gold.” Says the pieman to Simple Simon. A-sailing on the sea. The Queen was in the parlor. All the water he had got Was in his mother’s pail. The captain was a duck. Counting out his money. Simple Simon went to look If plums grew on a thistle. A PLEASANT SHIP I saw a ship a-sailing. And apples in the hold. With chains about their necks. SIMPLE SIMON Simple Simon met a pieman Going to the fair.” Simple Simon went a-fishing For to catch a whale. ”Indeed I have not any.The King was in his counting-house. Eating bread and honey. And nipped off her nose. The sails were made of silk. The four-and-twenty sailors That stood between the decks Were four-and-twenty white mice. Says Simple Simon to the pieman. He pricked his fingers very much. 86 .

I was forced to go to London To buy me a wife. I bought a little horse. The captain said ”Quack! Quack!” ”I HAD A LITTLE HUSBAND” I had a little husband No bigger than my thumb. I gave him some garters. ”WHEN I WAS A BACHELOR” When I was a bachelor I lived by myself. I was forced to bring my wife home In a wheelbarrow. The rats and the mice They made such a strife. And Johnny shall have a blue ribbon To tie up his bonny brown hair. Little wife and all. To wipe his pretty nose. Down came wheelbarrow. And there I bade him drum. And when the ship began to move. That galloped up and down. 87 . And a little handkerchief. And Johnny shall go to the fair.With a packet on his back. To garter up his hose. I bridled him and saddled him. The streets were so bad. The wheelbarrow broke. I put him in a pint pot. And all the bread and cheese I got I put upon the shelf. And my wife had a fall. And the lanes were so narrow. ”JOHNNY SHALL HAVE A NEW BONNET” Johnny shall have a new bonnet. And sent him out of town.

And why may not Johnny love me? And why may not I love Johnny.” and Robin flew away. Said little Robin Redbreast. The garden mouse lives in a bower. ”Catch me if you can.” Little Robin Redbreast jumped upon a wall. And sees the pretty plants in flower. Poor little timid furry man. Died on Saturday. Little Robin chirped and sang. and down went he. Up went pussy-cat. and almost got a fall. The city mouse eats bread and cheese. SOLOMON GRUNDY Solomon Grundy. And one for his mammy. And why may not Johnny love me? And why may not I love Johnny As well as another body? And here’s a leg for a stocking. 88 . Worse on Friday. The garden mouse eats what he can. Born on a Monday. Down came pussy-cat. And why may not I love Johnny. too. Pussy-cat jumped after him. And here’s a foot for a shoe. Took ill on Thursday.And why may not I love Johnny. And he has a kiss for his daddy. and away Robin ran. Christened on Tuesday. He’s friendly with the frogs and toads. Christina Georgina Rossetti [1830-1894] ROBIN REDBREAST Little Robin Redbreast sat upon a tree. and what did pussy say? Pussy-cat said naught but ”Mew. We will not grudge him seeds and stocks. As well as another body? THE CITY MOUSE AND THE GARDEN MOUSE The city mouse lives in a house. Married on Wednesday.

Merry let us part. and gay go down. He stole three pecks of barley meal. happy. happy let us be! ”WHEN GOOD KING ARTHUR RULED THIS LAND” When good King Arthur ruled this land. And what they could not eat that night. A bag-pudding the queen did make. And stuffed it well with plums: And in it put great lumps of fat. To make a bag-pudding. and free. and merry have we been. The king and queen did eat thereof. and hollow are your hose: Noddle goes your pate. THE BELLS OF LONDON Gay go up. ”MERRY ARE THE BELLS” Merry are the bells. and free. 89 . happy. and purple is your nose: Merry is your sing-song. Say the bells of Saint Giles’. This is the end of Solomon Grundy. With our merry sing-song. and merry could I sing. Brickbats and tiles. and merry meet again. The queen next morning fried. Bull’s eyes and targets. happy. To ring the bells of London town. happy let us be! Waddle goes your gait. and free. gay. And noblemen beside. and merry would they ring. He was a goodly king. As big as my two thumbs. With a merry ding-dong. And a merry sing-song. gay. happy let us be! Merry have we met. Say the bells of Saint Marg’ret’s. With a merry ding-dong. With a merry ding-dong.Buried on Sunday. gay. Merry was myself.

When will you pay me? Say the bells at Old Bailey. Say the bells at Shoreditch. Laura E. Say the bells of Saint Helen’s. Two sticks and an apple. Say the bells of Saint Clement’s. When I grow rich. when will that be? Say the bells of Stepney. Say the bells of Saint Martin’s. You owe me ten shillings. The soap-fat man he was not within: He’d gone for a ride on his rolling-pin. Oranges and lemons. I am sure I don’t know. And turned the meeting-house upside down. Say the bells of Saint Ann’s. So they all came back by the way of the town. Pokers and tongs. Say the bells of Whitechapel.Half-pence and farthings. Richards [1850THE COW 90 . Say the slow bells at Aldgate. Say the bells of Saint Peter’s. They went to call on the soap-fat man. Say the bells of Saint John’s. Pancakes and fritters. THE EEL AND THE WARMING-PAN The owl and the eel and the warming-pan. THE OWL. Says the great bell at Bow. Pray. Kettles and pans. Old Father Baldpate.

pitter patter. For He calls Himself a Lamb. I a child. and thou a lamb. God bless thee. Down the window-pane? 91 . go there and dine. and sweet. We are called by His name. I’ll tell thee. He is meek. that made Pleasant milk to soak my bread. and fresh. They will make it very sweet. I’ll tell thee. Where the purple violet grows. and He is mild. Ann Taylor [1782-1866] THE LAMB Little Lamb.Thank you. and every night. Pretty cow. and white. Gave thee life. pretty cow. where do you come from. Where the grass is fresh and fine. But the yellow cowslips eat. Where the bubbling water flows. Softest clothing. who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee? Little Lamb. You little drops of rain. Little Lamb. William Blake [1757-1827] LITTLE RAINDROPS Oh. Warm. and bade thee feed By the stream and o’er the mead. bright. He became a little child. Every day. woolly. Gave thee clothing of delight. Pitter patter. Gave thee such a tender voice. Do not chew the hemlock rank. who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee. God bless thee! Little Lamb. Little Lamb. Making all the vales rejoice? Little Lamb. Growing on the weedy bank. He is called by thy name.

Matthias Barr [1831-?] THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT 92 . Oft and oft I wonder. Is that the way you play. little raindrops. But ”pitter. But I’ve nothing else to do But sit here at the window. patter pat” Means. Tell me.They won’t let me walk. Sometime I will watch you Slyly overhead. ”We can play on this side: Why can’t you play on that?” ”MOON. They put away my playthings Because I broke them all. And the sun comes peeping O’er the hills at last. How I love to see you Shining in the sky. And they won’t let me play. Hanging in the air: Where you go at morning. When I see you there. Pitter patter. I should like to play with you. How they get to light you. The little raindrops cannot speak. And then they locked up all my bricks. And took away my ball. When the night is past. All the rainy day? They say I’m very naughty. When you think I’m sleeping Snugly in my bed. so round and yellow. And they won’t let me go Out of doors at all to-day. SO ROUND AND YELLOW” Moon. Looking from on high. pitter patter.

This is the house that Jack built. This is the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the rat That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the dog That worried the cat That killed the rat That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the man all tattered and torn That kissed the maiden That milked the cow with the crumpled horn That tossed the dog That worried the cat That killed the rat That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the maiden all forlorn That milked the cow with the crumpled horn That tossed the dog That worried the cat That killed the rat That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the cat That killed the rat That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the priest all shaven and shorn That married the man all tattered and torn That kissed the maiden all forlorn That milked the cow with the crumpled horn That tossed the dog That worried the cat 93 . This is the cow with the crumpled horn That tossed the dog That worried the cat That killed the rat That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built.

To get her poor dog a bone: But when she got there The cupboard was bare. This is the cock that crowed in the morn That waked the priest all shaven and shorn That married the man all tattered and torn That kissed the maiden all forlorn That milked the cow with the crumpled horn That tossed the dog That worried the cat That killed the rat That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. But when she came back The poor dog was dead. This is the farmer sowing his corn That kept the cock that crowed in the morn That waked the priest all shaven and shorn That married the man all tattered and torn That kissed the maiden all forlorn That milked the cow with the crumpled horn That tossed the dog That worried the cat That killed the rat That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. OLD MOTHER HUBBARD Old Mother Hubbard Went to the cupboard. She went to the joiner’s To buy him a coffin. But when she came back He was smoking a pipe. And so the poor dog had none. She went to the baker’s To buy him some bread. She took a clean dish To get him some tripe. But when she came back The poor dog was laughing. 94 .That killed the rat That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built.

She went to the hatter’s To buy him a hat. But when she came back He was reading the news. But when she came back He was licking the dish. She went to the barber’s To buy him a wig. The dame said. But when she came back He was feeding the cat. She went to the fruiterer’s To buy him some fruit. But when she came back The dog was spinning. But when she came back He was riding a goat. But when she came back He was playing the flute. She went to the cobbler’s To buy him some shoes.” 95 . ”Your servant. But when she came back The dog stood on his head. ”Bow-wow. But when she came back He was dancing a jig. She went to the tavern For white wine and red.She went to the fishmonger’s To buy him some fish. But when she came back He was dressed in his clothes. She went to the seamstress To buy him some linen. The dame made a curtesy.” The dog said. She went to the tailor’s To buy him a coat. The dog made a bow. She went to the hosier’s To buy him some hose.

he could dance.” said the Fish.” Who’ll make his shroud? ”I. He could sing. I caught his blood. I saw him die. And built him a monument When he was dead.” Who saw him die? ”I’” said the Fly. he could write. She gave him rich dainties Whenever he fed.” said the Sparrow. 96 . ”With my spade and trowel. ”With my little eye. I’ll be the clerk.” Who’ll be the parson? ”I.” Who’ll dig his grave? ”I. ”With my thread and needle.” Who’ll be chief mourner? ”I.” said the Owl.” said the Dove. ”With my little dish.” Who’ll be the clerk? ”I.” said the Rook. I’ll dig his grave.” Who caught his blood? ”I. THE DEATH AND BURIAL OF COCK ROBIN Who killed Cock Robin? ”I. I’ll be the parson.” said the Beetle. I’ll make his shroud. ”With my little book. ”With my bow and arrow. ”I’ll say Amen in the dark.This wonderful dog Was Dame Hubbard’s delight. He could read.” said the Lark. I killed Cock Robin.

Please to ring the bell. Up one flight.” All the birds of the air Fell to sighing and sobbing When they heard the bell toll For poor Cock Robin. Both the Cock and the Hen.” said the Linnet. Laugh and crow. ”Because I can pull.” said the Wren. Cradle-beds.” Who’ll carry his coffin? ”I. BABY-LAND ”Which is the way to Baby-land?” ”Any one can tell. I’ll toll the bell. I’ll bear the torch. I’ll carry his coffin.” Who’ll bear the torch? ”I.”I mourn for my love.” said the Bull. Faces pure and bright!” ”What do they do in Baby-land?” ”Dream and wake and play.” said the thrush. 97 . ”I’ll come in a minute. I’ll be chief mourner.” Who’ll bear the pall? ”We.” said the Kite.” ”What can you see in Baby-land?” ”Little folks in white Downy heads.” Who’ll sing his dirge? ”I.” Who’ll toll the bell? ”I. To your right. ”We’ll bear the pall. ”If it be in the night. ”As I sing in the bush I’ll sing his dirge.

Or a tree in my wood. And her love. I went to this wood. Guides the little feet. and a very dark house. As dark. I opened the chambers. Jolly times have they!” ”What do they say in Baby-land?” ”Why. Might as well Try to tell What a birdie sings!” ”Who is the Queen of Baby-land?” ”Mother. And I made up my mind to know what the sea gave. Only one! Shall I show you the place where it grows? There once was a house. But a sunbeam got in. at the thick of the boughs. I walked round the ness When the water was lowest. I went to this house. kind and sweet. And as I was walking I saw a primrose. and the trees understood. Only one! Shall I show you this little lamp bright? There once was a cave. I believe. and in a recess In my cave was a jewel. and a very thick wood. he sat on my knee. With a pearl in his mouth that was precious to me. and I found a light. at the end of the snows. Will nobody guess? O there was a baby. Born above. His little dark mouth like my cave of the sea! I said to my heart. the oddest things. and this very dark cave One day took a gift from an incoming wave. I took a lit torch. and I searched it aright. ”And my jewel is bright! He blooms like a primrose! He shines like a light!” 98 . as the hole of a mouse.Shout and grow.” George Cooper [1840-1927] THE FIRST TOOTH There once was a wood. So thick that to walk was as much as you could.

”Breakfast is all ready. ”I’ll give him Nice fresh milk . she looks Like a lamp in the air. And round as an O.moo-oo!” Said the hen. But now she’s grown bigger. Oh! what shall I do? Said the cow. ”Here is honey sweet. I beg!” And the buzzing bee said. Last week she was smaller. ”But before the Baby Eats his dainty food. Will he not say ’Thank you!’ To his friends so good?” Then the bonny Baby Laughed and laughed away. And shaped like a bow. look at the moon! She is shining up there. 99 . Don’t you think the Baby Would like that to eat?” Then the baker kindly Brought the Baby’s bread. Emilie Poulsson [1853THE MOON O. That was all the ”Thank you” He knew how to say.Put your hand in his mouth! Do you feel? He can bite! William Brighty Rands [1823-1882] BABY’S BREAKFAST Baby wants his breakfast. ”Cut-dah cut! I have laid an egg For the Baby’s breakfast Take it now. O mother.” Baby’s mother said.

How you shine on the door. chin. Lift up the latch . Pick up sticks. Five. fourteen. four. And make it all bright On my nursery floor! You shine on my playthings. This little pig cried wee. Nose smeller. chippety. Shut the door. here sit his two men. Lay them straight.walk in. and here they go in. Mouth eater. This little pig stayed at home. Eliza Lee Fallen [1787-1859] BABY AT PLAY Brow bender. Seven. Eleven. and maybe That small twinkling star Is your little baby. Maids a-courting. Eye peeper. and here sits the hen. six. Knock at the door . Chin chopper. And I love to look up At your pretty bright face. Chippety. wee. twelve. This little pig got none. Three. chippety. ten. And there is a star Close by you.Pretty moon.peep in. all the way home. pretty moon. This little pig went to market. This little pig got roast beef. Nine. Who will delve? Thirteen. Here sits the cock. 100 . And show me their place. Here sits the Lord Mayor. Here sit the chickens. One. two. A good fat hen. Buckle my shoe. eight.

five. a-row A captain and his men And on the other side. Nineteen. D was a Drunkard. eighteen. Seventeen. ”Deary me! One nose is enough. One. four. you know. Richards [1850FOOT SOLDIERS ’Tis all the way to Toe-town. and had a red face. C was a Captain. And one nose. ten. with pride on his brow. My stomach’s empty. Two eyes. Baby said When she smelt the rose. Maids a-waiting. Baby said When she smelt the snuff. who shot at a frog. eight. That Baby has to travel down To see the soldiers drill. who had a great dog. E was an Esquire. John Banister Tabb [1845-1909] TOM THUMB’S ALPHABET A was an Archer. seven. all covered with lace. ”Oh! what a pity I’ve only one nose!” Ten teeth In even rows. 101 . Three dimples. B was a Butcher. two. THE DIFFERENCE Eight fingers. Ten toes. Are six. And one nose. nine. Beyond the Knee-high hill.” Laura E. sixteen. Maids a-kissing. twenty. three.Fifteen.

DAYS OF THE MONTH Thirty days hath September. who had a white hand. X was Expensive. L was a Lady. Which reading. M was a Miser. speaking teach. P was a Parson. My hand. as In or Through a door. Ill. or Garden. who drank all himself. As Oh! how pretty! Ah! how wise! The Whole are called nine parts of speech. who went about town. Verbs tell something being done To Read. or Brown. As Slowly. The Preposition stands before A noun. G was a Gamester. H was a Hunter. you often see. His face. As Great. Sing. April. with a wonderful pill. The Interjection shows surprise. so mighty and grand. who loved to bouse. Hoop. Jump. T was a Tinker. who wanted to kill. who built up a house. 102 . who spent all he got. or Well. and mended a pot. who guarded the door. Count. W was a Watchman. Z was a Zany. June. or Swing. U was an Usurer. An. How things are done the Adverbs tell. and The. Y was a Youth. As School. Adjectives tell the kind of Noun. Your arm. who had but ill luck. who hunted a buck. Small.F was a Farmer. Pretty. and so became poor. or Run. gallant and bold. Laugh. wind Or weather. Quickly. GRAMMAR IN RHYME Three little words. and November. writing. All the rest have thirty-one. Q was a Quack. O was an Oysterman. J was a Joiner. and followed the plow. V was a Vintner. Instead of Nouns the Pronouns stand. N was a Nobleman. K was a King. that did not love school. a poor harmless fool. R was a Robber. I was an Innkeeper. and wore a black gown. S was a Sailor. White. Conjunctions join the words together As men And women. A Noun is the name of anything. Are articles A. a miserable elf. Her head. and hoarded his gold.

Fills the children’s hands with posies. February brings the rain. April brings the primrose sweet. Hot July brings cooling showers.February twenty-eight alone. and Christmas treat. Fresh October brings the pheasant. March brings breezes. Sportsmen then begin to shoot. at which time February’s days are twenty-nine. Sara Coleridge [1802-1852] RIDDLES There was a girl in our town. Then the leaves are whirling fast. 103 . Apricots. Silk an’ satin was her gown. loud and shrill. lilies. roses. and gillyflowers. Except in leap year. Makes our feet and fingers glow. Silk an’ satin. May brings flocks of pretty lambs Skipping by their fleecy dams. August brings the sheaves of corn. Guess her name. Then to gather nuts is pleasant. Scatters daisies at our feet. Dull November brings the blast. Chill December brings the sleet. Thaws the frozen lake again. Blazing fire. To stir the dancing daffodil. THE GARDEN YEAR January brings the snow. Warm September brings the fruit. Then the harvest home is borne. gold an’ velvet. June brings tulips. three times I’ve telled it.

The shorter she grows. (A walnut.) Make three fourths of a cross. (The teeth. Nor any wish to keep. And let two semicircles On a perpendicular meet. (A candle. Yet thieves break in and steal the gold. Met together in a shower of rain. yet made to-day. I’ll give you a ring. And a green coat covers me all.) Long legs.) Formed long ago. And a red nose. Next two semicircles.) Little Nanny Etticoat.) Thirty white horses upon a red hill.) As soft as silk. Put in a bag tied round with a string. crooked thighs.(Ann. a thick green wall. (TOBACCO. Little head and no eyes. Next add a triangle That stands on two feet. (A pair of tongs. Now they tramp. fruit of Spain. And a circle complete. If you’ll tell me this riddle. Lined with a skin as soft as silk. Within a fountain crystal clear. As bitter as gall. Employed while others sleep. In a white petticoat. 104 . now they champ. (An egg.) In marble walls as white as milk. No doors there are to this stronghold. And a circle complete. as white as milk. now they stand still.) Flour of England. What few would like to give away. (A plum-pudding. A golden apple doth appear. The longer she stands.

a stone in his throat.) As I was going to St. Thomas a Tattamus took two T’s. Ives? (One. (An egg. With one leg in his lap. And grows with its root upwards. (A needle and thread.) Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. Who should I meet but Dick Red-Cap! A stick in his hand. They each took one and left four in it.) Elizabeth. I’ll give you a groat.) Two legs sat upon three legs. All went together to seek a bird’s nest. Lizzy. Up jumps two legs. (An icicle. Every sack had seven cats. Every cat had seven kits Kits.(A bed.) As I went through a garden gap. They found a nest with five eggs in it. And a long tail which she let fly. sacks. (A cherry. Dies in summer. Catches up three legs. And every time she went over a gap.) Lives in winter. cats. Ives. If you’ll tell me this riddle. To tie two tups to two tall trees. To frighten the terrible Thomas a Tattamus! Tell me how many T’s there are in all THAT! Old Mother Twitchett had but one eye. In comes four legs And runs away with one leg. I met a man with seven wives. 105 . How many were going to St. and wives. Betsy and Bess. She left a bit of her tail in a trap. Every wife had seven sacks. All the king’s horses and all the king’s men Cannot put Humpty Dumpty together again.

Needles and pins. For when the weeds begin to grow. There is a remedy. try and find it. A man of words. Beggars would ride. indeed. For every evil under the sun. They that wash on Wednesday Are not so much to blame. a stool. needles and pins. (A man. And they that wash on Saturday. never mind it. Wash in need. And makes him drop one leg. and a dog. If turnips were watches.Throws it after four legs. A swarm of bees in May worth a load of hay. swarm of bees in June worth a silver spoon. and not of deeds. Oh. When a man marries. He that would thrive Must rise at five. He that hath thriven May lie till seven.) PROVERBS If wishes were horses. Himself must either hold or drive. I’d wear one by my side. They that wash on Thursday. a leg of mutton. If there be one. They that wash on Tuesday Are not so much awry. swarm of bees in July not worth a fly. And he that by the plough would thrive. If there be none. they are slovens. or there is none. Then doth the garden overflow. his trouble begins. They that wash on Friday. Is like a garden full of weeds. Is A Is A Is They that wash on Monday Have all the week to dry. Wash for shame. 106 .

The East wind blows it back again. The North wind wet and cold together. Rainbow at morning. The West wind always brings us rain. For want of the horse. 107 . the battle was lost. the rider was lost. And all from the want of a horseshoe nail. Love is the sweet sunshine That warms into life. Kind thoughts are the roots. If ”ifs” and ”ands” Were pots and pans. There would be no need for tinkers! For want of a nail. For want of the battle. WEATHER WISDOM A sunshiny shower Won’t last half an hour. For want of the rider. Rain before seven. Bring the rain upon his head. Kind deeds are the fruits. KIND HEARTS Kind hearts are the gardens. Evening red and morning gray Set the traveller on his way. March winds and April showers Bring forth May flowers.Tommy’s tears. Will make them old before their years. Rainbow at night Is the sailor’s delight. the shoe was lost. For only in darkness Grow hatred and strife. But evening gray and morning red. Fair by eleven. the horse was lost. the kingdom was lost. and Mary’s fears. For want of the shoe. Kind words are the blossoms. The South wind brings wet weather.

cut them for woe. marry for health. Marry Saturday. Bad luck you will have all day. Blynken. marry for losses. Sneeze on a Sunday. All the day you’ll have good luck. cut them for wealth. AND NOD Dutch Lullaby Wynken. Sneeze on a Saturday. a journey you’ll go. For all the next week you’ll be ruled by the devil. Wednesday’s child is full of woe. Tuesday’s child is full of grace. Marry Friday. Thursday’s child has far to go. your safety seek The devil will have you the whole of the week. 108 . See a pin and let it lay. Monday’s child is fair of face. marry for wealth. marry for crosses. And a child that’s born on the Sabbath day Is fair and wise and good and gay. Cut them on Wednesday. cut them for news. Marry Tuesday. Sneeze on a Tuesday. cut them for health. Cut them on Saturday. BLYNKEN. Cut them on Sunday. OLD SUPERSTITIONS See a pin and pick it up. Cut your nails on Monday. you’ll kiss a stranger. Sneeze on a Wednesday. for something better. take warning. Cut them on Thursday. you sneeze for danger. Marry Wednesday. Friday’s child is loving and giving.Sailors. you sneeze for sorrow. your sweetheart to-morrow. Sneeze on a Monday. the best day of all. THE ROAD TO SLUMBERLAND WYNKEN. and Nod one night Sailed off in a wooden shoe. Marry Monday. Marry Thursday. Cut them on Friday. Cut them on Tuesday. a pair of new shoes. Saturday’s child works hard for its living. no luck at all. Sneeze on a Friday. Sneeze on a Thursday. you’ll cut them for evil. you sneeze for a letter.

And Nod is a little head. Bringing the fishermen home: ’Twas all so pretty a sail. And some folk thought ’twas a dream they’d dreamed Of sailing that beautiful sea. And the wind that sped them all night long Ruffled the waves of dew. And Nod. and what do you wish?” The old moon asked the three.Sailed on a river of crystal light Into a sea of dew. And Nod. Never afeard are we!” So cried the stars to the fishermen three. The little stars were the herring fish That lived in that beautiful sea ”Now cast your nets wherever you wish. Blynken. And Nod. Blynken. Blynken. Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes. But I shall name you the fishermen three: Wynken. Wynken. Blynken. As they rocked in the wooden shoe. Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe. it seemed As if it could not be. And Nod. So shut your eyes while Mother sings Of wonderful sights that be. 109 . All night long their nets they threw To the stars in the twinkling foam. Nets of silver and gold have we!” Said Wynken. And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies Is a wee one’s trundle-bed. And you shall see the beautiful things As you rock in the misty sea Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three: Wynken. The old moon laughed and sang a song. ”We have come to fish for the herring fish That live in this beautiful sea. ”Where are you going.

110 . The tree is so tall that no person could climb To the boughs where the sugar-plums swing! But up in that tree sits a chocolate cat. And you carry away of the treasure that rains. of course. so weary!) He shuts up the earth. The fruit that it bears is so wondrously sweet (As those who have tasted it say) That good little children have only to eat Of that fruit to be happy next day. gumdrops. you would have a hard time To capture the fruit which I sing. (Oh. And the chocolate cat goes cavorting around From this leafy limb unto that. Eugene Field [1850-1895] WHEN THE SLEEPY MAN COMES When the Sleepy Man comes with the dust on his eyes. When you’ve got to the tree. and peppermint canes. As much as your apron can hold! So come. (So hush-a-by. cuddle closer to me In your dainty white nightcap and gown. weary. little child. With stripings of scarlet or gold.Eugene Field [1850-1895] THE SUGAR-PLUM TREE Have you ever heard of the Sugar-Plum Tree? ’Tis a marvel of great renown! It blooms on the shore of the Lollypop sea In the garden of Shut-Eye Town. to the ground Hurrah for that chocolate cat! There are marshmallows. weary my Dearie!) He smiles through his fingers. and shuts up the sun. And I’ll rock you away to that Sugar-Plum Tree In the garden of Shut-Eye Town. And a gingerbread dog prowls below And this is the way you contrive to get at Those sugar-plums tempting you so: You say but the word to that gingerbread dog And he barks with such terrible zest That the chocolate cat is at once all agog. As her swelling proportions attest. And the sugar-plums tumble. and he opens the skies. my Dearie.

ye’ll see Daddy then. Awa’ to hide the birdie within its cosy nest. See him in the corners hidin’ frae the licht. weary my Dearie!) When one would be wending in Lullaby Wherry. So Auld Daddy Darkness is better than he seems. Black as a blackamoor. so weary!) When one would be faring down Dream-a-way Lane. To cover them sae cosy. weary. my Dearie. (So hush-a-by. weary my Dearie!) Then the top is a burden. my wee tot. Roberts [1860AULD DADDY DARKNESS Auld Daddy Darkness creeps frae his hole. close the shutters a’. An’ Auld Daddy Darkness will flee far awa’.(Oh. He’s in below the bed claes. so weary!) The stars that he loves he lets out one by one. weary. (Oh. my Dearie. See him at the window gloomin’ at the nicht. let the bairnie sit. Awa’ to loosen Gaffer Toil frae his daily ca’. (Oh. (Oh. so weary!) And whispers of mermaids and wonderful things. the bugle a bane. He comes when the bairnies are getting aff their claes. He comes when we’re weary to wean’s frae oor waes. weary. weary my Dearie!) He comes with a murmur of dream in his wings. weary my Dearie!) Charles G. D. my Dearie. (Oh. (So hush-a-by. to cuddle ye he’s fain. weary. my Dearie. Awa’ to lap the wee flooers on their mither’s breast. (So hush-a-by. (So hush-a-by. 111 . weary my Dearie!) He comes from the castles of Drowsy-boy Town. blin’ as a mole: Stir the fire till it lowes. an’ bring bonnie dreams. For Auld Daddy Darkness is kindly to a’. Steek yer een. Auld Daddy Darkness is no wantit yit. so weary!) To Sleepy Man’s Castle. my Dearie. Turn up the gas licht. so weary!) At the touch of his hand the tired eyelids fall down. (So hush-a-by. by Comforting Ferry. weary.

His little boat alone may float Within that lovely bay. when he goes through the town. No tempests beat that shore remote. Upstairs and doon stairs. Straightway there lies on babies’ eyes His gift of shining sand. and brown. As shuts the rose. white sand. in his nicht-gown. Skirlin’ like a kenna-what . ”Are the weans in their bed? .glowrin’ like the moon. cryin’ at the lock. Willie Winkie! . black eyes.” Hey. The doug’s speldered on the floor. Rattlin’ in an airn jug wi’ an airn spoon. Blue eyes. tumblin’ roun’ about. Willie Winkie! are ye comin’ ben? The cat’s singin’ gay thrums to the sleepin’ hen. Tirlin’ at the window.See. From sunny beaches far away Yes. sleep and dream yer fill.wauknin’ sleepin’ folk! Hey. No ships may sail that way. gray eyes. The sun is going down. crawin’ like a cock. they softly close. And now the sandman’s gentle tread Comes stealing through the town. there he comes! William Miller [1810-1872] THE SANDMAN The rosy clouds float overhead. Rumblin’.” he softly cries. Willie Winkie! the wean’s in a creel! Waumblin’ aff a bodie’s knee like a vera eel. ”White sand.?] WILLIE WINKIE Wee Willie Winkie rins through the town. that winna fa’ asleep. James Ferguson [18 . Till Wee Davie Daylicht comes keekin’ owre the hill.for it’s noo ten o’clock. and disna gie a cheep.Noo nestle to his bosie. and ravellin’ a’ her thrums: Hey. But here’s a waukrife laddie. in another land He gathers up at break of day His stone of shining sand. Ruggin’ at the cat’s lug. ye rogue! . 112 . And as he shakes his hand. Onything but sleep.

Softly smiles the good old Dustman. And every child right well he knows. as he goes through the land. Rest quiet. he is very wise! But if. Far away in slumberland. Blue eyes. Lie softly down. In their eyes the dust he throws. Till. unnoticed Comes an old man up the stair. when he goes through the town. Then unseen. they softly close. Be sure you do not keep him long A-waiting in the street. and brown. dear little head. Oh. they softly close. busy hands. gray eyes. black eyes. black eyes. As shuts the rose. When the nursery still echoes With the children’s merry din. And their weary eyes must close. Margaret Thomson Janvier [1845-1913] THE DUSTMAN When the toys are growing weary. He smiles to see the eyelids close Above the happy eyes. they softly close. A naughty baby cries.Blue eyes. black eyes. when he goes through the town. So when you hear the sandman’s song Sound through the twilight sweet. gray eyes. He strews the shining sands. As shuts the rose. Lightly to the children passes. Then the Dustman very gently Takes each little dimpled hand Leads them through the sweet green shadows. As shuts the rose. And the twilight gathers in. Frederic Edward Weatherly [1848-1929] SEPHESTIA’S LULLABY 113 . Blue eyes. when he goes through the town. unheard. and brown. gray eyes. His other hand takes dull gray sand To close the wakeful eyes. by your bed his good-night said. Till their little heads are falling. and brown. Lays his hand upon their hair.

When he left his pretty boy. That one another’s place supplies. first his joy.From ”Menaphon” Weep not. baby leapt. When thou art old there’s grief enough for thee. and care must keep you. he must kiss Child and mother. Rock them. my wanton. smile upon my knee. smile upon my knee. baby bliss. rock them. my wanton. my wanton. You are care. Robert Greene [1560?-1592] ”GOLDEN SLUMBERS KISS YOUR EYES” From ”Patient Grissel” Golden slumbers kiss your eyes. Last his sorrow. do not cry. more we cried. 114 . pretty wantons. When thy father first did see Such a boy by him and me. And I will sing a lullaby. When he left his pretty boy. Tears of blood fell from his heart. Smiles awake you when you rise. smile upon my knee. my wanton. Weep not. Thus he grieved in every part. Fell by course from his eyes. Streaming tears that never stint. Mother cried. smile upon my knee. Mother’s wag. father wept. therefore sleep you. Like pearl-drops from a flint. Sleep. When thou art old there’s grief enough for thee. When thou art old there’s grief enough for thee. I was woe. Weep not. father’s joy. father’s joy. father’s joy. pretty boy. More he crowed. For he left his pretty boy. Father’s sorrow. When thou art old there’s grief enough for thee. Weep not. The wanton smiled. He was glad. Nature could not sorrow hide: He must go. lullaby. Fortune changed made him so. Father’s sorrow. Father’s sorrow. Care is heavy.

my dear. sweet baby. my dear. For thee great blessings ripening be. And God and angels are thy friends. sweet baby. my babe. Be still. my babe. His holy Spouse thy mother too. then forbear to weep. my babe. BABY. and nothing fear. then forbear to weep. Be still. then forbear to weep. sweet baby. Such innocents as thou. sleep! what ails my dear. and lend thine ear. A blameless babe thou art now made. sweet baby. 115 . Thine Eldest Brother is a king. Sweet baby. what canst thou fear? What thing to thee can mischief do? Thy God is now thy father dear. What ails my darling thus to cry? Be still. And though thy birth unclean hath been. baby. then forbear to weep. While thus thy lullaby I sing. A sacred bathing thou hast had. sweet baby. Sweet baby. Sweet baby. sleep. sleep. SLEEP” Sleep. lullaby. forbear to weep. And hath a kingdom bought for thee. my child. sleep. my babe. To hear me sing thy lullaby. rock them. Sweet baby. Are ever precious in His sight. Be still. Be still. Be still. then forbear to weep. In little babes He took delight. And I will sing a lullaby. Though thy conception was in sin. Thomas Dekker [1570?-1641?] ”SLEEP. Rock them. do not cry. sleep. Sweet baby. For whosoever thee offends By thy protector threatened are. sleep. sleep. Sweet baby.Sleep. When God with us was dwelling here. sweet baby. My pretty lamb. Be still. my babe. Thou blessed soul. sleep. pretty wantons.

then forbear to weep. Sweet baby. my babe. then forbear to weep. sleep. my babe. then forbear to weep. my babe. Sweet baby. sweet baby sleep. Be still. Within a manger lodged thy Lord. my babe. sleep. my babe. perceiv’st it not. My baby. Sweet baby. An easy cradle for a bed. clothe. Though thou. For of thy weal they tender are. Be still. my babe. my babe. As chirps the lark unto the tree So chirps my pretty babe to me. for thee. George Wither [1588-1667] MOTHER’S SONG My heart is like a fountain true That flows and flows with love to you. Be still. Nor such like swaddling-clothes as these. yet more. 116 . The King of Kings when He was born. sleep. Be still. Which thee shall cherish. then forbear to weep. Sweet baby. That power to thee might be conveyed. In this thy frailty and thy need He friends and helpers doth prepare. Where oxen lay and asses fed: Warm rooms we do to thee afford. Thou hast. And strength in weakness then was laid Upon His Virgin Mother’s knee. Be still. sweet baby. And by His torments and His pain Thy rest and ease secured be. sweet baby. Had not so much for outward ease. to perfect this A promise and an earnest got Of gaining everlasting bliss. and feed. sleep. then forbear to weep. sweet baby. sweet baby. sweet baby. sleep. Sweet baby. then forbear to weep. By Him such dressings were not worn. Be still. The wants that He did then sustain Have purchased wealth. my babe.A little infant once was He.

Can dance as baby does to me. My baby is the flower to me. There’s not a star that shines on high. There’s not a boat upon the sea. There’s not a rose where’er I seek. 117 . So full of sweets as babe to me. No silk was ever spun so fine As is the hair of baby mine. And it’s O! sweet. my little boy. Sing lullaby. sweet! and a lullaby. Sing lullaby. My babe more precious is to me. sweet! and a lullaby. Unknown A LULLABY Upon my lap my sovereign sits And sucks upon my breast. As comely as my baby’s cheek. And it’s O! sweet. There’s not a comb of honey-bee. Meanwhile his love sustains my life And gives my body rest. sweet! and a lullaby. sweet! and a lullaby. sweet! and a lullaby. A little flower blows on the tree. And it’s O! sweet. as white as milk. And it’s O! sweet. Ten thousand pearls beneath the sea. sweet! and a lullaby.And it’s O! sweet. A little fish swims in the well. sweet! and a lullaby. So in my heart does baby dwell. My baby smells more sweet to me Than smells in spring the elder tree. And it’s O! sweet. Ten thousand roses in the sun. You are my sceptre. For all her robes of royal silk. mine only joy! When thou hast taken thy repast. crown and all. And it’s O! sweet. crown and ball. The Queen has sceptre. Is brighter than my baby’s eye. Ten thousand parks where deer do run. More fair your skin.

mine only joy! I grieve that duty doth not work All that my wishing would. my little boy. 1565-1620] A CRADLE HYMN Hush! my dear. my little boy. All without thy care or payment: All thy wants are well supplied. lie still and slumber. Holy angels guard thy bed! Heavenly blessings without number Gently falling on thy head. Sing lullaby. Sing lullaby.Repose. mine only joy! Richard Rowlands [fl. thy friends provide. House and home. So may thy mother and thy nurse Thy cradle also be. my little boy. Because I would not be to thee But in the best I should. Blessed babe! what glorious features Spotless fair. thy food and raiment. How much better thou’rt attended Than the Son of God could be. Sing lullaby. and as I may. Sleep. my babe. Sing lullaby. When His birthplace was a stable And His softest bed was hay. Though all too little for thy self Vouchsafing to be mine. I must and will be thine. on me. divinely bright! Must He dwell with brutal creatures? How could angels bear the sight? Was there nothing but a manger 118 . my babe. Sing lullaby. mine only joy! Yet as I am. Sing lullaby. When from heaven He descended And became a child like thee! Soft and easy is thy cradle: Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay.

from dying.Cursed sinners could afford To receive the heavenly stranger? Did they thus affront their Lord? Soft. Save my dear from burning flame. in thy sleep Little sorrows sit and weep. beauty bright. Telling wonders from the sky! Where they sought Him. ’Twas to save thee. here’s no danger. See the lovely babe a-dressing. See the kinder shepherds round Him. Yet to read the shameful story How the Jews abused their King. my darling. there they found Him. Then go dwell forever near Him. With His Virgin mother by. Peace. my child: I did not chide thee. How they served the Lord of Glory. Here’s no ox anear thy bed. May’st thou live to know and fear Him. He slumbers in His manger. ’Tis thy mother sits beside thee. Where the horned oxen fed. Lovely infant. Though my song might sound too hard. in thy face Soft desires I can trace. And her arms shall be thy guard. 119 . Trust and love Him all thy days. sleep. Sweet babe. and sing His praise! Isaac Watts [1674-1748] CRADLE SONG Sleep. Bitter groans and endless crying. the mother’s blessing Soothed and hushed the holy child. Dreaming in the joys of night. Sleep. child. how He smiled! When He wept. Makes me angry while I sing. sleep. Lo. That thy blest Redeemer came. See His face.

Thy mother a lady. dear. The wild wind is raving. lammy. The woods and the glens. It calls but the warders that guard thy repose. thy sire was a knight. loo. and o’er thy breast Where thy little heart doth rest. Little pretty infant wiles. i ri ri. i ri ri. Sing baloo. hush thee. my dear. their blades would be red. loo. lammy. But daddy’s a-rocking upon the salt sea. sing baloo. Then the dreadful night shall break. now baloo. When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and drum. my dear. from the towers which we see. lammy. Ere the step of a foeman draws near to thy bed. for mother is here. my babie. As thy softest limbs I feel Smiles as of the morning steal O’er thy cheek. though loudly it blows. loo. Now hushaby. the time soon will come. for mother is near. Now hushaby. now hushaby. dear babie. it’s dozing now fine. cadul gu lo. and ye dinna care. lammy. lammy. to thee. O ho ro. And O may its wakening be blither than mine! Carolina Nairne [1763-1845] LULLABY OF AN INFANT CHIEF O. William Blake [1757-1827] LULLABY Baloo. My wee bairnie’s dozing. O ho ro. Does wee lammy ken that its daddy’s no here? Ye’re rocking full sweetly on mammy’s warm knee. both lovely and bright. my babie. O. 120 . They are all belonging. Their bows would be bended. and mammy’s heart’s sair. O. cadul gu lo.Secret joys and secret smiles. hush thee. The wild wind is raving. fear not the bugle. O the cunning wiles that creep In thy little heart asleep! When thy little heart doth wake. Sing baloo.

Jane Taylor [1783-1824] ”LULLABY. Sweet. Yes.Then hush thee. Little baby dear. To my little baby dear. my darling. And the winter’s snow and rain Patter on the window-pane: But they cannot come in here. O LULLABY” Lullaby! O lullaby! Baby. For the window shutteth fast. All sweet things with life are done. and waking with day. good-night. i ri ri. O ho ro. Till the stormy night is past. Sleep. Shut your eye-peeps. cadul gu lo. take rest while you may. Bats are flying. hush that little cry! Light is dying. good-night. Bees to-day with work have done. So. lay your head On your pretty cradle-bed. now the day And the light are gone away. All the clothes are tucked in tight. Lullaby! O lullaby! 121 . And the curtains warm are spread Round about her cradle bed: So till morning shineth bright. well I know How the bitter wind doth blow. till comes the morrow’s sun. Birds reposing. then kiss those blue eyes dry. For strife comes with manhood. Little baby dear. my darling. Lullaby! O lullaby! Hushed are all things far and nigh. till dawns the morning sun. Walter Scott [1771-1832] GOOD-NIGHT Little baby. Flowers are closing. Let sleep kiss those bright eyes dry! Lullaby! O lullaby.

The north-wind sings a doleful song. Father will come to thee soon. Father will come to thee soon. Then hush again upon my breast. TROT! 122 . sweet and low. on mother’s breast. nibbling mouse. Save thee. While my little one. little darling! sleep again. my little one. sleep and rest. There’s nothing stirring in the house Save one wee. sleeps. Blow him again to me. Wind of the western sea. ’Tis but the moon that shines so bright On the window-pane bedropped with rain: There. Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892] THE COTTAGER TO HER INFANT The days are cold. hungry. low. Silver sails all out of the west Under the silver moon: Sleep. And wake when it is day! Dorothy Wordsworth [1804-1847] TROT. sleep. Sleep and rest. Father will come to his babe in the nest. Low. rest.William Cox Bennett [1820-1895] LULLABY From ”The Princess” Sweet and low. Rest. Come from the dying moon. my pretty one. breathe and blow. the nights are long. Then why so busy thou? Nay! start not at that sparkling light. and blow. my pretty love! The kitten sleeps upon the hearth. The crickets long have ceased their mirth. All merry things are now at rest. while my pretty one. Wind of the western sea! Over the rolling waters go. sleep.

trot. ”But we are sorry. Up hill and down. devoid of fear Where nothing need alarm thee. trot. To buy a woolen gown. dear. the Baby goes. ”so please trot back. She buys a red rose for her hat. to town. sleep. the Baby goes. to town. alack! ”You cannot have our feathers. Trot. Trot. Up hill and down. trot. Sweet. Christ-kept from snare and sorrow. Sleep through the holy night. She buys a cotton gown. Until thou wake to light And love and warmth to-morrow. trot. The holy Angels love thee. dear. trot. The Love which doth not sleep. Mary F. ”You cannot have our wool. the Baby goes. The eternal Arms surround thee: The Shepherd of the sheep In perfect love hath found thee. The lambs come bleating near.” they say.” They say. trot.Every evening Baby goes Trot. through the fields. the Baby goes. And guard thy bed. Butts [1836-1902] HOLY INNOCENTS Sleep. Christina Georgina Rossetti [1830-1894] LULLABY 123 . little Baby. To buy a feather for her hat. Across the river. No spirit can come near Nor evil beast to harm thee: Sleep.” Trot.” Trot. and keep A blessed watch above thee. The birds fly down. Trot.

for he’ll find it so! Who can tell what a baby thinks? Who can follow the gossamer links By which the mannikin feels his way Out from the shore of the great unknown. dear little rover! Into the stilly world. And chuckles and crows. and nods and winks. dear little rover! Down into wonderland. Gone! oh gone! Into the lily world gone! Josiah Gilbert Holland [1819-1881] CRADLE SONG From ”Bitter-Sweet” What is the little one thinking about? Very wonderful things. lullaby . crying so low. oh go! Down into wonderland go! Rockaby.From ”The Mistress of the Manse” Rockaby. dew on the clover! Dew on the eyes that will sparkle at dawn! Rockaby. lullaby. Rockaby. 124 . lullaby. He need not laugh. Punctured by pins. no doubt! Unwritten history! Unfathomed mystery! Yet he laughs and cries. and tortured by fears. Our little nephew will lose two years. lullaby. and eats and drinks.bending it over! Down on the mother-world. Down on the other world. Down to the under-land Go. lullaby. Sleep. oh sleep! Down on the mother-world sleep! Rockaby. As if his head were as full of kinks And curious riddles as any sphinx! Warped by colic. rain on the clover! (Tears on the eyelids that waver and weep!) Rockaby. Into the lily world. lullaby. And he’ll never know Where the summers go. and wet by tears. bees in the clover! Crooning so drowsily.

I’ll rock you there to rosy rest. down he goes! Down he goes! down he goes! See! he is hushed in sweet repose! Josiah Gilbert Holland [1819-1881] AN IRISH LULLABY I’ve found my bonny babe a nest On Slumber Tree. Into the light of day? Out from the shore of the unknown sea. Seeking it ever with fresh delight. Tossing in pitiful agony. I’ve put my pretty child to float Away from me. smooth and white. and couch of his rest? What does he think when her quick embrace Presses his hand and buries his face Deep where the heart-throbs sink and swell With a tenderness she can never tell. Specked with the barks of little souls. that flies Forward and backward through the air? What does he think of his mother’s breast. Words she has learned to murmur well? Now he thinks he’ll go to sleep! I can see the shadow creep Over his eyes. Out to his little finger-tips! Softly sinking. And when your starry sail is o’er 125 . Over his brow. Barks that were launched on the other side. in soft eclipse. Asthore Machree! Oh.Blind. Cup of his life. Within the new moon’s silver boat On Slumber Sea. Till everything that hurts or grieves Afar must flee. and alone. Of the unknown sea that reels and rolls. lulla lo! sing all the leaves On Slumber Tree. Bare and beautiful. Though she murmur the words Of all the birds. and over his lips. And slipped from Heaven on an ebbing tide! What does he think of his mother’s eyes? What does he think of his mother’s hair? What of the cradle-roof. and wailing.

for thee alone. as from pool to pool. when that hush may be. Alfred Perceval Graves [1846-1931] CRADLE SONG I Lord Gabriel. as in a bond. wilt thou not rejoice When at last a little boy’s Cheek lies heavy as a rose. Turns him unto thee? 126 .aright. you’ll step to shore On Mother’s knee. Then the far blue highways paven With the burning stars of heaven. And his eyelids close? Gabriel. but though it cling and close Tightly as a climbing rose. From a little laughing boy Splashing rainbow joy! Gabriel. wilt thou understand How to keep his hovering hand Never shut. My precious one.From Slumber Sea. (Dormi.) II Lord Michael. wilt not thou rejoice When at last a little boy’s Heart. Lest his heart take fright. From his mother’s own. From the bright beyond? Nay. Leaping. a shut-in murmuring bee. Clasp it only so . He shall gladden with the sweet Hasting of his feet Feet so brightly bare and cool. dormi tu: The dusk is hung with blue. This sweet hand all heedfully I’ll undo.

With his hand to each. Numbered so. Telling o’er thy breastplate.Wilt thou heed thine armor well To take his hand from Gabriel. . For the bright world’s sake To my heart. . Dormi. Sard and amethyst. Sapphire is the blue: Pearl and beryl. (In her veil of blue. but find some angel word For thy sharp. they are called. He shall mind her of her Son.) So. Lord Michael. Once so folded from all harms. For all mothers’ sake. dormi tu. Lead him to that leafy place Where Our Lady sits awake. In her shrining arms.) Ah. make no doubt He will find it out: (Dormi. in his bubbling speech. subduing sword! Yea. Chrysoprase and emerald. Josephine Preston Peabody [1874-1922] 127 .) III Last. (Dormi.Gabriel . and kissed. When the first faint red shall come.and fare thee well. dormi tu. Softly. all Colors. . Bid the Day-star lead him home. So his radiant cup of dream May not spill a gleam? He will take thy heart in thrall. . Bosomed with the Blessed One. awake. dormi tu! His eyes will look at you. a little morning space.

love. drain at the stream. Alfred Austin [1835-1913] KENTUCKY BABE ’Skeeters am a hummin’ on de honeysuckle vine. Kentucky Babe! Sandman am a comin’ to dis little coon of mine.Um -. Um . sweet. 128 . Drain. Fly away. love. sweet! What dost thou wail for? The unknown? the unseen? The ills that are coming. Babe of old Kentucky. Little lips that appeal For their nurture. Sleep. Close yo’ eyes in sleep. The joys that have been? Cling to me closer. Sweet. Close yo’ eyes in sleep. That was born in a dream. why dost thou weep. Thy hunger is freeing. Fly away. woolly head on yo’ mammy’s breast. their rest! Why. stifle thy cries. Along with thy being! Little fingers that feel For their home on my breast. Closer and closer. Lies soft on thine eyes. Kentucky Babe! Silv’ry moon am shinin’ in de heabens up above. Kentucky Babe. Lay yo’ kinky. Sleep. dear? Nay. fly away to rest. Till the pain that is purer Hath banished the grosser. dear. Till the dew of thy sleep. Bobolink am pinin’ fo’ his little lady love: Yo’ is mighty lucky.MOTHER-SONG FROM ”PRINCE LUCIFER” White little hands! Pink little feet! Dimpled all over. Fly away.

Kittens cuddle in a heap Baby. Quiet now the lambkins stay. Two bright stars peeped into the shell. Close yo’ eyes in sleep. Now the cows from pasture come.Daddy’s in de cane-brake wid his little dog and gun. too. Under mother-bird’s soft breast. my baby. while I sing Bed-time news of everything. Kentucky Babe! Bogie man’ll catch yo’ sure unless yo’ close yo’ eyes. Sleep. all tired with play. Little birds are in the nest. ”What are they dreaming of? Who can tell?” Started a green linnet out of the croft. Kentucky Babe! ’Possum fo’ yo’ breakfast when yo’ sleepin’ time is done. Pink was the shell within. Richard Henry Buck [1869MINNIE AND WINNIE Minnie and Winnie slept in a shell. little ladies! And they slept well. Waitin’ jes outside de doo’ to take yo’ by surprise: Bes’ be keepin’ shady. must go to sleep! Sleep. Little colored lady. Over all soft shadows creep - 129 . Sounds of the great sea wandered about. Sleep. Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892] BED-TIME SONG Sleep. little ladies! Wake not soon! Echo on echo dies to the moon. Piggy curls up in the pen. my baby. Bees fly home with drowsy hum. Wake. Sleep. In the field. little ladies! The sun is aloft. while I sing Bed-time news of everything. silver without. Chickens run to mother hen. Sleep.

Or like some new embodied soul. Baby now must go to sleep. And tuck my baby in. 130 . Emilie Poulsson [1853TUCKING THE BABY IN The dark-fringed eyelids slowly close On eyes serene and deep. While the big sun’s fading light Bids my baby dear good-night. Like some small angel strayed. Or mix the potent draught that feeds The soul within these eyes? I reach him up to the sinless Hands Before his cares begin. my baby. That slumbers unafraid. Upon my breast my own sweet child Has gently dropped to sleep. His face still warmed by God’s own smile. I kiss his soft and dimpled cheek. What toil must stain these tiny hands That now lie still and white? What shadows creep across the face That shines with morning light? These wee pink shoeless feet . When they no longer cuddled close May rest upon this bed? O what am I that I should train An angel for the skies. Mother loving watch will keep. Sleep. while I sing Bed-time news of everything. How fair and innocent he lies. O tuck my baby in. Drooping toward the dewy sod. Still pure from taint of sin My thoughts are reverent as I stoop To tuck my baby in. with Thy folds of love. Great Father. Then lay him on his little far Shall go their lengthening tread. Sleepy flowers seem to nod.Baby now must go to sleep. I kiss his rounded chin.

he’s sleepin’ soun’ ! 131 . Sleepin’ safe an’ soun’. An’ tak’ awa’ wee Tam next door I hear him screichin’ oot. Come an’ tak’ the bairn! Tak’ him to your ain den. Gie your auld gray pow a shake. Whatna noise is that I hear Coomin’ doon the street? Weel I ken the dump. Winna steek an e’e. Closer roun’ the neck. The bairn has aff his claes. O’ her beetle feet. Speirin’ after Tam. awa’ she gangs Back the road she cam’. Sleep an’ let me to my wark A’ thae claes to airn Jenny wi’ the airn teeth. I hear her at the ither door. Whaur the bogie bides. He’s a crabbit. Jenny wi’ the airn teeth. Though I hap him o’er the heid. Little like my ain wee wean Losh. Tak’ him whaur nae kiss is gaun When he waukens up. Rive him frae my grup. But first put baith your big teeth In his wee plump sides. an’ cuddle mammy noo. dump. Sleepin’ bairns are no for you.Curtis May [18 ”JENNY WI’ THE AIRN TEETH” What a plague is this o’ mine. Wheesht. dump. I think Dinna touch his taes. Dump. greetin’ thing The warst in a’ the toon. Mercy me! she’s at the door! Hear her lift the sneck. Ye may turn aboot. As cosy as can be.

Then draw the blankets up an’ cry. Bigger bogies. mak’ Tam gie ower at once He’s kittlin’ wi’ his taes. ”O.” At length they hear their father’s fit. ”The bairnies.” But ere five minutes gang. Weel eneuch we ken.” The mischief’s in that Tam for tricks. Alexander Anderson [1845-1909] CUDDLE DOON The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht Wi’ muckie faucht an’ din. cuddle doon. wee Rab Cries oot. cuddle doon. To gie the rogues a fricht. But aye I hap them up. John. Your father’s comin’ in. Chappin’ on the chair wi’ tangs. ”Mither. as he steeks the door. An’. ”Hae a’ the weans been gude?” he asks. As he pits aff his shoon. ”O bairnies. ”Noo. are in their beds.” They never heed a word I speak.” Wee Jamie wi’ the curly heid He aye sleeps next the wa’ Bangs up an’ cries. frae ’neath the claes. ”I want a piece.Mithers hae an awfu’ wark Wi’ their bairns at nicht. ye waukrife rogues. I rin an’ fetch them pieces.” 132 . I try to gie a froon. bigger Jennies. cuddle doon. an’ cry. ”O bairnies. An’ lang since cuddled doon. weanies. They turn their faces to the wa’. But aye I hap them up an’ cry.” The rascal starts them a’. drinks. try an’ sleep. Aulder bairns are fleyed wi’ less. He’d bother half the toon. While Tam pretends to snore. Frichten muckle men. They stop awee the soun’.

though their pows be bauld. Her rosy palms were joined in trustful bliss. although you are so tall! What will you give me. put out the light. God bless Mamma. I’m sure we should all be as happy as kings. Yet. say your hymn. sleepy one. and call My wages. Paid me my precious wages . We look at oor wee lambs. ”O bairnies. and dear ones all. I whisper. Tam has his airm roun’ wee Rab’s neck. you will shut them quite.An’ just afore we bed oorsel’s. And tuck you up. by Love’s command. cuddle doon. soft and warm She nestled to me. till my heart fills up. Clair Erskine [1833-1890] THE DUTY OF CHILDREN HAPPY THOUGHT The world is so full of a number of things. cuddle doon. I drew her little feet within my hand. Robert Louis Stevenson [1850-1894] 133 . Her heart next mine beat gently.” Your half-shut eyes beneath your eyelids fall. I lift wee Jamie up the bed. and. and bid ”Good-night. Papa.” Francis Robert St. Yes. I will carry you. if I settle you all right? I laid her golden curls upon my arm.” Alexander Anderson [1845-1909] BEDTIME ’Tis bedtime.”Baby’s Kiss. come what will to ilka ane. An’ Rab his airm roun’ Tam’s. Another minute. An’ as I straik each croon. ”O bairnies. But sune the big warl’s cark an’ care Will quaten doon their glee. May He who sits aboon Aye whisper.” The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht Wi’ mirth that’s dear to me.

And then Papa.” And ”If you please. Close the door after you. And wished them all good-night.WHOLE DUTY OF CHILDREN A child should always say what’s true And speak when he is spoken to.” to a Lady.” Come when you’re called. Robert Louis Stevenson [1850-1894] POLITENESS Good little boys should never say ”I will. Never be chid. Do what you’re bid. He kissed Mama. ”Yes. And. will ope with ease To very. O. He always acted right.” Seldom ”don’t. 134 . And. very little keys.” and ”Give me these”. And don’t forget that two of these Are ”I thank you” and ”If you please.” Never ”won’t. no! that never is the way.” LITTLE FRED When little Fred Was called to bed. But ”Mother. like doors.” to a Gentleman. ”Yes. ma’am. Elizabeth Turner [ ? -1846] RULES OF BEHAVIOR Hearts. And behave mannerly at table. At least as far as he is able.” Never ”shan’t. if you please. Seldom ”can’t.” to Sister Ann Good boys to say are ready. sir.

Gentle as a dove That’s the kind of little girl Everyone will love. you are very little. Busy as a bee That’s the kind of little girl People like to see. Little song of mine. through all bewild’ring. And content with simple diet. Modest as a violet. As a rosebud sweet That’s the kind of little girl People like to meet. Bright as is a diamond. But gently up the stairs Directly went. When he was sent. You must try to walk sedately. If you would grow great and stately. Happy as a robin. And your bones are very brittle. Innocent and honest children. THE LOVABLE CHILD Frisky as a lambkin. Happy hearts and happy faces. And remain. Like naughty boys. Fly away and seek her. For I choose that very girl As my Valentine.He made no noise. Happy play in grassy places 135 . You must still be bright and quiet. Pure as any pearl Everyone rejoices in Such a little girl. And always said his prayers. Emilie Poulsson [1853GOOD AND BAD CHILDREN Children.

By their nephews and their nieces. Let her come and sport and play On the lawn at close of day. Robert Louis Stevenson [1850-1894] REBECCA’S AFTER-THOUGHT Yesterday. As his meat you throw along He’ll repay you with a song. All grow up as geese and gabies. Never hurt the timid hare Peeping from her green grass lair. Broke a handsome china basin. in ancient ages. Told her mother what was done. But Rebecca recollected She was taught deceit to shun. Hated. And the moment she reflected. They must never hope for glory Theirs is quite a different story! Cruel children. Rebecca Mason. Not a single person knowing. And the sort who eat unduly. The little lark goes soaring high 136 . she thought of going Very quietly away. Placed upon the mantel-shelf. But the unkind and the unruly. In the parlor by herself. Let the gentle robin come For the crumbs you save at home. Loved her better. and forgave her. Elizabeth Turner [ ? -1846] KINDNESS TO ANIMALS Little children. Quite alarmed. never give Pain to things that feel and live. Children grew to kings and sages. Of her being there that day.That was how. as their age increases. crying babies. Who commended her behavior.

I’ll pat little Pussy and then she will purr. nor drive her away. the brown nut from the tree. And fluttering on an untired wing. If ye take out o’ their nest. Singing as if ’twere always spring. Ye’ll never thrive again! The robin and the red-breast. blithe bird! and fill my heart with summer gladness. I saw them in their curious nests. It has been aching many a day with measures full of sadness! William Motherwell [1797-1835] ”I LIKE LITTLE PUSSY” I like little Pussy. Nor do these gentle creatures wrong. Sing on. 137 . and trims his little wing. I would not harm him for the world. So I’ll not pull her tail. But Pussy and I very gently will play. above my head. Lest I should provoke her to use her sharp claw. even now. slyly peer With their wild eyes. If ye touch one o’ their eggs. And here. He pecks his swelling breast and neck. nor tread on her paw. he knows full well. But heart of happy little bird ne’er broken was by me. sing on. BLITHE BIRD” I’ve plucked the berry from the bush. I’ll not pinch her ears. I felt that it was good To leave unmoved the creatures small whose home was in the wood. to note if harm were near. I passed them by. The martin and the swallow. The sparrow and the wren. And thus show her thanks for my kindness to her. and blessed them all. like glittering beads. close couching. And she’ll love me because I am gentle and good. She shall sit by my side. And if I don’t hurt her she’ll do me no harm. Oh! let him sing his happy song.To the bright windows of the sky. Bad luck will surely follow! ”SING ON. a lusty rogue doth sing. her coat is so warm. or interrupt his lay. He will not fly. and I’ll give her some food. while chirping on that spray. A RULE FOR BIRDS’ NESTERS The robin and the red-breast.

Wash your face and hands with care. They who idly crumbs will waste Often want a loaf to taste! Never spill your milk or tea. nor make her displeased. before You even ask. Do not rudely point or touch: Do not eat and drink too much: Finish what you have. Change your shoes. and brush your hair. Make the mighty ocean And the pleasant land. and neat. my little man. Little grains of sand. Making other people wait. Little words of love. Help to make earth happy Like the heaven above. Always like a gentleman. or send for more: Never crumble or destroy Food that others might enjoy. Humble though they be. Make the mighty ages Of eternity. For Pussy can’t bear to be worried or teased. Julia Fletcher Carney [1823-1908] THE LITTLE GENTLEMAN From ”Little Derwent’s Breakfast” Take your meals. Come and take your proper seat: Do not loiter and be late. Little deeds of kindness. Never rude or noisy be. So the little moments. Jane Taylor [1783-1824] LITTLE THINGS Little drops of water. Far in sin to stray. Then so fresh. and clean. So our little errors Lead the soul away From the path of virtue. 138 .I never will vex her.

For Satan finds some mischief still For idle hands to do. I would be busy too. And gather honey all the day From every opening flower! How skilfully she builds her cell! How neat she spreads the wax! And labors hard to store it well With the sweet food she makes. In books. For wilful waste makes woeful want.Never choose the daintiest food. or healthful play. ”He’s singing to me! He’s singing to me!” 139 . In works of labor or of skill. For many little hungry ones Would think it quite a treat. or work. Oh! how I wish I had the bread That once I threw away! ”HOW DOTH THE LITTLE BUSY BEE” How doth the little busy bee Improve each shining hour. Let my first years be passed. Isaac Watts [1674-1748] THE BROWN THRUSH There’s a merry brown thrush sitting up in the tree. That I may give for every day Some good account at last. Be content with what is good: Seek in all things that you can To be a little gentleman. THE CRUST OF BREAD I must not throw upon the floor The crust I cannot eat. Then I must never waste a bit That would do others good. And I may live to say. My parents labor very hard To get me wholesome food.

He told me his dreams. the world’s running over with joy! Don’t you hear? Don’t you see? Hush! Look! In my tree. he sits folding his hands Or walks about saunt’ring. Or the world will lose some of its joy! Now I’m glad! Now I’m free! And I always shall be. to you and to me. still hoping to find That he took better care for improving his mind. and his heavy head. and his shoulders. ”Here’s a lesson for me. But thanks to my friends for their care in my breeding. and saw the wild brier The thorn and the thistle grow broader and higher.” 140 . And he sings all the day. little girl. And five eggs. and never loves thinking. Said I then to my heart. and a little more slumber”.” So the merry brown thrush sings away in the tree. little boy? ”Oh. ”A little more sleep. The clothes that hang on him are turning to rags. I passed by his garden. ”Oh. Don’t you know? Don’t you see? Unless we’re as good as can be. or trifling he stands. And his money still wastes till he starves or he begs.” Lucy Larcom [1824-1893] THE SLUGGARD ’Tis the voice of a sluggard. I heard him complain. little boy. And when he gets up. ”A nest do you see. If you never bring sorrow to me. so he on his bed Turns his sides. That man’s but a picture of what I might be.And what does he say. I must slumber again”. ”You have waked me too soon. and his hours without number. I made him a visit. the world’s running over with joy! But long it won’t be. Thus he wastes half his days. little boy. little girl. Who taught me betimes to love working and reading. But he scarce reads his Bible. As the door on its hinges. To you and to me. I’m as happy as happy can be!” And the brown thrush keeps singing. talked of eating and drinking. hid by me in the juniper-tree? Don’t meddle! Don’t touch! little girl.

As if to hide from view. ’Tis reported of him. It might have graced a rosy bower. Its colors bright and fair. This pretty flower to see. Nor yet ever clean was his face. And yet it was a lovely flower. That he never was seen With hands at all clean. And there diffused a sweet perfume. That I may also learn to grow In sweet humility. Then let me to the valley go. In modest tints arrayed.Isaac Watts [1674-1748] THE VIOLET Down in a green and shady bed A modest violet grew. Its stalk was bent. It gave him no pain To hear them complain. 141 . He got dirty again. His friends were much hurt To see so much dirt. And often they made him quite clean. Instead of hiding there. But all was in vain. Jane Taylor [1783-1824] DIRTY JIM There was one little Jim. His indolent mind No pleasure could find In tidy and wholesome array. And not at all fit to be seen. Yet there it was content to bloom. Within the silent shade. it hung its head. And must be to his lasting disgrace. Nor his own dirty clothes to survey.

Then rattled fast away. But poor Eliza was not in. To see an air balloon. I never will be called a miser. For want of just a single pin. not one had fallen through. There was not one. And all the company beside Were dressed and ready soon. 142 . But no. But she a woeful case was in. Wedged in a rotten board? I’m certain that I won’t begin. The carriage rattled to the door. To be decent and clean. to be sure. For want of just . So trifling or so mean. And left the pin behind. So onward tripped the little maid. To every darksome crack. Over a crack she lay. At last. That I’m determined. At ten years old. But good boys are seen. Which very snug and quiet lay. Like this little lad.The idle and bad.a single pin! There’s hardly anything so small. and yet her things Were dropping off her back. as hunting on the floor. to hoard. Nor did she think (a careless chit) ’Twas worth her while to stoop for it. She cut her pincushion in two. To its hard fate resigned. In vain her eager eyes she brings.” said Eliza. That we may never want at all. Jane Taylor [1783-1824] THE PIN ”Dear me! what signifies a pin. Although they are ever so poor. Next day a party was to ride. May love dirty ways. For service unforeseen.

They were both of one height. woeful want! Ann Taylor [1782-1866] JANE AND ELIZA There were two little girls. while sulking or teasing. but only to hide. And both of one age. At home or abroad there was peace in her smile. One’s name was Eliza. though a pleasant child. A cheerful good nature that needed no guile. and her dimples dispersed. Had none of the care and fatigue of concealing. She contrived to look almost as pleasant as Jane. with much labor and pain. 143 . Matilda. There was not a pin to be chosen between them. as I’ve heard people say. But Jane. And Eliza worked hard.And wilful waste. who but slightly had seen them. but could never obtain The affection that freely was given to Jane. in forcing a smile. when she was out. and ached all the while. While fretting and fuming. One ugly trick possessed. But then you might see that. the other’s was Jane. But her face always showed what her bosom was feeling. Her mouth was uneasy. depend upon’t. Eliza knew well that she could not be pleasing. Not to break her bad habits. But no one for long in this notion persisted. Ann Taylor [1782-1866] MEDDLESOME MATTY One ugly trick has often spoiled The sweetest and the best. almost always. And in spite of her care it would sometimes befall That some cross event happened to ruin it all. Her temper broke loose. And therefore in company artfully tried. And because it might chance that her share was the worst. So great a distinction there really existed. who had nothing she wanted to hide. So. ’Twas fancied by some. Brings. And therefore these troublesome arts never tried. I believe. neither handsome nor plain. to a day.

as bitterly she cried. To peep at what was in it. She dashed the spectacles away. ”Ah! well. ’Don’t meddle with it. Her grandmamma went out one day. ”I know that grandmamma would say. And no one else is near: Besides. ”I’ll try them on.” Forthwith she placed upon her nose The glasses large and wide. In vain you told her not to touch. In vain. But then. Her grandmamma she spies. Or tilt the kettle. beside. as I suppose. Her folly she repented. she’s far enough away. like a cloud before the skies. The snuff came puffing in her face. And as in twenty bits they lay. and mouth. what can there be amiss In opening such a box as this?” So thumb and finger went to work To move the stubborn lid. Sometimes she’d lift the tea-pot lid. And looking round. She could do nothing now but sneeze. Her trick of meddling grew so much. Poor eyes. if you did But turn your back a minute. Hid all her better qualities. As soon as grandmamma is gone. A dismal sight presented. ”Heydey! and what’s the matter now?” 144 .” thought she. I’ll open it. And by mistake she laid Her spectacles and snuff-box gay Too near the little maid. The snuff-box too she spied: ”Oh! what a pretty box is that. And presently a mighty jerk The mighty mischief did.Which. ah! woeful case. and nose. To wipe her tingling eyes. For all at once.” said little Matt. In vain she ran about for ease. dear’.

”For why should I grumble and murmur?” he said. though fretting may make my calamities deeper. ”If I cannot get meat. a hedger and ditcher. Passed through this sad world without even a grumble. And I wish that some folks. as I have heard. He wished himself better. John was good-natured and sociable still. John never was found in a murmuring mood. For this he was constantly heard to declare. And. Ann Taylor [1782-1866] CONTENTED JOHN One honest John Tomkins. the hedger and ditcher. and sore. or dear were the food. Why. Nor lie down to fret in despondence and sorrow. For he said that revenging the injury done Would be making two rogues when there need be but one. For all such vain wishes in him were prevented By a fortunate habit of being contented. It can never cause bread and cheese to be cheaper. And tingling still. did not want to be richer. Jane Taylor [1783-1824] FRIENDS How good to lie a little while And look up through the tree! The Sky is like a kind big smile 145 . who are greater and richer. but did not complain. If any one wronged him or treated him ill. Would copy John Tomkins. And thus honest John. Although he was poor. Matilda.” If John was afflicted with sickness or pain. smarting with the pain. Made many a promise to refrain From meddling evermore.Cried grandmamma. Though cold were the weather. with lifted brow. She ever since has kept her word. But said that he hoped to be better to-morrow. I’ll be thankful for bread. What he could not prevent he would cheerfully bear. though his station was humble. And ’tis a fact.

before bed. I feel his careful wings. And though I cannot see him pass. Wheresoever fate may bring you. In the purlieus of his path. who had a little curl Right in the middle of her forehead. If to further lengths it go. Wherever he may be. very good.Bent sweetly over me. Close in tufted bush or brake Lurks the poison-swelled snake Nursing up his cherished wrath. It does into malice grow. Abbie Farwell Brown [1875-1927] ANGER Anger in its time and place May assume a kind of grace. And not last beyond a minute. So many gentle Friends are near Whom one can scarcely see. But when she was bad she was horrid. ’Tis the difference that we see ’Twixt the serpent and the bee. Charles and Mary Lamb ”THERE WAS A LITTLE GIRL” There was a little girl. It inflicts a hasty stroke. In the cold. The vile snake will always sting you. It must have some reason in it. Puts you to some little pain. But it never stings again. The Wind comes stealing o’er the grass To whisper pretty things. And when she was good she was very. The Sunshine flickers through the lace Of leaves above my head. or mean him harm. A child should never feel a fear. And kisses me upon the face Like Mother. Mean him good. If the latter you provoke. 146 . or in the warm.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [1807-1882] THE REFORMATION OF GODFREY GORE Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore No doubt you have heard the name before Was a boy who never would shut a door! The wind might whistle. And teeth be aching and throats be sore. ”Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore. ”Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore. And spanked her. and then I will shut the door!” ”You will?” said his parents. But he begged for mercy. His father would beg. and thought it was the boys Playing in the empty attic. But still he never would shut the door. ”No more! Pray do not send me to Singapore On a Shutter.She stood on her head. their hair they tore. she yelled and she bawled. and said. the wind might roar. With nobody by for to hinder. We really do wish you would shut the door!” Their hands they wrung. on her little trundle-bed. She screamed and she squalled. When he walked forth the folks would roar. most emphatic. She rushed upstairs. Why don’t you think to shut the door?” They rigged out a Shutter with sail and oar. and caught her unawares. ”then keep on shore! But mind you do! For the plague is sore Of a fellow that never will shut the door. his mother implore. Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore!” William Brighty Rands [1823-1882] 147 . Her mother heard the noise. But Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore Was deaf as the buoy out at the Nore. And threatened to pack off Gustavus Gore On a voyage of penance to Singapore. And drummed her little heels against the winder.

148 .” and he rose toward the tranquil sky. I’m off. Then how the little kite thrilled with pride.” said the big kite.” The big kite nodded: ”Ah well. And the boys like small spots moving round. Then the little kite’s paper stirred at the sight. then braver grown. goodby. ”I’m afraid I’ll fall. They rested high in the quiet air.” And another is ”Attit. up he rose through the air alone. As he looked at the others high over his head. Doty [1876A LITTLE PAGE’S SONG (13th Century) God’s lark at morning I would be! I’d set my heart within a tree Close to His bed and sing to Him Right merrily A sunrise hymn. Up.” And still another is ”Doo & Dairet. ”I know I should fall if I tried to fly.” ”Try. At night I’d be God’s troubadour! Beneath His starry walls I’d pour Across the moat such roundelays He’d love me sure And maybe praise! William Alexander Percy [1885HOW THE LITTLE KITE LEARNED TO FLY ”I never can do it. ”only try! Or I fear you never will learn at all.” Walter G. Till the big kite looking down could see The little one rising steadily.THE BEST FIRM A pretty good firm is ”Watch & Waite.” But the little kite said. And trembling he shook himself free for flight. First whirling and frightened. As he sailed with the big kite side by side! While far below he could see the ground. And only the birds and the clouds were there.” But the best is probably ”Grinn & Barrett.” the little kite said. Early & Layte.

” ”Content I toil from morn till eve. Nor honey makes.” ”Poor child of vanity! those dyes.”Oh. And though from flower to flower I rove. how happy I am!” the little kite cried. As do the bee and bird.” With mild reproof. an idle thing. Nor be a butterfly. The woods with music ring. nor yet can sing. like the prudent ant. My stock of wisdom I’ll improve. Nor does it. Adelaide O’Keefe [1776-1855] MORNING The lark is up to meet the sun. ”Are all beneath my care. Lay up the grain for times of want. ”Thou hast no colors of the sky On painted wings like me.” Unknown THE BUTTERFLY AND THE BEE Methought I heard a butterfly Say to a laboring bee. and tried. 149 . ”And all because I was brave. The bee is on the wing. A wise and cautious hoard. And. scorning idleness. the bee replies. My youth is but a summer’s day: Then like the bee and ant I’ll lay A store of learning by.” William Lisle Bowles [1762-1850] THE BUTTERFLY The butterfly. The ant her labor has begun. To tribes of gaudy sloth I leave The vanity of dress. And colors bright and rare.

And to my duties haste. Somewhere on the sunny bank Buttercups are bright. Somewhere midst the frozen grass Peeps the daisy white. Ere the early primrose Opes its paly gold. Though they be a-cold! What to them is winter! What are stormy showers! Buttercups and daisies Are these human flowers! He who gave them hardships And a life of care. and caring not. Fearing not. Yet alert and bold. Gave them likewise hardy strength And patient hearts to bear. the pretty flowers. let me with the morning rise. Little hardy flowers. Like to children poor. Coming ere the spring time. Ere the crocus bold. Playing in their sturdy health By their mother’s door. Why should I sleep till beams of morn Their light and glory shed? Immortal beings were not born To waste their time in bed. 150 . Oh.Shall birds and bees and ants be wise. To tell of sunny hours. While the fields are bare. Jane Taylor [1783-1824] BUTTERCUPS AND DAISIES Buttercups and daisies. Ere the snow-drop peepeth. While the trees are leafless. Buttercups and daisies Spring up here and there. While I my moments waste? Oh. Purple with the north-wind.

you must live without food. sunny months of gay summer and spring. but he Passed them in rich disdain.” says the cricket. accustomed to sing Through the warm. the moral is good: If you live without work. My pretty boy says.” said the ant.Mary Howitt [1799-1888] THE ANT AND THE CRICKET A silly young cricket. ”and dance winter away. you say? Go then. For all nature looked gay. Away he set off to a miserly ant. His fine wings made him vain: The caterpillars crawl. Says the ant to the cricket. we ants never lend. what will become. Though this is a fable. dear sir. he must die of starvation and sorrow.” Thus ending. he would grant Him shelter from rain: A mouthful of grain He wished only to borrow. ”Not I.” ”You sang. Not a flower could he see. when things have learned to wear 151 . My heart was so light That I sang day and night. ”Let him be Only a worm again!” O child. He’d repay it to-morrow: If not. ”I’m your servant and friend. Began to complain. he hastily lifted the wicket And out of the door turned the poor little cricket. Not a leaf on a tree: ”Oh. Unknown AFTER WINGS This was your butterfly. did you lay nothing by When the weather was warm?” Said the cricket. sir. Not a crumb to be found On the snow-covered ground. when he found that at home His cupboard was empty and winter was come. But we ants never borrow. you see. to keep him alive. ”of me?” At last by starvation and famine made bold. All dripping with wet and all trembling with cold. But tell me. To see if.

Piatt [1836-1919] DEEDS OF KINDNESS Suppose the little Cowslip Should hang its golden cup And say. And think they made a great mistake If they were acting so? How many deed of kindness A little child can do. Upon a summer’s day. ”What can a little dewdrop do? I’d better roll away!” The blade on which it rested. to prove How many things a child may do For others by its love. Before the day was done. How many a little child would grieve To lose it from the dell! Suppose the glistening Dewdrop Upon the grass should say. Should think themselves too small to cool The traveller on his way: Who would not miss the smallest And softest ones that blow. Without a drop to moisten it. ”I’m such a little flower I’d better not grow up!” How many a weary traveller Would miss its fragrant smell. Epes Sargent [1813-1880] THE LION AND THE MOUSE 152 . B. they must be fain To keep them always high and fair: Think of the creeping pain Which even a butterfly must bear To be a worm again! Sarah M.Wings once. Would wither in the sun. Although it has but little strength And little wisdom too! It wants a loving spirit Much more than strength. Suppose the little Breezes.

Nor shall we ever. ”You rascal. 153 . When pressing forward.” the lion said. Then what the lion’s utmost strength Could not effect. ”I’ll teach you soon. for she knew his voice. Mistaking him for someone else. Who thought it best at last to give His little prisoner a reprieve. But may assist us in distress.A lion with the heat oppressed. and round him. with wrath immense. if we’re wise.tremble when you hear Tried to explore the monarch’s ear! Who straightway woke. When the poor mouse. Jeffreys Taylor [1792-1853] THE BOY AND THE WOLF A little Boy was set to keep A little flock of goats or sheep. he stamped and tore. He thought the task too solitary. the network to divide. ”To make a mouse-hole in my head!” So saying. or the least despise. he prepared his foot To crush the trembling tiny brute. And shook his head to cast her thence. heedless yet. A mouse. what are you about?” Said he. Implored the lion’s clemency. And so at last forth issued he. The meanest. ’Twas nearly twelve months after this. The lion chanced his way to miss. And straight commenced a lordly roar. One day composed himself to rest: But while he dozed as he intended. With dreadful rage. A lion. Few are so small or weak. But she (the mouse) with tearful eye. Attended. And might have left him as she found him Had she not . Nor thought of harm. I guess. He got entangled in a net. as Aesop tells. his royal back ascended. she did at length. by a mouse set free. And travelled over him. With patient labor she applied Her teeth. who heard the noise. when he had turned her out.

Some people. ”Help. But you yourself would be to blame. ruddy cheeks Augustus had. The Wolf was nowhere to be found.”Take the soup away! 154 . If I had heard you scream and roar. Came running in to his assistance. To see them leave their work and run.And took a strange perverse vagary: To call the people out of fun. twenty times before. One day the Wolf appeared in sight. the Wolf had eat him. delighted with his game. They would not make me move the faster.” The little Boy cried out again. ”We need not go from our employ. John Hookham Frere [1769-1846] THE STORY OF AUGUSTUS.the neighbors heard. He ate and drank as he was told. But one day. And never let his soup get cold. Your cries could give me no alarm. ”Wolf! wolf!” in a pretended fright. At last they found that they were cheated. healthy boy. ’Tis nothing but that idle boy. For nothing. help! the Wolf!” he cried in vain. And everybody saw with joy The plump and hearty. WHO WOULD NOT HAVE ANY SOUP Augustus was a chubby lad. He came too late. Or met with any serious harm. working at a distance. Fat. He cried. Nor apprehend the least disaster. A few days after did the same. They searched the fields and bushes round. And likewise of continual crying. He screamed out . At last his master came to beat him. But not a single creature stirred. And once again the people came. I should be sorry when I came. ”Wolf! wolf!” . The Boy was in a real fright. The trick was many times repeated. Although you might have broke your arm. He cried and screamed with all his might. one cold winter’s day. The Boy. This shows the bad effect of lying.

O take the nasty soup away! I won’t have any soup to-day. The great.” Mamma had scarcely turned her back.” Look at him. as loud as he is able. Quite lank and lean Augustus grows. But mind now. long. And ere they dream what he’s about. mamma said: ”Conrad dear. I say: O take the nasty soup away! I won’t have any soup to-day. what I say. And on the fifth day. though he feels so weak and ill. Yet.”Oh! oh! oh!” Snip! snap! Snip! They go so fast. Oh. The thumb was in. That both his thumbs are off at last. Don’t suck your thumb while I’m away. Yet. Conrad. The great tall tailor always comes To little boys that suck their thumbs. he was . O what a sin! To make himself so pale and thin. now the fourth day’s come! He scarcely weighs a sugar-plum. in he ran. He takes his great sharp scissors out And cuts their thumbs clean off.and then. alack! alack! The door flew open. He’s like a little bit of thread. You know.” The third day comes. He screams. see! the tailor’s come And caught our little Suck-a-Thumb. I must go out and leave you here. children. The naughty fellow cries out still ”Not any soup for me. they never grow again.” Next day begins his tale of woes. I say: O take the nasty soup away! I won’t have any soup to-day. ”Not any soup for me.dead! From the German of Heinrich Hoffman [1798-1874] THE STORY OF LITTLE SUCK-A-THUMB One day. 155 . . when the soup is put on table. Snip! snap! snip! the scissors go. red-legged scissors-man. And Conrad cries out .

She tried the crevice in the floor. and shows his hands. Went round about the house to find A chink to set her foot in. And many more were smothered. And drove the chimney soot in. my Lady Wind. From it she raised such flame and smoke That many in great terror woke. you’ll find: Take my advice. Unknown 156 .Mamma comes home. But little things On little wings Bear little souls to heaven. And looks quite sad. there Conrad stands. restrain the tongue.” From the German of Heinrich Hoffman [1798-1874] WRITTEN IN A LITTLE LADY’S LITTLE ALBUM Hearts good and true Have wishes few In narrow circles bounded. Grief and unrest To rank and wealth are given. ”I knew he’d come To naughty little Suck-a-Thumb. Frederick William Faber [1814-1863] MY LADY WIND My Lady Wind. And thus when once. A whisper reaches itching ears The same will come. ”Ah!” said mamma. And hope that lives On what God gives Is Christian hope well founded. Remember what old nurse has sung Of busy Lady Wind. my little dears. She tried the keyhole in the door. Small things are best. And then one night when it was dark She blew up such a tiny spark That all the town was bothered.

William Wordsworth [1770-1850] A FAREWELL My fairest child. On a cloud I saw a child. ”Piper. I’ll tell you how to sing a clearer carol Than lark who hails the dawn on breezy down. While he wept with joy to hear. by the shadow that it casts. Be good. Do noble things. one quiet hint I’ll leave you For every day. Piping songs of pleasant glee.” So he vanished from my sight. 157 . if you will. ”Drop thy pipe. Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun. and let who will be clever. and that For Ever One grand sweet song. Sing thy songs of happy cheer!” So I sang the same again.TO A CHILD Small service is true service while it lasts: Of humblest friends. not dream them. I have no song to give you.” So I piped: he wept to hear. thy happy pipe. Charles Kingsley [1819-1875] RHYMES OF CHILDHOOD REEDS OF INNOCENCE Piping down the valleys wild. all day long: And so make Life. sit thee down and write In a book that all may read. To earn yourself a purer poet’s laurel Than Shakespeare’s crown. and Death. And he laughing said to me: ”Pipe a song about a lamb!” So I piped with merry cheer. sweet maid. pipe that song again. ”Piper. bright creature! scorn not one: The daisy. No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray: Yet.

”You are more than the Earth. And I stained the water clear. you are beautifully dressed. wonderful World. and the Earth cannot!” William Brighty Rands [1823-1882] THE WORLD’S MUSIC The world’s a very happy place. Where every child should dance and sing. World. I tremble to think of you. at all. And I wrote my happy songs Every child may joy to hear. I waken when the morning’s come. and chirp and sing. And never sulk for anything. A whisper inside me seemed to say. and whirls the mills. And yet. how far do you go.And I plucked a hollow reed. The linnets play among the leaves At hide-and-seek. 158 . World. wide. And people upon you for thousands of miles? Ah! you are so great. though you are such a dot: You can love and think. The wonderful air is over me. and cliffs and isles. when I said my prayers to-day. With the wheat-fields that nod and the rivers that flow. With cities and gardens. William Blake [1757-1827] THE WONDERFUL WORLD Great. While. And talks to itself on the tops of the hills. And always have a smiling face. You friendly Earth. And the wonderful wind is shaking the tree It walks on the water. With the wonderful water round you curled. And feel the air and light alive With strange sweet music like the hum Of bees about their busy hive. beautiful. And the wonderful grass upon your breast. flashing to and from the eaves. and I am so small. And I made a rural pen.

Gabriel Setoun [1861A BOY’S SONG Where the pools are bright and deep. 159 . Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest. Are gaily singing all the time. And winds that come. That’s the way for Billy and me. And tall old trees you could not climb. That children. Where the nestlings chirp and flee. Where the clustering nuts fall free. And dusty-white with flour and meal. Where the hay lies thick and greenest.The swallows twitter on the wing. Where the shadow falls the deepest. The miller whistles to its sound. Where the gray trout lies asleep. That’s the way for Billy and me. but cannot stay. Where the mowers mow the cleanest. Where the blackbird sings the latest. And never. You hear it pattering on the pane Like Andrew beating on his drum. going round and round. The coals beneath the kettle croon. whether big or small. And if you listen to the rain When leaves and birds and bees are dumb. And clap their hands and dance in glee. That’s the way for Billy and me. From dawn to dark the old mill-wheel Makes music. Where the hazel bank is steepest. Should always have a smiling face. never sulk at all. There to track the homeward bee. and boughs that sway. The twigs that shake. Up the river and over the lea. And even the kettle hums a tune To tell you when it’s time for tea. The world is such a happy place.

is there aught like this In a world that is full of bliss? ’Tis more than skating. and down the hill Dart. Who climbs with toil. Or love to banter and fight so well. bound Steel-shod to the level ground. For a golden moment share Your feathery life in air!” Say. That’s the thing I never could tell. wheresoe’er. that the longest hill Must end in a vale. with heedful mind. then I.That’s the way for Billy and me. Swifter and yet more swift. I float Awhile in my airy boat. when the wheels scarce crawl. ”Is this. Till. Henry Charles Beeching [1859-1919] 160 . But this I know. bird. Up the water and over the lea. Speed slackens now. That’s the way for Billy and me. but still. My feet to the treadles fall. is this your joy? O bird. Why the boys should drive away Little sweet maidens from the play. I fly. among the hay. The air goes by in a wind. though a boy. see. Alas. I am poised. heart. hands still. I love to play Through the meadow. James Hogg [1770-1835] GOING DOWN HILL ON A BICYCLE A Boy’s Song With lifted feet. see. Till the heart with a mighty lift Makes the lungs laugh. Shall find wings waiting there. the throat cry: ”O bird.

The wind is passing by.PLAYGROUNDS In summer I am very glad We children are so small. Who has seen the wind? Neither you nor I: But when the trees bow down their heads. They don’t know much about the moss And all the stones they pass: They never lie and play among The forests in the grass: They walk about a long way off. But. Let father stoop as best he can He can’t find things like me. when the snow is on the ground And all the puddles freeze. Christina Georgina Rossetti [1830-1894] THE WIND’S SONG O winds that blow across the sea. You sing to flowers and trees and birds Your sea-songs over all the land. High up above the trees. I wish that I were very tall. For we can see a thousand things That men can’t see at all. when we’re at the sea. Laurence Alma-Tadema [18 ”WHO HAS SEEN THE WIND?” Who has seen the wind? Neither I nor you: But when the leaves hang trembling. Could you not stay and whisper words A little child might understand? 161 . The wind is passing through. What is the story that you bring? Leaves clap their hands on every tree And birds about their branches sing. And.

The roses nod to hear you sing. I feel your breath upon my cheek. For father’s ship is coming home With wondrous things from foreign lands. three. loud and shrill: 162 . And when he pipes both loud and shrill. Its sails are silver in the sun. Is blowing to a gale. With wings spread out it flies so fast It leaves the waves all white with foam.” The women hurry to the shore To watch some distant sail. The leaves all clap their little hands. But when he pipes all sweet and low. If you have seen it sailing home. and on my brow. blowing past. But though I listen all the day. beads for May. You never tell me anything Of father’s ship so far away. And eggs and shells for Rob and me. the wind. one. A shawl for mother. And in my hair. I know that you would tell me now. The frightened people say: ”The wind. Just whisper to me. There’s not a ship upon the seas So beautiful as father’s one. The winds sing songs where’er they roam. the wind is blowing up ’Tis rising to a gale. I hear the merry women go With laughter. you’d say. My father’s coming home. if you could only speak. The piper on the hill. the wind. Dear winds. Its masts are taller than the trees. the wind. With precious presents. The wind. two. Gabriel Setoun [1861THE PIPER ON THE HILL A Child’s Song There sits a piper on the hill Who pipes the livelong day.

Dora Sigerson Shorter [1862-1918] THE WIND AND THE MOON Said the Wind to the Moon. deep On a heap Of clouds to sleep. And when each crowding spirit looks. The wind. ”I will blow you out. the wind. To keep the piper warm.” He turned in his bed. and slumbered soon. And watch the snowflakes fall. May blow her home again. the snow has come at last!” The happy children call. The wind. You stare In the air Like a ghost in a chair. the wind. the wind. Has spread a snowy pall. I have not any fear. Because God’s windows open wide The pretty tune to hear. And ”ring around” they dance in glee. A watching mother may behold Her little child again.”The wind. From its star window-pane. I’ll blow you out. The wind. when winter comes. the wind. she was there again! On high In the sky. 163 .” The Wind blew hard. Always looking what I am about I hate to be watched. ”I’ve done for that Moon. the wind. the wind. So. Is blowing south to-day. the wind. Muttering low. But when at night the piper plays. the wind. The little Angels shake their wings To make a feather storm: ”The snow. the wind is coming south ’Twill blow a gentle day. And in the morn. and out went the Moon.” They gather on the meadow-land To toss the yellow hay. the wind. Down lay the Wind.

and the thread was gone. And shone On her throne In the sky alone. Said the Wind: ”What a marvel of power am I! With my breath. In town. For still the broader the Moon-scrap grew.With her one ghost eye. and the Moon grew dim.” He blew and he blew. glimmer. wonderful silvery light. glum will go the thread. ”One puff More’s enough To blow her to snuff! One good puff more where the last was bred. And my wedge. But in vain Was the pain Of his bursting brain. A matchless. and she thinned to a thread. ”With my sledge. The broader he swelled his big cheeks and blew. I have knocked off her edge! If only I blow right fierce and grim. Said the Wind. The Moon shone white and alive and plain. ”I will blow you out again.till she filled the night.he danced and blew. He leaped and halloed with whistle and roar ”What’s that?” The glimmering thread once more! He flew in a rage . And glimmer.” He blew a great blast. Good faith! I blew her to death 164 . the queen of the night.” The Wind blew hard. Slowly she grew . On down. In the air Nowhere Was a moonbeam bare. Far off and harmless the shy stars shone Sure and certain the Moon was gone! The Wind he took to his revels once more. Like a merry-mad clown. Radiant and lovely. The creature will soon be dimmer than dim.

and the lilac’s pretty. But the plane tree’s kind to the poor dull city I love him best of all! Edith Nesbit [1858-1924] BABY SEED SONG Little brown brother. She will not live in town.’tis May!” Little brown brother. For high In the sky. He gets his green coat late. oh! little brown brother. George Macdonald [1824-1905] CHILD’S SONG IN SPRING The silver birch is a dainty lady. The poplar’s gentle and tall. The willow is smart in a suit of yellow. She wears a satin gown. Blue sky will shine on you.First blew her away right out of the sky Then blew her in. What kind of flower will you be? I’ll be a poppy . oh! little brown brother. The chestnut’s proud. Motionless. With her one white eye. what strength have I! But the Moon she knew nothing about the affair. The English oak is a sturdy fellow. She had never heard the great Wind blare. miles above the air. close to each other: Hark to the song of the lark ”Waken!” the lark says. 165 . The elm tree makes the old churchyard shady.all white. sunshine caress you Waken! ’tis morning . ”waken and dress you. Such a gay green gown God gives the larches As green as He is good! The hazels hold up their arms for arches When Spring rides through the wood. Put on your green coats and gay. Are you awake in the dark? Here we lie cosily. like my mother. While brown the beech trees wait.

Wild pinks are slumbering.Do be a poppy like me. Bright hues were seen. Edith Nesbit [1858-1924] LITTLE DANDELION Gay little Dandelion Lights up the meads. Till dies the amber dew Out from her hair. in the days agone. Where. Cold lie the daisy banks Clothed but in green. Violets delay. Lists to the robin’s note Poured from above. What! you’re a sun-flower? How I shall miss you When you’re grown golden and high! But I shall send all the bees up to kiss you. Fiercely and high. True little Dandelion Greeteth the May. Wise little Dandelion Asks not for love. Swings on her slender foot. Pale little Dandelion. Telleth her beads. Heareth the angel-breeze Call from the cloud. Careless of cold. Meek little Dandelion Groweth more fair. Bending the daffodil’s Haughty head low. High rides the thirsty sun. Under that fleecy tent. Brave little Dandelion! Fast falls the snow. 166 . Faint little Dandelion Closeth her eye. Little brown brother. In her white shroud. Blithe little Dandelion Counteth her gold. good-bye.

” Little White Lily smells very sweet. On her head sunshine. Little White Lily said: ”Good again. Waiting and waiting for the wet rain. Little winged Dandelion Soareth away. Little White Lily is happy again. The wandering bee to love me. A bright yellow Primrose. The fern and moss to creep across.” Little White Lily dressed like a bride! Shining with whiteness. George Macdonald [1824-1905] WISHING Ring-ting! I wish I were a Primrose. The sun and moonshine glance in. 167 . Heat cannot burn me. my veins are so full. A great lofty Elm-tree. and crowned beside! Little White Lily drooping with pain.? ] LITTLE WHITE LILY From ”Within and Without” Little White Lily sat by a stone. Helen Barron Bostwick [1826.stay! I wish I were an Elm-tree. Little White Lily holdeth her cup. . Rain is fast falling and filling it up. Little White Lily said: ”It is good. Little White Lily is lifting her head. Little White Lily’s clothing and food. blowing in the Spring! The stooping bough above me. Drooping and waiting till the sun shone. Now I am stronger.Tiny plumes fluttering Make no delay. with green leaves gay! The winds would set them dancing. thanks to the rain. rain at her feet. Little White Lily sunshine has fed. now I am cool. When I am thirsty to have the nice rain. And the Elm-tree for our King! Nay. Thanks to the sunshine.

or garden. When even the deep blue heavens look glad. For Mother’s kiss. And the gossip of swallows through all the sky.sweeter this Than any other thing! William Allingham [1824-1889] IN THE GARDEN I spied beside the garden bed A tiny lass of! I wish I were a Robin. And sweetly sing! O .” said she. Well . plunged her nose. 168 . everywhere to go. tell me true Come. And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground? There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and wren. And in its inmost crimson heart. She singled out a rose. ”O dear.tell! Where should I fly to. ”If I smell just as sweet to you As you smell sweet to me!” Ernest Crosby [1856-1907] THE GLADNESS OF NATURE Is this a time to be cloudy and sad.The Birds would house among the boughs. The ground-squirrel gaily chirps by his den. field. And ask no leave or pardon. Where go to sleep in the dark wood or dell? Before a day was over. tell me true. dear rose. A Robin or a little Wren. Pushing the leaves and thorns apart. And the wilding bee hums merrily by. come. Through forest. Enraptured. Home comes the rover. Till Winter comes with icy thumbs To ruffle up our wing. Who stopped and bent her sunny head Above the red June flowers. When our mother Nature laughs around. .

169 . Through the dewy glade. Such a lot to do. And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea. And there they roll on the easy gale. Such a lot to see! How we ever can get through Fairly puzzles me. William Cullen Bryant [1794-1878] GLAD DAY Here’s another day. dear. Hail him ”hip hurray!” Now the fun will all begin. Under dripping green Run to meet another day. dear. Here’s the sun again Peeping in his pleasant way Through the window pane. (When the Morning took her bath What a splash she made!) Up the wet wood-way. Rise and let him in. Here’s another day! Down the coppice path. There’s a titter of winds in that beechen tree. On the leaping waters and gay young isles. There’s a smile on the fruit. dear. And here they stretch to the frolic chase. Brightest ever seen. Cool as balls of snow. dear. Ay. dear. And look at the broad-faced sun. Mushrooms in the field. and he’ll smile thy gloom away. and a smile on the flower. look. There’s a dance of leaves in that aspen bower. Sweet and fresh and round! Ere the early dew can go We must clear the ground.The clouds are at play in the azure space And their shadows at play on the bright-green vale. dear. dear. What a dainty crop they yield Firm as clouted cream. how he smiles On the dewy earth that smiles in his ray. Show their silver gleam.

”I love and I love!” In the winter they’re silent . What it says. But the Lark is so brimful of gladness and love.Hurry up and out. The Linnet and Thrush say. make thee? Tiger! Tiger! burning bright. In the forests of the night. and what art. 170 . Did He smile His work to see? Did He who made the Lamb.all come back together. Here’s another day! W. and loving . Graham Robertson [1867THE TIGER Tiger! Tiger! burning bright. And singing. What dread hand and what dread feet? What the hammer? what the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp? When the stars threw down their spears. the Dove. But green leaves. dear. I don’t know. Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat. and sunny warm weather.away! away! In and out and round about.the wind is so strong. and blossoms. What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? William Blake [1757-1827] ANSWER TO A CHILD’S QUESTION Do you ask what the birds say? The Sparrow. but it sings a loud song. In the forests of the night. Then . And watered heaven with their tears. What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare seize the fire? And what shoulder.

Waiting till one from far away. Down sped the leaflets through the air. ”Let us a little longer stay. Fluttering and rustling everywhere. The great Tree to his children said: ”You’re getting sleepy.” he cried. Yes. He shook his head. ”Goodnight dear little leaves. ”Goodnight. and coax. Frolicked and danced. children. It is quite time to go to bed. very sleepy. on the ground they lay. Yellow and Brown. And ere the leaves could urge their prayer. He smiled to hear them whispering. the blue sky above. The great bare Tree looked down and smiled.” he said.” So. Dear Father Tree. I saw them. That he sings. little Red. pouting leaf. and fret. behold our grief! ’Tis such a very pleasant day. And from below each sleepy child Replied.The green fields below him.” and murmured.” But the great Tree did no such thing. Whispering all their sports among ”Perhaps the great Tree will forget. And let us stay until the spring. and had their way. ”Come. Golden and red. a huddled swarm. White bedclothes heaped upon her arm. and for ever sings he ”I love my Love. If we all beg. Should come to wrap them safe and warm. all to bed.” ”Ah!” begged each silly. and far and wide. We do not want to go away. Upon the autumn breezes swung. and my Love loves me!” Samuel Taylor Coleridge [1772-1834] HOW THE LEAVES CAME DOWN I’ll tell you how the leaves came down. just for one more merry day To the great Tree the leaflets clung. and he sings. ”It is so nice to go to bed!” 171 .

For she said. Just as he did. And baking them on the hearth.Susan Coolidge [1835-1905] A LEGEND OF THE NORTHLAND Away. And baked it thin as a wafer But she couldn’t part with that. and thought it seemed Too large to give away. But it looked. Where the hours of the day are few. when the good Saint Peter Lived in the world below. you know. away in the Northland. from her store of cakes. Where a little woman was making cakes. He came to the door of a cottage. And walked about it. In traveling round the earth. And being faint with fasting. She looked at it. And still a smaller one. Where they harness the swift reindeer To the sledges. furry clothes: They tell them a curious story I don’t believe ’tis true. And rolled and rolled it flat. He asked her. And yet you may learn a lesson If I tell the tale to you. Therefore she kneaded another. preaching. when it snows. As large as the first had done. when she turned it over. But as it baking lay. Once. So she made a very little cake. Then she took a tiny scrap of dough. And the children look like bear’s cubs In their funny. To give him a single one. And the nights are so long in winter That they cannot sleep them through. For the day was almost done. ”My cakes that seem too small 172 .

When I eat of them myself. my little boy. Never speaking a word. For she was changed to a bird. dry wood. Listen to pity’s call. Boring and boring for food. But all the rest of her clothes were burned Black as a coal in the flame. Where she lives in the trees till this very day. For he was hungry and faint. And this is the lesson she teaches: Live not for yourself alone. Now. you shall build as the birds do. Then good Saint Peter grew angry. And every country school-boy Has seen her in the wood. Give plenty of what is given to you.” So she put them on the shelf. And out of the top flew a woodpecker. And fire to keep you warm. and boring. You mayn’t be changed to a bird though you live 173 . And that was left the same. When you see the woodpecker’s sooty dress. And see her scarlet hood. Lest the needs you will not pity Shall one day be your own. And try to be kind and good. remember that.” Then up she went through the chimney. To have both food and shelter. And he said. ”Now. All day in the hard. She had a scarlet cap on her head. And surely such a woman Was enough to provoke a saint. And shall get your scanty food By boring. And the much you get is small. and boring. ”You are far too selfish To dwell in a human form. Are yet too large to give away. Don’t think the little you give is great.

No sweeter songster than had his neighbors. for all his pains and labors. Searched. That perchance among them my lord might find Some singer to whom his heart inclined. In front of the manager’s mushroom table! The overture closed with a crash . and yellow plains. And flutters a bit of gossamer lace. That many a heart beat high and loud. what shall my lord of the manor do? He pondered the day and the whole night through. But found. With much expression and feeling sung Some ”Oh’s” and ”Ah’s” in a foreign tongue. Inviting. And at last on Madame the Nightingale. 174 . Sat thrumming as hoarsely as they were able. But you will be changed to a smaller thing A mean and selfish man. His deep. And shaking her feathery flounces down. and flared among The grand old trees and the banners proud. his vast domains. Ah. What wonder. then. She daintily sways. In which each line closed as it had begun. hark! Across the stage comes the sweet-voiced Lark. Miss Katydid rendered a song of her own. green forest.As selfishly as you can. when the evening came. Phoebe Cary [1824-1871] THE CRICKET’S STORY The high and mighty lord of Glendare. in his majestical way. He called on the gentry of hill-top and dale. to make complete The studied charms of his country-seat. The owner of acres both broad and fair. And the castle gardens were all aflame With the many curious lights that hung O’er the ivied porches. While the leafy alcove echoes and thrills With her liquid runs and lingering trills. While the famous choir of Glendare Bog. While to give the affair a classic tone. with an airy grace. Established and led by the Brothers Frog. For some rare singer. Miss Goldfinch came next.then. With some wonderful deed which she had done. in her satin gown. Her pupils to sing at his grand soiree. once on a time.

who tried with a will.Then the Misses Sparrow. Ah! the wealth of each wonderful note That came from the depths of her tiny throat! She carolled. piped away And courtesied low o’er a huge bouquet Of crimson clover-heads. So this is the way. out in the shade of a blackberry thicket. plebeian know Quite worthy. we find it true As his lordship does will the neighbors do. He sternly demanded.” and its humble pleasures. ”Really!” and ”Ah. But catching a glimpse of his lordship’s rage. as the legends tell. Till. may it please you so. Till she seemed to hang at the point of death: She ran the chromatics through every key. as flighty Miss Humming-bird didn’t care To sing for the high and mighty Glendare. roused from his gloom. And poor little Wren. notwithstanding. culled by the dozen. And the lord of Glendare cried out in his glee. 175 . Where she modestly sang. meet me under the silvery moon!” Then. He all of a sudden spied little Miss Cricket. By some brown-coated. ”This little Miss Cricket shall sing for me!” Of course. Twittered and chirped through a long duet. ”Who is that?” ”Miss Cricket. in her simple measures.” Unconscious of sarcasm. sweet Home. The close of the evening’s performance fell To the fair young Nightingale. And. And ended triumphant on upper C. and she held her breath. indeed!” Yet. But his lordship glared down the leafy aisle With never so much as a nod or smile. she trilled. But the world said. like an angry bat. Mademoiselle. of course. ”O. ”Come. Led little Miss Cricket upon the stage. Of ”Home. Airing the graces her mother had taught her In a manner quite worthy of Madame’s daughter. my lord. of comment there was no need. But you should have heard the red Robin sing His English ballad. but we couldn’t bring” Thundered His Mightiness. so prim and set. ”Let her sing!” The Nightingale opened her little eyes Extremely wide in her blank surprise.ahem! . A charity scholar . beautiful Spring!” And Master Owlet’s melodious tune. But who couldn’t tell ”Heber” from ”Ortonville.

” cooed a dove ”Oh. Though feathers hid her face. poor thing! But was far too proud to weep. Other birds have to do their best You need only to speak. Why behave like a goose? Don’t skulk away from our sight. Straightway began to sing. The nightingale felt herself blush. She knew they had heard her song. The night was divinely calm. what’s the use? You bird of beauty and love. 176 . And she hid away from the moon. There was never a bird could pass.” Emma Huntington Nason [1845-1921] THE SINGING-LESSON A nightingale made a mistake. She felt them snicker and sneer. Only think of all you can do. sweet Home. Why behave like an owl? ”Only think of all you have done. Nightingale.” The nightingale shyly took Her head from under her wing. contemptible fowl. And wished she could skip a year.In the very beginning it befell That the Crickets came. A lark. Her heart was ready to break. in the evening’s gloom. Nightingale. And pretended to be asleep. arm in arm with a thrush. And. To sing at our hearths of ”Home. Open your musical beak. She tucked her head under her wing. ”Oh. A false note is really fun From such a bird as you! Lift up your proud little crest. She sang a few notes out of tune. giving the dove a look. You bird of joy and delight. Came sauntering up to the place. She wrung her claws. Like a common. She thought that life was too long.

Jean Ingelow [1820-1897] CHANTICLEER Of all the birds from East to West That tuneful are and dear. They call him Chanticleer. Gold plume and copper plume. And summons home the day! Black fear he sends it flying. I know. Comb of coral gay. Calls round a world dew-pearled The heavenly airs of morn. Black care he drives afar. ringing his blithe horn. The morning cometh. bringing Sweet sleep to heavy eyes. Her song ascended there. 177 . And there she fixed her eyes. O clear gold. And calls the flowers to rise. shrill and bold! He calls through creeping mist The mountains from the night and cold To rose and amethyst. And this tale has a moral. I love that farmyard bird the best. If you’ll try to find it out. The nightingale did not care. ’Tis he that scatters night and gloom. She only sang to the skies.And the people stood on the grass To hear that wonderful psalm. He sets the birds to singing. Gold plume and silver plume. And creeping shadows sighing Before the morning star. Comb of scarlet gay. ’Tis he packs off the night and gloom. The people that stood below She knew but little about. And whistles back the day! He is the sun’s brave herald That.

The flower of all the feathered flock. let me fly away. Gold cock or white. Baby too shall fly away. ”Then come home. My heart is at rest within my breast. no. And everything else is still. So she rests a little longer. let us play. Baby. my children. Then she flies away. Come.” ”No. rest a little longer.The birds of all the forest Have dear and pleasant cheer. the sun is gone down. leave off play. Till the little wings are stronger. If she sleeps a little longer. come. like little birdie. sleep a little longer. says little birdie. Till the little limbs are stronger. Mother. And we cannot go to sleep. But yet I hold the rarest The farmyard Chanticleer. Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892] NURSE’S SONG When the voices of children are heard on the green And laughing is heard on the hill. for it is yet day. Let me rise and fly away. Red cock or black cock. 178 . What does little baby say. He whistles back the light! Katherine Tynan Hinkson [1861-1931] ”WHAT DOES LITTLE BIRDIE SAY?” From ”Sea Dreams” What does little birdie say In her nest at peep of day? Let me fly. Birdie. In her bed at peep of day? Baby says. And the dews of the night arise. and let us away Till the morning appears in the skies.

as doors should be. And butterflies with gauzy wings. And yonder. And fruit and flowers and all the things You see when you are sound asleep. well. And knows the things you think about. Rocks and castles towering high. And all the hills echoed. And left your window silver white. He paints them on the window pane In fairy lines with frozen steam. And here are little boats. He must have waited till you slept. Before you went to bed last night. Hills and dales. and there Big ships with sails spread to the breeze. And when you wake you see again 179 . And not a single word he spoke. Yet Jack Frost has got in. And knights in armor riding by. For creeping softly underneath The door when all the lights are out. And herds of cows and flocks of sheep. Jack Frost takes every breath you breathe. palm trees waving fair On islands set in silver seas. And then go home to bed. William Blake [1757-1827] JACK FROST The door was shut. But there are fairer things than these His fingers traced on every pane. And the hills are all covered with sheep.” The little ones leaped and shouted and laughed. And now you cannot see the hills Nor fields that stretch beyond the lane.Besides in the sky the little birds fly. With nodding plumes and shining shields. go and play till the light fades away. But pencilled o’er the panes and crept Away again before you woke. you see. and streams and fields.” ”Well.

” George Cooper [1840-1927] THE SHEPHERD How sweet is the Shepherd’s sweet lot! From the morn to the evening he strays. The party closed at sundown.The lovely things you saw in dream. He is watchful. At hide-and-seek they played. Miss Weather led the dancing. and Maples. while they are in peace. The Sunshine spread a carpet. They flew along the ground. And gaily fluttered by. The Chestnuts came in yellow. The lovely Misses Maple In scarlet looked their best. And everything was grand. The sight was like a rainbow New fallen from the sky. William Blake [1757-1827] NIKOLINA 180 . Professor Wind played louder. The Oaks in crimson dressed. For they know when their Shepherd is nigh. For he hears the lamb’s innocent call. in the rustic hollow. Oaks. And his tongue shall be filled with praise. And then the party ended In jolly ”hands around. All balanced to their partners. Then. Gabriel Setoun [1861OCTOBER’S PARTY October gave a party. He shall follow his sheep all the day. And everybody stayed. The leaves by hundreds came The Chestnuts. And leaves of every name. Professor Wind the band. And he hears the ewe’s tender reply.

and his funny tail wags: ”Ha! ha!” laughs little Gustava. have you seen her The tiny maid from Norway. little children. quainter. gold. Up comes her little gray coaxing cat With her little pink nose. and then Down fly her little white doves so sweet. ”You want some breakfast too?” and down 181 . She scatters crumbs for the little brown hen. Breaking off their scarlet cups for you. And a little brown hen walks in at the door: ”Good day!” cries little Gustava.O tell me. In her little garden many a flower is growing Red. But who is this through the doorway comes? Little Scotch terrier. and the little drops run From the icicles under the eaves so fast. For the bright spring sun shines warm at last. brighter e’en than they. But the child that stands amid the blossoms gay Is sweeter. . And a little green bowl she holds in her lap. There comes a rush and a flutter. her eyes are blue as cornflowers. With spikes of slender larkspur.she begs for more. hardly taller. ”What’s that?” Gustava feeds her. mid the corn. and she mews. Looks in her face. And a wreath of marigolds round the rim: ”Ha! ha!” laughs little Gustava. As she stands among the poppies. little dog Rags. Nikolina? O. And glad is little Gustava. So dainty and eager they pick up the crumbs. She wears a quaint little scarlet cap. Celia Thaxter [1835-1894] LITTLE GUSTAVA Little Gustava sits in the sun. and purple in the soft wind blowing. burning blue. With their snowy wings and crimson feet: ”Welcome!” cries little Gustava. Filled with bread and milk to the brim. And her cheeks are rosy red as skies of morn! Nikolina! swift she turns if any call her. Safe in the porch.

My merry little Gustava!” Kitty and terrier. quickly.She sets her bowl on the brick floor brown. Now raise the neighborhood. and knelt on the mat With doves and biddy and dog and cat. do! 182 . But . by the nanny-goat. and stood outside Though ”Pray come in!” cried Gustava. All things harmless Gustava loves. The shy. Cooling their feet in the melting snow: ”Won’t you come in. And her mother came to the open house-door: ”Dear little daughter. And oh. Little Prince Tatters has lost his coat! Playing. he did not need it. her breakfast is sweet indeed To happy little Gustava! Celia Thaxter [1835-1894] PRINCE TATTERS Little Prince Tatters has lost his cap! Over the hedge he threw it. Waiting without stood sparrow and crow. kind creatures ’tis joy to feed. Into the river it fell ”kerslap!” Stupid old thing to do it! Now Mother may sigh and Nurse may fume For the gay little cap with its eagle plume. ”Left it right there. how little it matters! Trifles are trifles!” says little Prince Tatters. that’s all. But they were too bashful. ”One cannot be thinking all day of such matters! Trifles are trifles!” says little Prince Tatters. Little Prince Tatters has LOST HIS BALL! Rolled away down the street! Somebody’ll have to find it. While she strokes his shaggy locks like silk: ”Dear Rags!” says little Gustava. good folk?” she cried. So the last she threw them. And nobody never seed it!” Now Mother and Nurse may search till night For the little new coat with its buttons bright. Before he can sleep or eat. And little dog Rags drinks up her milk. biddy and doves. I bring you some more.”Coat-sleeves or shirt-sleeves.

When I from black. Laura E. I’ll shade him from the heat. My mother taught me underneath a tree. They must be seen to. sitting down before the heat of day. Which I must ne’er enjoy. ”And we are put on earth a little space. and he will then love me. And I am black. And. and gives His heat away. And. ”For.And send for the crier and constable too! ”Trifles are trifles. but serious matters. Richards [1850THE LITTLE BLACK BOY My mother bore me in the southern wild. What are the blessings of the sight. And round My golden tent like lambs rejoice. The cloud will vanish. . and like a shady grove. And round the tent of God like lambs we joy. And gives His light. joy in the noonday. when our souls have learned the heat to bear. My love and care. And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive Comfort in morning. And be like him. pointing to the East. That we may learn to bear the beams of love. began to say: ”Look on the rising sun. And thus I say to little English boy. 183 . and kissed me. William Blake [1757-1827] THE BLIND BOY O say what is that thing called Light. She took me on her lap and kissed me. and he from white cloud free. Saying: ’Come out from the grove. But I am black. And these black bodies and this sunburnt face Are but a cloud. we shall hear His voice. And then I’ll stand and stroke his silver hair. till he can bear To lean in joy upon our Father’s knee.there God does live. but oh.” says little Prince Tatters. as if bereaved of light. my soul is white! White as an angel is the English child.’” Thus did my mother say.

”Pomegranates pink. ”A bumpety ride in a wagon of hay For me. ”Silvery wings.” says Elaine. 184 .” says Timothy. But sure with patience I can bear A loss I ne’er can know. I feel him warm.” says Jane. ”Primroses pale.” says Jane. but how can he. You say the sun shines bright.O tell your poor blind boy! You talk of wondrous things you see.” says Jane. And could I ever keep awake With me ’twere always day. ”Love-in-a-mist. ”A junket of cream and a cranberry tart For me. With heavy sighs I often hear You mourn my hapless woe. ”A nosegay of pinks and mignonette For me.” says Timothy. And what can be the use of him is more than I can see. Or make it day or night? My day or night myself I make Whene’er I sleep or play. And I see him jump before me. ”Chariots of gold.” says Timothy. very like me from the heels up to the head. Then let not what I cannot have My cheer of mind destroy: Whilst thus I sing. He is very. I am a king. when I jump into my bed.” says Elaine. Colley Cibber [1671-1757] BUNCHES OF GRAPES ”Bunches of grapes. Although a poor blind boy.” says Elaine. Walter de la Mare [1873MY SHADOW I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me.

And sees before him. I had two pillows at my head. I was the giant great and still That sits upon the pillow-hill. He stays so close beside me. with my little gun. I’d think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me! One morning. very early. Among the bed-clothes. For he sometimes shoots up taller like an India-rubber ball. like an arrant sleepy-head. And planted cities all about. dale and plain. And sometimes sent my ships in fleets All up and down among the sheets. I crawl All in the dark along the wall. But my lazy little shadow. before the sun was up. Now. And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way. 185 . He hasn’t got a notion of how children ought to play. And he sometimes gets so little that there’s none of him at all. They sit at home and talk and sing. Robert Louis Stevenson [1850-1894] THE LAND OF STORY-BOOKS At evening when the lamp is lit. And do not play at anything. And all my toys beside me lay To keep me happy all the day. Or brought my trees and houses out. he’s a coward you can see. The pleasant land of counterpane. Robert Louis Stevenson [1850-1894] THE LAND OF COUNTERPANE When I was sick and lay a-bed. I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup. through the hills. Around the fire my parents sit. Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow Not at all like proper children. With different uniforms and drills. which is always very slow. And sometimes for an hour or so I watched my leaden soldiers go.

And go to bed with backward looks At my dear land of Story-books. I see the others far away As if in firelit camp they lay. Home I return across the sea. these are the woods. Robert Louis Stevenson [1850-1894] THE GARDENER The gardener does not love to talk. He digs the flowers and cuts the hay. These are my starry solitudes. Around their party prowled about. He digs the flowers. Away behind the currant row Where no one else but cook may go. And never seems to want to play. And I. And play at books that I have read Till it is time to go to bed. in the night. He locks the door and takes the key. Far in the plots. So. And winter comes with pinching toes. All in my hunter’s camp I lie. where none can spy. And there the river by whose brink The roaring lions come to drink. green. He makes me keep the gravel walk. I see him dig. To profit by these garden days O how much wiser you would be 186 .And follow round the forest track Away behind the sofa back. when my nurse comes in for me. There. These are the hills. red. And when he puts his tools away. like to an Indian scout. Well now. brown and big. and blue. When in the garden bare and brown You must lay your barrow down. Nor wishes to be spoken to. Old and serious. Silly gardener! summer goes. and while the summer stays.

Where all the children dine at five. Nurse helps me in when I embark. And many pleasant places more That I had never seen before. Adorned with flowers. Farther and farther I should see. She girds me in my sailor’s coat And starts me in the dark.To play at Indian wars with me! Robert Louis Stevenson [1850-1894] FOREIGN LANDS Up into the cherry tree Who should climb but little me? I held the trunk with both my hands And looked abroad on foreign lands. I saw the next door garden lie. As prudent sailors have to do. before my eye. And all the playthings come alive. Perhaps a toy or two. To where the grown-up river slips Into the sea among the ships. 187 . Perhaps a slice of wedding-cake. I go on board and say Good night to all my friends on shore. And sometimes things to bed I take. To where the roads on either hand Lead onward into fairy land. Robert Louis Stevenson [1850-1894] MY BED IS A BOAT My bed is like a little boat. I saw the dimpling river pass And be the sky’s blue looking-glass. I shut my eyes and sail away And see and hear no more. The dusty roads go up and down With people tramping in to town. At night. If I could find a higher tree.

Robert Louis Stevenson [1850-1894] THE PEDDLER’S CARAVAN I wish I lived in a caravan. Tea-trays. Excepting when it’s overwound. For though to scold us he pretends. 188 . If any of our watches stop. Chairs to mend. And a chimney of tin. And they go riding from town to town. All the people would read my book. like a peddler-man! Where he comes from nobody knows. Or where he goes to. and he can ride. But his house is like a bathing-machine. any way. He fits a dice-box in his eye. I find my vessel fast. COGGS A watch will tell the time of day. Just like the Travels of Captain Cook! William Brighty Rands [1823-1882] MR. And takes a long and thoughtful spy. Plates. Or tell it nearly. to the other side! With the peddler-man I should like to roam. And write a book when I came home.All night across the dark we steer. beside the pier. that the smoke comes through. Or when you drop it on the ground. but on he goes! His caravan has windows two. baskets ranged in order. With a horse to drive. But when the day returns at last. with a baby brown. with alphabets round the border! The roads are brown. The world is round. Rumble and slash. Coggs’s shop. Safe in my room. He’s quite among our special friends. We haste to Mr. and delf to sell! He clashes the basins like a bell. and the sea is green. He has a wife.

”Dear. Ah! mother bird. He danced and sang from morn till night. no not I. Go flying to and fro. And sing to our hearts as we watch again Your fairy building grow.” And then he lays the dice-box down And frowns a most prodigious frown. Hollowing it with care. Their castle in the air. and says. Nothing too far away for him. if nobody cares for me. you’ll have weary days When the eggs are under your breast. Through the April shimmer of sun and rain. And this the burden of his song forever used to be: ”I care for nobody. no lark so blithe as he. And the prettiest thing in the world will be The building of the nest. So come to the trees with all your train When the apple blossoms blow. Edward Verrall Lucas [1868THE BUILDING OF THE NEST They’ll come again to the apple tree Robin and all the rest When the orchard branches are fair to see. But they’ll find their wings in a glad amaze. 189 . And God will see to the rest. Margaret Sangster [1838-1912] ”THERE WAS A JOLLY MILLER” From ”Love in a Village” There was a jolly miller once lived on the river Dee. dear! More carelessness.And prods the wheels. In the snow of the blossoms dressed. And shadow may darken the dancing rays When the wee ones leave the nest. I greatly fear. Weaving it well. But if we ask him what’s the time. so round and trim. Nothing for her too fair. He’ll make his gold repeater chime. Hanging it safe on the topmost limb.

Two little folded hands. Two little prayers does my darling say. I would not change my station for any other in life. No lawyer. Two little ponies must go to a span. Let heart and voice and all agree to say. No foresight mars the miller’s joy. how his heart grows gay.”I live by my mill. This song shall pass from me to thee. Two little shoulders. ”Let others toil from year to year. ”Long live the king. surgeon.” When spring begins his merry career. Two little lips and one little chin. Two little boys can double the fun. child. Two little arms can love mother best. let us rejoice and sing. bold and free. and one at the head. And two little angels guard him in bed.” Mary Mapes Dodge [1831-1905] A NURSERY SONG Oh. Two little eyelids cast meekly down. God bless her! she’s kindred. dimpled and sweet. Twice does he kneel by my side each day. Peterkin Pout and Gregory Grout Are two little goblins black. But somehow they still come back. Two little shoes on two little feet. oh. nor winter’s cold decay. Full oft from my house I’ve driven them out.” Thus. Two little pockets has my little man. chubby and strong. Two little ears and one little nose. who’s wont to sing and say. Two little eyes to open and close. like the miller. or doctor e’er had a groat from me. no not I if nobody cares for me.” Isaac Bickerstaff [ ? -1812?] ONE AND ONE Two little girls are better than one. 190 . Two little legs running all day long. soft and brown. They clamber up to the baby’s mouth. along the jovial ring. The days of youth are made for glee. Two little cheeks with a rose shut in. No summer’s drought alarms his fear. I live from day to day. and time is on the wing. Two little elbows. ”One at the foot. and wife. Two little birds can build a fine nest. I care for nobody.

I pray you now from my house keep out! But Samuel Smile and Lemuel Laugh Are two little fairies bright. But I couldn’t remember six times nine. and not to bother my head. and tarry awhile! Laura E. who always acts so proud.I answered. Lemuel Laugh and Samuel Smile.” and I nearly laughed aloud! But I wished I hadn’t when teacher said. ”Mary Ann!” Anna Maria Pratt [18 THE RAGGEDY MAN 191 . there the sunbeams are. Her laughter rings near and far. ”If you call her ’Fifty-four’ for a while. Chorus: And one says ”Please!” and t’other says ”Do!” And both together say ”I love you!” So. my dears. ”Now. Next day Elizabeth Wigglesworth. Till sister told me to play with my doll. And when they creep into Baby’s eyes. Said. Why.sakes alive! . And twist it into a frown. And when they peep through her rosy lips.” she said. Dorothy. tell if you can. you’ll learn it by heart. ”Six times nine is fifty-two. So I took my favorite. Richards [1850A MORTIFYING MISTAKE I studied my tables over and over. till I knew The answer of six times nine as well as the answer of two times two. Come in. and backward and forward. too.” For I thought of my doll and . And sunshine is their delight. Peterkin Pout and Gregory Grout. And I called her my dear little ”Fifty-four” a hundred times. Chorus: And one says ”Must!” and t’other says ”Can’t!” And one says ”Shall!” and t’other says ”Shan’t!” Oh. Mary Ann (though I thought ’twas a dreadful shame To give such a perfectly lovely child such a perfectly horrid name). and I didn’t know what to do. They’re always ready for fun and chaff.And pull the corners down. They perch aloft on the baby’s brow.

fer the Raggedy Man. An’ he’s the goodest man ever you saw! He comes to our house every day. An’ he opens the shed . goodness knows?” An’ nen he laughed at ’Lizabuth Ann. 192 .’ wear fine clothes? Er what air you go’ to be. an’ Elves. an’ Griffuns. er Pa. sometimes: Knows ’bout Giunts.he’s ist so good He splits the kindlin’ an’ chops the wood. ef I be good. too.O the Raggedy Man! He works fer Pa. An’ the Squidgicum-Squees ’at swallers therselves! An’. wite by the pump in our pasture-lot. er the Raggedy Man! Ain’t he a funny old Raggedy Man? Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man! The Raggedy Man . Ain’t he a’ awful kind Raggedy Man? Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man! An’ the Raggedy Man. the Raggedy Man . Ain’t he a’ awful good Raggedy Man? Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man! W’y. An’ does most things ’at boys can’t do. an’ can Turn into me. He clumbed clean up in our big tree An’ shooked a’ apple down fer me An’ nother’n’.an’ we all ist laugh When he drives out our little old wobble-ly calf. ’At lives ’way deep in the ground. an’ feeds ’em hay. Says. ”When you’re big like your Pa is. An’ nen . An’ nen he spades in our garden.ef our hired girl says he can He milks the cow fer ’Lizabuth time when he Was makin’ a little bow-n’-orry fer me. fer ’Lizabuth Ann An’ nother’n’. er ’Lizabuth Ann! Er Ma. on a hot afternoon. An’ I says ”’M go’ to be a Raggedy Man! I’m ist go’ to be a nice Raggedy Man!” Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man! James Whitcomb Riley [1849-1916] THE MAN IN THE MOON Said the Raggedy Man. Air you go’ to keep a fine store like his An’ be a rich merchunt . He showed me the hole ’at the Wunks is got. too. be knows most rhymes An’ tells ’em. An’ waters the horses.

Gee! Whizz! What a pity that is! And his toes have worked round where his heels ought to be. And his eyes are so weak that they water and run If he dares to dream even he looks at the sun. Whing! Whann! What a marvelous man! What a very remarkably marvelous man! 193 . And comes back with porridge crumbs all round his mouth. my dear.”My! Sakes! What a lot o’ mistakes Some little folks makes on The Man in the Moon! But people that’s b’en up to see him. So whenever he wants to go North he goes South. you know! Whang! Ho! Why. There’s a boil on his ear. Whee! Whimm! Ain’t you sorry for him? And a mole on his nose that is purple and black. you know! ”And The Man in the Moon has a rheumatic knee. certainly so! It might be a dimple turned over. as the doctors advise My! Eyes! But isn’t he wise To jes’ dream of stars. as the doctors advise? ”And The Man in the Moon has a boil on his ear. Might drop a few facts that would interest you Clean! Through! If you wanted ’em to Some actual facts that might interest you! ”O The Man in the Moon has a crick in his back.but dimples stick in Yet it might be a dimple turned over. So he jes’ dreams of stars. like me. and a corn on his chin. And calls on him frequent and intimutly. Whee! Whing! What a singular thing! I know! but these facts are authentic. He calls it a dimple . And he brushes them off with a Japanese fan.

an’ dust the hearth. An’ shoo the chickens off the porch.Well! if it wasn’t fer Jimmy-cum-Jim. 194 . An’ when they turn’t the kivvers down.”And The Man in the Moon.” an’ ole folks was there. away up stairs. An’ onc’t when they was ”company.” sighed the Raggedy Man. an’ cubby-hole. An’ the Gobble-uns ’at gits you Ef you Don’t Watch Out! Onc’t they was a little boy wouldn’t say his prayers An’ when he went to bed at night. you know. an’ ever’wheres. an’ turn’t to run an’ hide. an’ press. Dadd! Limb! I’d go pardners with him Jes’ jump my job here and be pardners with him!” James Whitcomb Riley [1849-1916] LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE Little Orphant Annie’s come to our house to stay. An’ wash the cups an’ saucers up. She mocked ’em an’ shocked ’em. an’ bake the bread. an’ sweep. an’ brush the crumbs away. Up there by hisse’f sence creation began! That when I call on him and then come away. He grabs me and holds me and begs me to stay. An’ all us other children. His Mammy heered him holler. an’ earn her board an’-keep. An’ make fun of ever’ one. We set around the kitchen fire an’ has the mostest fun A-list’nin’ to the witch-tales ’at Annie tells about. an’ his Daddy heered him bawl. An’ seeked him up the chimbly-flue. An’ make the fire. They was two great big Black Things a-standin’ by her side. Till . when the supper things is done. an’ all her blood-an’-kin. But all they ever found was thist his pants an’ roundabout: An’ the Gobble-uns ’ll git you Ef you Don’t Watch Out! An’ one time a little girl ’ud allus laugh an’ grin. I guess. an’ said she didn’t care! An’ thist as she kicked her heels. he wasn’t there at all! An’ they seeked him in the rafter-room. ”Gits! So! Sullonesome.

An’ says folks got to walk the chalk When she’s around. An’ he’p the pore an’ needy ones ’at clusters all about. In th’ old cook-stove. An’ sniffs all ’round an’ says. an’ run. An’ churish them ’at loves you. ”I swawn! Ef my old nose don’t tell me lies. ist as slow. so It’s custard-pie. Er the Gobble-uns ’ll git you Ef you Don’t Watch Out! James Whitcomb Riley [1849-1916] OUR HIRED GIRL Our hired girl. ”Clear out o’ my way! They’s time fer work. An’ pours in somepin’ ’at’s good an’ sweet. an’ the moon is gray. she’s ’Lizabuth Ann. er wisht they had! I play out on our porch an’ talk To Th’ Raggedy Man ’at mows our lawn. first thing you know! An’ nen she’ll say. An’ he says. 195 . and blinks his eyes. An’ the lamp-wick sputters. when the blaze is blue. so’s ’twon’t slop An’ git all spilled. an’ yer teachers fond and dear. An’ the lightnin’-bugs in dew is all squenched away. child. run! Er I cain’t git no cookin’ done!” When our hired girl ’tends like she’s mad. You better mind yer parents. An’ she can cook best things to eat! She ist puts dough in our pie-pan. nen bakes it. an’ nen she’ll stop An’ stoop an’ slide it. ”Whew!” an’ nen leans on His old crook-scythe. an’ time fer play! Take yer dough. an’ dry the orphant’s tear. an’ the wind goes woo-oo! An’ you hear the crickets quit.An’ they snatched her through the ceilin’ ’fore she knowed what she’s about! An’ the Gobble-uns ’ll git you Ef you Don’t Watch Out! An’ little Orphant Annie says. An’ nen she salts it all on top With cinnamon.

An’ nen when we come home. child. Sometimes they are a-sittin’ down. an’ run. an’ we all et. or I’d be skeered to death! Bein’ I’m a boy. an’ see A light in the kitchen door. or bugs. or mice. an’ time for play! Take yer dough. Pa says. A-lookin’ at me cross-eyed an’ p’intin’ at me . an’ time fer play! Take the hint. my! I wuz so skeered that time I never slep’ a mite It’s almost alluz when I’m bad I see things at night! Lucky thing I ain’t a girl.It ’pears like I smell custard-pies!” An’ nen he’ll say. when she Got the supper. child. an’ yet I hate to go to bed. an’ run. an’ we Heerd a maccordeun. when I licked a feller ’at had just moved on our street. an’ other times they’re white But the color ain’t no difference when you see things at night! Once. An’ it wuz night. 196 . ”Clear out o’ my way! They’s time fer work. ”Clear out o’ the way! They’s time fer work. An’ leaves me lyin’ all alone an’ seein’ things at night! Sometimes they’re in the corner. who can her beau be?” An’ I marched in. when I’m tucked up warm an’ snug an’ when my prayers are said. I duck my head an’ hold my! Oh. run! Er we cain’t git no courtin’ done!” James Whitcomb Riley [1849-1916] SEEIN’ THINGS I ain’t afeard uv snakes. sometimes they’re walkin’ round So softly and so creepylike they never make a sound! Sometimes they are as black as ink. or toads. run! Er she cain’t git no cookin’ done!” Wunst our hired girl. or worms. I guess. Sometimes they’re all a-standin’ in the middle uv the floor. For. sometimes they’re by the door. ”Lan’ O’-Gracious. An’ father sent me up to bed without a bite to eat. an’ Ma an’ me An’ Pa went wher’ the ”Social” met. an’ ’Lizabuth Ann Wuz parchin’ corn fer The Raggedy Man! Better say. Mother tells me ”Happy Dreams!” an’ takes away the light. An’ things ’at girls are skeered uv I think are awful nice! I’m pretty brave. I woke up in the dark an’ saw things standin’ in a row.

Employing every tooth and claw In the awfullest way you ever saw And. oh! how the gingham and calico flew! (Don’t fancy I exaggerate I got my news from the Chinese plate!) Next morning. oh. ”Bow-wow-wow!” And the calico cat replied. ”Oh. I try to skwush the Tempter’s voice ’at urges me within. While the old Dutch clock in the chimney-place Up with its hands before its face. so sorry I’m a naughty boy. an hour or so. (I wasn’t there: I simply state What was told to me by the Chinese plate!) The gingham dog went. ”Mee-ow!” The air was littered.An’ I am. I want to . where the two had sat They found no trace of dog or cat: And some folks think unto this day That burglars stole that pair away! 197 . dear! what shall we do!” But the gingham dog and the calico cat Wallowed this way and tumbled that. An’ when they’s pie for supper. when other naughty boys would coax me into sin. With bits of gingham and calico. For it always dreaded a family row! (Now mind. ’Twas half past twelve. And wailed. or cakes ’at’s big an’ nice. an’ then I promise to be better an’ I say my prayers again! Gran’ma tells me that’s the only way to make it right When a feller has been wicked an’ sees things at night! An’ so. and (what do you think!) Nor one nor t’other had slept a wink! The old Dutch clock and the Chinese plate Appeared to know as sure as fate There was going to be a terrible spat. ruther let Starvation wipe me slowly out o’ sight Than I should keep a-livin’ on an’ seein’ things at night! Eugene Field [1850-1895] THE DUEL The gingham dog and the calico cat Side by side on the table sat.but I do not pass my plate f’r them things twice! No. I’m only telling you What the old Dutch clock declares is true!) The Chinese plate looked very blue.

Where the wild men watched and waited. Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of song. my darling. wise guardians of the poor. Thousands of little boys and girls raising their innocent hands. And the wind in the woods a-roaring! Hush. and green. And that is how I came to know. Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of heaven among: Beneath them sit the aged men. Wolves in the forest. The hum of multitudes was there. their innocent faces clean. with wands as white as snow. 198 . And I on my path belated. with radiance all their own. but multitudes of lambs. William Blake [1757-1827] A STORY FOR A CHILD Little one. how the rain is pouring Over the roof. In just such a storm as this is! High up on the lonely mountains. Gray-headed beadles walked before. lest you drive an angel from your door. and bears in the bush.) Eugene Field [1850-1895] HOLY THURSDAY ’Twas on a Holy Thursday. in red. Father was lost in the pitch-black night. The rain and the night together Came down and the wind came after. come to my knee! Hark. Then pay for the story with kisses.But the truth about the cat and pup Is this: they ate each other up! Now what do you really think of that! (The old Dutch clock it told me so. Till into the high dome of Paul’s they like Thames waters flow. Came children walking two and two. Then cherish pity. Oh what a multitude they seemed. Bending the props of the pine-tree roof. in the pitch-black night. and listen. And snapping many a rafter. and blue. these flowers of London town! Seated in companies they sit.

in the stormy dark. And I have many curious things to show when you are there. I’ll snugly tuck you in!” ”Oh no. Side by side. be not frightened. Crouching. They never. ”’Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy. with soaring up so high. Stunned.” said the little Fly. from the blowing and raining. dear. Little one. Each of us went from our hiding-place Forth in the wild. And when the falling forest No longer crashed in warning. Crept to a fir with thick-set boughs. never wake again. how the wind is roaring. I sought to hide me: Something rustled. For who goes up your winding stair can ne’er come down again. ”Dear friend. kiss me payment! Hark. ”to ask me is in vain. the sheets are fine and thin. no. The way into my parlor is up a winding stair.” ”I’m sure you must be weary. Will you rest upon my little bed?” said the Spider to the Fly. There. and bruised. That beast and man was brother. two green eyes shone. what can I do To prove the warm affection I’ve always felt for you? 199 . ”There are pretty curtains drawn around.” ”Oh no. who sleep upon your bed!” Said the cunning Spider to the Fly. Hid from the awful weather. Father’s house is a better place When the stormy rain is pouring! Bayard Taylor [1825-1878] THE SPIDER AND THE FLY ”Will you walk into my parlor?” said the Spider to the Fly.” said the little Fly. no. long night. And a sheltering rock behind it. through the long. And if you like to rest a while. wet morning. Darling. ”for I’ve often heard it said. Each of us felt. I and the wolf together. Each of us warmed the other.I crept along in the darkness. And a wolf lay down beside me. and blinded. His wet fur pressed against me.

I have. Your robes are green and purple. then near and nearer drew. within my pantry. how brilliant are your eyes! I have a little looking-glass upon my parlor shelf. So he wove a subtle web in a little corner sly. ”for what you’re pleased to say. I’ve heard what’s in your pantry. and green and purple hue. you shall behold yourself. Mary Howitt [1799-1888] THE CAPTAIN’S DAUGHTER We were crowded in the cabin. with the pearl and silver wing. For well he knew the silly Fly would soon be back again. into his dismal den Within his little parlor . there’s a crest upon your head.” she said.poor foolish thing! At last. no. alas! how very soon this silly little Fly. ”Cut away the mast!” So we shuddered there in silence. To idle. flattering words. I’m sure you’re very welcome . dear little children. And take a lesson from this tale of the Spider and the Fly. ”Come hither. 200 . silly. It was midnight on the waters. and went into his den. How handsome are your gauzy wings. And a storm was on the deep. Your eyes are like the diamond bright. Up jumped the cunning Spider.” said the little Fly. and I do not wish to see!” ”Sweet creature. flattering words. ”kind sir. good store of all that’s nice. dear.” ”I thank you. ”you’re witty and you’re wise. Thinking only of her brilliant eyes. pretty Fly. If you’ll step in one moment.will you please to take a slice?” ”Oh no. and ear. hither. who may this story read. And bidding you good morning now. that cannot be. I’ll call another day. Not a soul would dare to sleep.” Alas. but mine are dull as lead. and fiercely held her fast. And to hear the rattling trumpet Thunder. gentle sir. Then he came out to his door again.but she ne’er came out again! And now. ’Tis a fearful thing in winter To be shattered by the blast. Unto an evil counsellor close heart. Hearing his wily.” The Spider turned him round about. and merrily did sing. And set his table ready to dine upon the Fly. Thinking only of her crested head . He dragged her up his winding stair. and eye. I pray you ne’er give heed.” said the Spider. came slowly flitting by: With buzzing wings she hung aloft.

aware of his intent. that all day long Had cheered the village with his song. And warbling out his approbation. Just the same as on the land?” Then we kissed the little maiden. Might beautify and cheer the night.” quoth he. But his little daughter whispered. ”As much as I your minstrelsy. When. As he staggered down the stairs. I with light. as my story tells. And we spake in better cheer. upon the ground. The keen demands of appetite. Began to feel. For ’twas the self-same Power Divine Taught you to sing. And found a supper somewhere else. As much as I to spoil your song. Each one busy with his prayers. Hence jarring sectaries may learn 201 . Released him. He spied far off. ”Isn’t God upon the ocean. And knew the glow-worm by his spark.For the stoutest held his breath. You would abhor to do me wrong. and me to shine. So. A something shining in the dark. Harangued him thus. James Thomas Fields [1816-1881] THE NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW-WORM A nightingale. And we anchored safe in harbor When the morn was shining clear. Nor yet at eve his note suspended. ”We are lost!” the captain shouted. He thought to put him in his crop.” The songster heard his short oration. That you with music. as well he might. While the hungry sea was roaring And the breakers talked with death. The worm. stooping down from hawthorn top. looking eagerly around. Nor yet when eventide was ended. As she took his icy hand. As thus we sat in darkness. right eloquent: ”Did you admire my lamp.

But waits till I come: that’s as much to my taste. His wings had had no chrism of gold: And his feathers felt withered and worn and old. then. I swear. Will change my brown feathers to a glory of gold.Their real interest to discern. ”Shine on me.with the strength of a lark he flew. And not one gleam of the golden hair Came through the depths of the misty air. shining out of its cloudy fold. To catch the first shine of your golden hair. and dropped like a stone. Sang the lark. and sank. and half love to be first. Peace both the duty and the prize Of him that creeps and him that flies.” And King Sun hid his head in a turban of cloud. I only am come. He faltered. The strong sun-seeker could do no more. I have flown right up. Respecting in each other’s case The gifts of nature and of grace. But sing and shine by sweet consent. And there on her nest. And his crown. my lord!” in the sky alone. weary with flying. quite vexed and cowed. a whole hour. ”Anon The wrath of the king will be over and gone. ”Sir Lark. And Sir Lark stopped singing. And worry and devour each other. 202 . Till life’s poor transient night is spent. my lord. and thought. where he left her. as he rose. William Cowper [1731-1808] SIR LARK AND KING SUN: A PARABLE From ”Adela Cathcart” ”Good morrow. Those Christians best deserve the name Who studiously make peace their aim. That brother should not war with brother. as the sun ascended his throne. to welcome you home. There’s many a bird makes no such haste.” ”Must I thank you. alone Sat his little wife on her little eggs. Of all your servants. But. But he flew up higher. the cloud rose too. with sighing sore.” So he flew . For flying so high and hating the dark? You ask a full cup for half a thirst: Half was love of me.” said the king. Till.

And so sweetly as she sung. I’ll dress you like a Goldfinch. Sir Lark! You look tired. That for wonder and awe Sir Lark grew cold. Or like a Peacock gay. I’ve been shining to your little wife all day. He doffed his hat to Jenny. And so glorious was she in russet gold. You shall dine on cherry pie. And thus to her he said: ”My dearest Jenny Wren. 203 . ”Welcome. no such thing! Full in her face was shining the king. So if you’ll have me. Jenny. Did I say alone? Ah. While you have been singing so high and away. Robin Redbreast lost his heart: He was a gallant bird. Let us appoint the day. And drink nice currant wine. And never dress too fine. And out of the midst shone her little brown breast. I take your offer kind Cherry pie is very good! So is currant wine! But I will wear my brown gown. So neatly as she danced. If you will but be mine.” said he. MERRY MARRIAGE. and lay As still as a stone. ”Up is not always the best way to me. And thus declared her mind: ”Then let it be to-morrow.” Robin rose up early At the break of day.Keeping them warm with wings and legs. till King Sun was away. AND PICNIC DINNER OF COCK ROBIN AND JENNY WREN It was a merry time When Jenny Wren was young.” Jenny blushed behind her fan. He popped his head under her wing. Bob.” He had set his crown all about the nest. George Macdonald [1824-1905] THE COURTSHIP.

He flew to Jenny Wren’s house. I think that your Cock Robin Is a very pretty bird. Then followed him the Lark. Then came the bride and bridegroom. And. And blushed so much. friend Robin Redbreast. To give away the bride. as she was a-walking. And one of Mother Hubbard’s books He held within his hand. mark. her cheeks were As red as Robin’s breast. Then he began again. To let the neighbors know. Quite plainly was she dressed. To sing a roundelay. That Goldfinch. And when he came unto the end. being bride’s maid. ”We’re going to be married And happy we shall be. And bid the Cock declare. He sang of Robin’s love For little Jenny Wren. But Robin cheered her up. ”Upon my word. Walked by Jenny’s side. She said. ”Pray. And he was to be clerk At Cock Robin’s wedding. ”My pretty Jen. For he could sweetly sing. This was his wedding-day With Jenny Wren. The Cock then blew his horn. With his spectacles and band. And first came Parson Rook.” The Bulfinch walked by Robin. dressed so gay. the fair. He met the Cock and Hen. And they might see the show.” The Goldfinch came on next. Yet Jenny’s modest dress and look 204 . This was Robin’s wedding-day.” said he. And thus to him did say. The Linnet. What though her gay apparel Becomes her very well.

Must bear away the bell.” The Blackbird and the Thrush, And charming Nightingale, Whose sweet jug sweetly echoes Through every grove and dale; The Sparrow and Tom Tit, And many more, were there: All came to see the wedding Of Jenny Wren, the fair. ”O then,” says Parson Rook, ”Who gives this maid away?” ”I do,” says the Goldfinch, ”And her fortune I will pay: Here’s a bag of grain of many sorts, And other things beside; Now happy be the bridegroom, And happy be the bride!” ”And will you have her, Robin, To be your wedded wife?” ”Yes, I will,” says Robin, ”And love her all my life.” ”And will you have him, Jenny, Your husband now to be?” ”Yes, I will,” says Jenny, ”And love him heartily.” Then on her finger fair Cock Robin put the ring; ”You’re married now,” says Parson Rook, While the Lark aloud did sing: ”Happy be the bridegroom, And happy be the bride! And may not man, nor bird, nor beast, This happy pair divide.” The birds were asked to dine; Not Jenny’s friends alone, But every pretty songster That had Cock Robin known. They had a cherry pie, Beside some currant wine, And every guest brought something, That sumptuous they might dine. Now they all sat or stood To eat and to drink; And every one said what 205

He happened to think: They each took a bumper, And drank to the pair: Cock Robin, the bridegroom, And Jenny Wren, the fair. The dinner-things removed, They all began to sing; And soon they made the place Near a mile round to ring. The concert it was fine; And every bird tried Who best could sing for Robin And Jenny Wren, the bride. Then in came the Cuckoo and made a great rout; He caught hold of Jenny and pulled her about. Cock Robin was angry, and so was the Sparrow, Who fetched in a hurry his bow and his arrow. His aim then he took, but he took it not right; His skill was not good, or he shot in a fright; For the Cuckoo he missed, but Cock Robin killed! And all the birds mourned that his blood was so spilled. Unknown THE BABES IN THE WOOD Now ponder well, you parents dear, These words, which I shall write; A doleful story you shall hear, In time brought forth to light. A gentleman of good account In Norfolk dwelt of late, Who did in honor far surmount Most men of his estate. Sore sick was he, and like to die, No help his life could save; His wife by him as sick did lie, And both possessed one grave. No love between these two was lost, Each was to other kind; In love they lived, in loved they died, And left two babes behind: The one a fine and pretty boy, Not passing three years old; The other a girl more young than he, 206

And framed in beauty’s mold. The father left his little son, As plainly does appear, When he to perfect age should come, Three hundred pounds a year. And to his little daughter Jane Five hundred pounds in gold, To be paid down on marriage-day, Which might not be controlled: But if the children chance to die, Ere they to age should come, Their uncle should possess their wealth; For so the will did run. ”Now, brother,” said the dying man, ”Look to my children dear; Be good unto my boy and girl, No friends else have they here: To God and you I recommend My children dear this day; But little while be sure we have Within this world to stay. ”You must be father and mother both, And uncle all in one; God knows what will become of them, When I am dead and gone.” With that bespake their mother dear, ”O brother kind,” quoth she, ”You are the man must bring our babes To wealth or misery. ”And if you keep them carefully Then God will you reward; But if you otherwise should deal, God will your deeds regard.” With lips as cold as any stone, They kissed their children small: ”God bless you both, my children dear;” With that the tears did fall. These speeches then their brother spake To this sick couple there, ”The keeping of your little ones, Sweet sister, do not fear; God never prosper me nor mine, Nor aught else that I have, If I do wrong your children dear, When you are laid in grave.” 207

The parents being dead and gone, The children home he takes, And brings them straight into his house, Where much of them he makes. He had not kept these pretty babes A twelvemonth and a day, But, for their wealth, he did devise To make them both away. He bargained with two ruffians strong, Which were of furious mood, That they should take these children young, And slay them in a wood. He told his wife an artful tale, He would the children send To be brought up in fair London, With one that was his friend. Away then went these pretty babes, Rejoicing at that tide, Rejoicing with a merry mind, They should on cock-horse ride. They prate and prattle pleasantly, As they rode on the way, To those that should their butchers be, And work their lives’ decay: So that the pretty speech they had, Made Murder’s heart relent; And they that undertook the deed, Full sore did now repent. Yet one of them more hard of heart, Did vow to do his charge, Because the wretch that hired him, Had paid him very large. The other won’t agree thereto, So here they fall to strife; With one another they did fight, About the children’s life: And he that was of mildest mood, Did slay the other there, Within an unfrequented wood; The babes did quake for fear! He took the children by the hand, Tears standing in their eye, And bade them straightway follow him, And look they did not cry: 208

And two long miles he led them on, While they for food complain: ”Stay here,” quoth he, ”I’ll bring you bread, When I come back again.” These pretty babes, with hand in hand, Went wandering up and down, But never more could see the man Approaching from the town; Their pretty lips with black-berries Were all besmeared and dyed, And, when they saw the darksome night, They sat them down and cried. Thus wandered these poor innocents, Till death did end their grief; In one another’s arms they died, As wanting due relief: No burial this pretty pair Of any man receives, Till Robin-red-breast piously Did cover them with leaves. And now the heavy wrath of God Upon their uncle fell; Yea, fearful fiends did haunt his house, His conscience felt an hell: His barns were fired, his goods consumed, His lands were barren made, His cattle died within the field, And nothing with him stayed. And in a voyage to Portugal Two of his sons did die; And, to conclude, himself was brought To want and misery: He pawned and mortgaged all his land Ere seven years came about, And now at length his wicked act Did by this means come out: The fellow, that did take in hand These children for to kill, Was for a robbery judged to die, Such was God’s blessed will: Who did confess the very truth As here hath been displayed: Their uncle having died in jail, Where he for debt was laid.


You that executors be made, And overseers eke Of children that be fatherless, And infants mild and meek; Take you example by this thing, And yield to each his right, Lest God with such like misery Your wicked minds requite. Unknown GOD’S JUDGMENT ON A WICKED BISHOP The summer and autumn had been so wet, That in winter the corn was growing yet: ’Twas a piteous sight to see, all around, The grain lie rotting on the ground. Every day the starving poor Crowded around Bishop Hatto’s door; For he had a plentiful last-year’s store, And all the neighborhood could tell His granaries were furnished well. At last Bishop Hatto appointed a day To quiet the poor without delay; He bade them to his great barn repair, And they should have food for the winter there. Rejoiced such tidings good to hear, The poor folk flocked from far and near; The great barn was full as it could hold Of women and children, and young and old. Then, when he saw it could hold no more, Bishop Hatto he made fast the door; And, while for mercy on Christ they call, He set fire to the barn, and burnt them all. ”I’ faith, ’tis an excellent bonfire!” quoth he; ”And the country is greatly obliged to me For ridding it, in these times forlorn, Of rats that only consume the corn.” So then to his palace returned he, And he sat down to supper merrily, And he slept that night like an innocent man; But Bishop Hatto never slept again. In the morning, as he entered the hall, 210

Where his picture hung against the wall, A sweat like death all over him came, For the rats had eaten it out of the frame. As he looked, there came a man from his farm, He had a countenance white with alarm: ”My Lord, I opened your granaries this morn, And the rats had eaten all your corn.” Another came running presently, And he was pale as pale could be. ”Fly! my Lord Bishop, fly!” quoth he, ”Ten thousand rats are coming this way, The Lord forgive you for yesterday!” ”I’ll go to my tower in the Rhine,” replied he; ”’Tis the safest place in Germany, The walls are high, and the shores are steep, And the tide is strong, and the water deep.” Bishop Hatto fearfully hastened away, And he crossed the Rhine without delay, And reached his tower, and barred with care All the windows, and doors, and loop-holes there. He laid him down and closed his eyes, But soon a scream made him arise; He started, and saw two eyes of flame On his pillow, from whence the screaming came. He listened and looked, - it was only the cat; But the Bishop he grew more fearful for that, For she sat screaming, mad with fear, At the army of rats that were drawing near. For they have swum over the river so deep, And they have climbed the shores so steep, And now by thousands up they crawl To the holes and the windows in the wall. Down on his knees the Bishop fell, And faster and faster his beads did he tell, As louder and louder, drawing near, The saw of their teeth without he could hear. And in at the windows, and in at the door, And through the walls by thousands they pour; And down from the ceiling and up through the floor, From the right and the left, from behind and before, From within and without, from above and below, 211

And all at once to the Bishop they go. They have whetted their teeth against the stones, And now they pick the Bishop’s bones; They gnawed the flesh from every limb, For they were sent to do judgment on him! Robert Southey [1774-1843] THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN A Child’s Story I Hamelin Town’s in Brunswick, By famous Hanover city; The river Weser, deep and wide, Washes its wall on the southern side; A pleasanter spot you never spied; But, when begins my ditty, Almost five hundred years ago, To see the townsfolk suffer so From vermin was a pity. II Rats! They fought the dogs and killed the cats, And bit the babies in the cradles, And ate the cheeses out of the vats, And licked the soup from the cooks’ own ladles, Split open the kegs of salted sprats, Made nests inside men’s Sunday hats, And even spoiled the women’s chats By drowning their speaking With shrieking and squeaking In fifty different sharps and flats. III At last the people in a body To the Town Hall came flocking: ”’Tis clear,” cried they, ”our Mayor’s a noddy; And as for our Corporation, - shocking To think we buy gowns lined with ermine For dolts that can’t or won’t determine What’s best to rid us of our vermin! You hope, because you’re old and obese, To find in the furry civic robe ease? Rouse up, sirs! Give your brains a racking, To find the remedy we’re lacking, Or, sure as fate, we’ll send you packing!” At this the Mayor and Corporation 212

I wish I were a mile hence! It’s easy to bid one rack one’s brain. what should hap At the chamber-door but a gentle tap? ”Bless us. With sharp blue eyes. I’ve scratched it so.Quaked with a mighty consternation. Nor brighter was his eye. There was no guessing his kith and kin: And nobody could enough admire The tall man and his quaint attire. a trap. IV An hour they sat in council.” cried the Mayor.” said he. each like a pin. And light loose hair. No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin. and all in vain. I’m able. At length the Mayor broke silence: ”For a guilder I’d my ermine gown sell. Save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous For a plate of turtle green and glutinous) ”Only a scraping of shoes on the mat? Anything like the sound of a rat Makes my heart go pit-a-pat!” V ”Come in!” the Mayor cried. looking bigger: And in did come the strangest figure! His queer long coat from heel to head Was half of yellow and half of red. ”Please your honors. nor moister Than a too-long-opened oyster. I’m sure my poor head aches again. to draw All creatures living beneath the sun. Looking little though wondrous fat. By means of a secret charm. Oh for a trap. ”what’s that?” (With the Corporation as he sat. Had walked this way from his painted tombstone!” VI He advanced to the council-table: And. And he himself was tall and thin. Quoth one: ”It’s as my great-grandsire. After me so as you never saw! And I chiefly use my charm On creatures that do people harm. But lips where smiles went out and in. a trap!” Just as he said this. That creep or swim or fly or run. 213 . yet swarthy skin. Starting up at the Trump of Doom’s tone.

The mole and toad and newt and viper; And people call me the Pied Piper.” (And here they noticed round his neck A scarf of red and yellow stripe, To match with his coat of the self-same check, And at the scarf’s end hung a pipe; And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying As if impatient to he playing Upon this pipe, as low it dangled Over his vesture so old-fangled.) ”Yet,” said he, ”poor piper as I am, In Tartary I freed the Cham, Last June, from his huge swarms of gnats; I eased in Asia the Nizam Of a monstrous brood of vampire-bats; And as for what your brain bewilders, If I can rid your town of rats, Will you give me a thousand guilders?” ”One? fifty thousand!” was the exclamation Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation. VII Into the street the Piper stepped, Smiling first a little smile, As if he knew what magic slept In his quiet pipe the while; Then, like a musical adept, To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled, And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled, Like a candle-flame where salt is sprinkled; And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered, You heard as if an army muttered; And the muttering grew to a grumbling; And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling; And out of the houses the rats came tumbling. Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats, Brown rats, black rats, gray rats, tawny rats, Grave old plodders, gay young friskers, Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins, Cocking tails and pricking whiskers; Families by tens and dozens, Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives, Followed the Piper for their lives. From street to street he piped advancing, And step for step they followed dancing, Until they came to the river Weser, Wherein all plunged and perished! - Save one who, stout as Julius Caesar, Swam across and lived to carry (As he, the manuscript he cherished) 214

To Rat-land home his commentary, Which was: ”At the first shrill notes of the pipe, I heard a sound as of scraping tripe, And putting apples, wondrous ripe, Into a cider-press’s gripe, And a moving away of pickle-tub-boards, And a leaving ajar of conserve-cupboards, And a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks, And a breaking the hoops of butter-casks; And it seemed as if a voice (Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery Is breathed) called out, ’Oh rats, rejoice! The world is grown to one vast drysaltery! So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon, Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!’ And just as a bulky sugar-puncheon, Already staved, like a great sun shone Glorious scarce an inch before me, Just as methought it said, ’Come, bore me!’ I found the Weser rolling o’er me.” VIII You should have heard the Hamelin people Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple; ”Go,” cried the Mayor, ”and get long poles! Poke out the nests and block up the holes! Consult with carpenters and builders, And leave in our town not even a trace Of the rats!” - when suddenly, up the face Of the Piper perked in the market-place, With a ”First, if you please, my thousand guilders!” IX A thousand guilders! the Mayor looked blue; So did the Corporation too. For council-dinners made rare havoc With Claret, Moselle, Via-de-Grave, Hock; And half the money would replenish Their cellar’s biggest butt with Rhenish. To pay this sum to a wandering fellow With a gypsy coat of red and yellow! ”Beside,” quoth the Mayor, with a knowing wink, ”Our business was done at the river’s brink; We saw with our eyes the vermin sink, And what’s dead can’t come to life, I think. So, friend, we’re not the folks to shrink From the duty of giving you something to drink, And a matter of money to put in your poke; But as for the guilders, what we spoke Of them, as you very well know, was in joke. 215

Beside, our losses have made us thrifty; A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty!” X The Piper’s face fell, and he cried, ”No trifling! I can’t wait! beside, I’ve promised to visit by dinner time Bagdat, and accept the prime Of the Head Cook’s pottage, all he’s rich in, For having left, in the Caliph’s kitchen, Of a nest of scorpions no survivor: With him I proved no bargain-driver; With you, don’t think I’ll bate a stiver! And folks who put me in a passion May find me pipe after another fashion.” XI ”How?” cried the Mayor, ”d’ye think I brook Being worse treated than a Cook? Insulted by a lazy ribald With idle pipe and vesture piebald? You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst, Blow your pipe there till you burst!” XII Once more he stepped into the street; And to his lips again Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane; And ere he blew three notes (such sweet Soft notes as yet musician’s cunning Never gave the enraptured air) There was a rustling that seemed like a bustling Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling; Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering, Little hands clapping, and little tongues chattering; And, like fowls in a farm-yard when barley is scattering, Out came the children running: All the little boys and girls, With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls, And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls, Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after The wonderful music with shouting and laughter. XIII The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood As if they were changed into blocks of wood, Unable to move a step, or cry To the children merrily skipping by, And could only follow with the eye That joyous crowd at the Piper’s back. 216

But how the Mayor was on the rack, And the wretched Council’s bosoms beat, As the Piper turned from the High Street To where the Weser rolled its waters Right in the way of their sons and daughters! However, he turned from south to west, And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed, And after him the children pressed; Great was the joy in every breast. ”He never can cross that mighty top! He’s forced to let the piping drop, And we shall see our children stop!” When, lo, as they reached the mountain-side, A wondrous portal opened wide, As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed; And the Piper advanced and the children followed; And when all were in, to the very last, The door in the mountain-side shut fast. Did I say, all? No! One was lame, And could not dance the whole of the way; And in after years, if you would blame His sadness, he was used to say, ”It’s dull in our town since my playmates left! I can’t forget that I’m bereft Of all the pleasant sights they see, Which the Piper also promised me; For he led us, he said, to a joyous land, Joining the town and just at hand, Where waters gushed, and fruit-trees grew, And flowers put forth a fairer hue, And everything was strange and new; The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here, And their dogs outran our fallow deer, And honey-bees had lost their stings, And horses were born with eagles’ wings; And just as I became assured My lame foot would be speedily cured, The music stopped and I stood still, And found myself outside the hill, Left alone against my will, To go now limping as before, And never hear of that country more! XIV Alas, alas for Hamelin! There came into many a burgher’s pate A text which says that heaven’s gate Opes to the rich at as easy rate As the needle’s eye takes a camel in! The Mayor sent East, West, North and South, 217

To offer the Piper, by word of mouth, Wherever it was men’s lot to find him, Silver and gold to his heart’s content, If he’d only return the way he went, And bring the children behind him. But when they saw ’twas a lost endeavor, And piper and dancers were gone forever, They made a decree that lawyers never Should think their records dated duly If, after the day of the month and year, These words did not as well appear, ”And so long after what happened here On the Twenty-second of July, Thirteen hundred and seventy-six:” And the better in memory to fix The place of the children’s last retreat, They called it, the Pied Piper’s Street Where any one playing on pipe or tabor Was sure for the future to lose his labor. Nor suffered they hostlery or tavern To shock with mirth a street so solemn; But opposite the place of the cavern They wrote the story on a column, And on the great church-window painted The same, to make the world acquainted How their children were stolen away, And there it stands to this very day. And I must not omit to say That in Transylvania there’s a tribe Of alien people who ascribe The outlandish ways and dress On which their neighbors lay such stress, To their fathers and mothers having risen Out of some subterraneous prison Into which they were trepanned Long time ago in a mighty band Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land, But how or why, they don’t understand. XV So, Willy, let me and you be wipers Of scores out with all men - especially pipers! And, whether they pipe us free from rats or from mice, If we’ve promised them aught, let us keep our promise! Robert Browning [1812-1889] THE GLAD EVANGEL A CAROL 218

He came all so still Where His mother was, As dew in April That falleth on the grass. He came all so still Where His mother lay, As dew in April That falleth on the spray. He came all so still To His mother’s bower, As dew in April That falleth on the flower. Mother and maiden Was never none but she! Well might such a lady God’s mother be. Unknown ”GOD REST YOU MERRY, GENTLEMEN” God rest you merry, gentlemen, Let nothing you dismay, For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, Was born upon this day, To save us all from Satan’s power When we were gone astray. O tidings of comfort and joy! For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, Was born on Christmas Day. In Bethlehem, in Jewry, This blessed babe was born, And laid within a manger, Upon this blessed morn; The which His mother, Mary, Nothing did take in scorn. From God our Heavenly Father, A blessed angel came; And unto certain shepherds Brought tidings of the same: How that in Bethlehem was born The Son of God by name. ”Fear not,” then said the angel, 219

”Let nothing you affright, This day is born a Saviour Of virtue, power, and might, So frequently to vanquish all The friends of Satan quite.” The shepherds at these tidings Rejoiced much in mind, And left their flocks a-feeding In tempest, storm, and wind, And went to Bethlehem straightway, This blessed babe to find. But when to Bethlehem they came, Whereat this infant lay, They found Him in a manger, Where oxen feed on hay, His mother Mary kneeling, Unto the Lord did pray. Now to the Lord sing praises, All you within this place, And with true love and brotherhood Each other now embrace; This holy tide of Christmas All others doth deface. O tidings of comfort and joy! For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, Was born in Christmas Day. Unknown ”O LITTLE TOWN OF BETHLEHEM” O little town of Bethlehem, How still we see thee lie! Above thy deep and dreamless sleep The silent stars go by; Yet in thy dark streets shineth The everlasting Light; The hopes and fears of all the years Are met in thee to-night. For Christ is born of Mary, And, gathered all above, While mortals sleep, the angels keep Their watch of wondering love. O morning stars, together Proclaim the holy birth! 220

And praises sing to God the King, And peace to men on earth. How silently, how silently, The wondrous gift is given! So God imparts to human hearts The blessings of His heaven. No ear may hear His coming, But in this world of sin, Where meek souls will receive Him still, The dear Christ enters in. O holy Child of Bethlehem! Descend to us, we pray; Cast out our sin, and enter in, Be born in us to-day. We hear the Christmas angels The great glad tidings tell; Oh come to us, abide with us, Our Lord Emmanuel! Phillips Brooks [1835-1893] A CHRISTMAS HYMN Old Style: 1837 It was the calm and silent night! Seven hundred years and fifty-three Had Rome been growing up to might, And now was Queen of land and sea. No sound was heard of clashing wars; Peace brooded o’er the hushed domain; Apollo, Pallas, Jove and Mars, Held undisturbed their ancient reign, In the solemn midnight Centuries ago. ’Twas in the calm and silent night! The senator of haughty Rome Impatient urged his chariot’s flight, From lordly revel rolling home. Triumphal arches gleaming swell His breast with thoughts of boundless sway; What recked the Roman what befell A paltry province far away, In the solemn midnight Centuries ago! Within that province far away Went plodding home a weary boor: 221

in David’s town. How calm a moment may precede One that shall thrill the world for ever! To that still moment none would heed. Fall’n through a half-shut stable door Across his path.low and high Drowsed over common joys and cares: The earth was still . The air how calm and cold and thin. He passed . The angel of the Lord came down. To it a happy name is given. Alfred Domett [1811-1887] ”WHILE SHEPHERDS WATCHED THEIR FLOCKS BY NIGHT” While shepherds watched their flocks by night. For in that stable lay new-born The peaceful Prince of Earth and Heaven. It is the calm and solemn night! A thousand bells ring out. ”Glad tidings of great joy I bring To you and all mankind. Man’s doom was linked. And this shall be the sign: 222 . who is Christ the Lord. How keen the stars! his only thought. of David’s line. In the solemn midnight Centuries ago. no more to sever. this day Is born. The night that erst no name had worn. In the solemn midnight Centuries ago! O strange indifference! . and throw Their joyous peals abroad. In the solemn midnight Centuries ago. And glory shone around.A streak of light before him lay. and smite The darkness. All seated on the ground. ”Fear not. ”To you. charmed and holy now.but knew not why. The world was listening . The Saviour.unawares.” said he.for naught Told what was going on within. for mighty dread Had seized their troubled mind.

All meanly wrapped in swaddling bands. and forthwith Appeared a shining throng Of angels. Whose forms are bending low. But with the woes of sin and strife The world has suffered long.” Nahum Tate [1652-1715] CHRISTMAS CAROLS It came upon the midnight clear. Good will henceforth from Heaven to men Begin and never cease. And man. Above its sad and lowly plains They bend on hovering wing. beneath life’s crushing load. who thus Addressed their joyful song: ”All glory be to God on high. From angels bending near the earth To touch their harps of gold: ”Peace on the earth. And hear the angels sing! And ye.” Thus spake the seraph. at war with man. hears not The love-song which they bring. 223 . good will to men From heaven’s all-gracious King” The world in solemn stillness lay To hear the angels sing. Beneath the angel-strain have rolled Two thousand years of wrong. Oh. hush the noise. Still through the cloven skies they come With peaceful wings unfurled.”The heavenly babe you there shall find To human view displayed. That glorious song of old. And ever o’er its Babel-sounds The blessed angels sing. And still their heavenly music floats O’er all the weary world. ye men of strife. And in a manger laid. praising God. And to the earth be peace. Who toil along the climbing way With painful steps and slow.

And lifting up a fearful eye To view what fire was near. through the air the angels swarm. William Drummond [1585-1649] THE BURNING BABE As I in hoary winter’s night Stood shivering in the snow. peace unto the earth! Thus singing. rest beside the weary road And hear the angels sing! For lo! the days are hastening on By prophet bards foretold. run. Edmund Hamilton Sears [1810-1876] THE ANGELS From ”Flowers of Sion” Run. run where Bethlehem blest appears. Amidst heaven’s rolling heights this earth who stayed. There is he poorly swaddled. be not dismayed: A Saviour there is born more old than years. Who. And the whole world give back the song Which now the angels sing. When Peace shall over all the earth Its ancient splendors fling. Surprised I was with sudden heat Which made my heart to glow. We bring the best of news. Which with His tears were bred: 224 . a virgin maid. In a poor cottage inned. grown great with bliss.Look now! for glad and golden hours Come swiftly on the wing. Oh. shepherds. To whom too narrow swaddlings are our spheres: Run. and solemnize his birth. who all upbears. scorched with excessive heat. Such floods of tears did shed. A weakling did him bear. shepherds. A pretty babe all burning bright Did in the air appear. This is that night . When with the ever circling years Comes round the age of gold. And cope of stars re-echoed the same. As though His floods should quench His flames. in manger laid. In which the power of Satan broken is: In heaven be day.

The fuel Justice layeth on. Amen: But sore am I with Vaine Travel! The Ox is host in Judah stall And Host of more than onelie one. ”but newly born In fiery heats I fry. Amen: But O. and sighs the smoke. The fuel. The ashes. So will I melt into a bath.”Alas!” quoth He. Yet none approach to warm their hearts Or feel my fire but I! ”My faultless breast the furnace is. And Mercy blows the coals. shames and scorns.” With this He vanished out of sight And swiftly shrunk away. Love is the fire. And soone arrive both King and Hinde: Amen. as now on fire I am To work them to their good. Our Ladye without Sinne. To wash them in my blood. For close she gathereth withal Our Lorde her littel Sonne. And from the Snowe he calls her inne. forspent. Around her feet Full Warme and Sweete His bowerie Breath doth meeklie dwell: Amen. And straight I called unto mind That it was Christmas Day. And on his lovelie Neck. The metal in this furnace wrought Are men’s defiled souls: For which. the Place co’d I but finde! The Ox hath hushed his voyce and bent Trewe eyes of Pitty ore the Mow. Now soone from Sleep A Starre shall leap. 225 . Robert Southwell [1561?-1595] TRYSTE NOEL The Ox he openeth wide the Doore. And he hath seen her Smile therefor. wounding thorns. The Blessed layes her Browe.

And Mary’s son at midnight Was born to be our King. Thus did the angel sing. ”This night shall be the birthnight Of Christ our heavenly King.Glad Hinde and King Their Gyfte may bring. Then be you glad. But wo’d to-night my Teares were there. Amen. Amen: Between her Bosom and His hayre! Louise Imogen Guiney [1861-1920] CHRISTMAS CAROL As Joseph was a-waukin’. good people. ”He neither shall be clothed In purple nor in pall. ”He neither shall be washen With white wine nor with red. ”His birth-bed shall be neither In housen nor in hall. ”He neither shall be rocked In silver nor in gold. And light you up your candles. At this time of the year.” As Joseph was a-waukin’. For His star it shineth clear. But in the fair. He heard an angel sing. But in the wooden manger That lieth in the mould. white linen That usen babies all. Nor in the place of paradise. But with the fair spring water That on you shall be shed. Unknown ”BRIGHTEST AND BEST OF THE SONS OF THE MORNING” 226 . But in the oxen’s stall.

Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor. Myrrh from the forest. And wild and sweet The words repeat Of peace on earth. ringing.Brightest and best of the Sons of the morning! Dawn on our darkness and lend us thine aid! Star of the East. in costly devotion. accursed mouth The cannon thundered in the South. Vainly with gifts would His favor secure: Richer by far is the heart’s adoration. The world revolved from night to day. good-will to men! Till. as the day had come. a chime. Maker and Monarch and Saviour of all! Say. the horizon adorning. A chant sublime Of peace on earth. And with the sound 227 . good-will to men! And thought how. Guide where our Infant Redeemer is laid! Cold on His cradle the dewdrops are shining. shall we yield Him. Low lies His head with the beasts of the stall. A voice. singing on its way. familiar carols play. Guide where our Infant Redeemer is laid! Reginald Heber [1783-1826] CHRISTMAS BELLS I heard the bells on Christmas Day Their old. or gold from the mine? Vainly we offer each ample oblation. Brightest and best of the Sons of the morning! Dawn on our darkness and lend us thine aid! Star of the East. The belfries of all Christendom Had rolled along The unbroken song Of peace on earth. the horizon adorning. Odors of Edom and offerings divine? Gems of the mountain and pearls of the ocean. good-will to men! Then from each black. Angels adore Him in slumber reclining.

good-will to men!” Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [1807-1882] A CHRISTMAS CAROL The Christ-child lay on Mary’s lap. His hair was like a star. And mocks the song Of peace on earth. But here is all aright. weary were the world. nor doth He sleep! The Wrong shall fail.) The Christ-child lay on Mary’s breast. His hair was like a crown. good-will to men! And in despair I bowed my head. good-will to men! It was as if an earthquake rent The hearth-stones of a continent.) The Christ-child lay on Mary’s heart. With peace on earth. good-will to men!” Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: ”God is not dead.) The Christ-child stood at Mary’s knee. ”There is no peace on earth. (O weary. (O stern and cunning are the kings. But here the true hearts are.” I said. His hair was like a fire. Gilbert Keith Chesterton [1874-1936] THE HOUSE OF CHRISTMAS 228 . ”For hate is strong. weary is the world.The carols drowned Of peace on earth. And all the flowers looked up at Him. But here the world’s desire. His hair was like a light. (O weary. And made forlorn The households born Of peace on earth. The Right prevail. And all the stars looked down.

229 . Only where He was homeless Are you and I at home. Here we have battle and blazing eyes. And they lay their heads in a foreign land Whenever the day is done.There fared a mother driven forth Out of an inn to long ago! In a place no chart nor ship can show Under the sky’s dome. But our homes are under miraculous skies Where the yule tale was begun. We have hands that fashion and heads that know. Grew a stronger thing to abide and stand Than the square stones of Rome. This world is wild as an old wives’ tale. In the place where she was homeless All men are at home. And strange the plain things are. To the end of the way of the wandering star. But our hearts we lost . Where the beasts feed and foam. And strangers under the sun. To the things that cannot be and that are. To the place where God was homeless And all men are at home. But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swings And our peace is put in impossible things Where clashed and thundered unthinkable wings Round an incredible star. Gilbert Keith Chesterton [1874-1936] THE FEAST OF THE SNOW There is heard a hymn when the panes are dim. The crazy stable close at hand. For men are homesick in their homes. To an open house in the evening Home shall men come. And chance and honor and high surprise. A Child in a foul stable. The earth is enough and the air is enough For our wonder and our war. With shaking timber and shifting sand. To an older place than Eden And a taller town than Rome.

Where the Child in the frost is furled. Suddenly a flaming star through the heavens sped. At the inn at the end of the world. ”O my Love.” said Mary. my bride. ”Baby. Gilbert Keith Chesterton [1874-1936] MARY’S BABY Joseph. The gods lie dead where the leaves lie red. bent above the straw: A pale girl. Dear. And a Child comes forth alone. I pity thee!” ”Nay. And the dark is alive with rain. Angels leading shepherds. she showed them that her Child was fair. The gods lie cold where the leaves are gold. shepherds leading sheep: The silence of worship broke the mother’s sleep.And never before or again. For the flame of the sun is flown. my baby. O my babe. my Mary. suffering he saw. majesty and pride. Never we know but in sleet and snow The place where the great fires are. Smiling. Suddenly on Calvary all the olives wept. maid Mary said. And the heart of the earth a star.” and the Baby slept. We follow the feet where all souls meet. All the meek and lowly of all the world were there. That the midst of earth is a raging mirth. When the nights are strong with a darkness long. Worldly might and wisdom before the Babe bent low: Weeping. Suddenly the golden night all with music rang. Shaemas OSheel [1886GATES AND DOORS A Ballad of Christmas Eve There was a gentle hostler 230 .” kissing Him she said.” she sang. And at night we win to the ancient inn. ”all is well with me!” ”Baby. a frail girl. Three old men and weary knelt them side by side. The world’s wealth forswearing. mild and noble. ”I love Him so!” ”Baby. my baby. my baby.

Joseph. To humble folk and weary Give hearty welcoming. His heart was full of laughter. Lest weary People visit you And find their Passage barred. His soul was full of bliss When Jesus. He gave them food and bed. Unlock the door this evening And let your gate swing wide. And Jesus Christ has given him An everlasting crown. Let all who ask for shelter Come speedily inside. There was a courteous hostler (He is in Heaven to-night) He held Our Lady’s bridle And helped her to alight. Unbar your heart this evening And keep no stranger out. Our Lady and St. Take from your soul’s great portal The barrier of doubt. There was a joyous hostler Who knelt on Christmas morn Beside the radiant manger Wherein his Lord was born. What if your yard be narrow? What if your house be small? There is a Guest is coming Will glorify it all. And Jesus Christ has given him A glory round his head. 231 . He spread clean straw before her Whereon she might lie down. So let the gate swing open However poor the yard.(And blessed be his name!) He opened up the stable The night Our Lady came. Unlatch the door at midnight And let your lantern’s glow Shine out to guide the traveler’s feet To you across the snow. Gave him His hand to kiss. on His Mother’s lap.

”Good people. Three caskets of gold with golden keys. And sometimes they nodded with beard on breast. And said. And bring me tidings of this new king. and who cannot wait. And by this they knew that the coming was near Of the Prince foretold in the prophecy. And when they came to Jerusalem. Joyce Kilmer [1886-1918] THE THREE KINGS Three Kings came riding from far away. Their turbans like blossoming almond-trees. With the people they met at some wayside well. Herod the Great. ”Of the child that is born.Your breast shall be to-morrow The cradle of a King. with rows Of bells and pomegranates and furbelows. To find and worship the King of the Jews. over hill and dell. Sent for the Wise Men and questioned them. wonderful star. Melchior and Gaspar and Baltasar. Three Wise Men out of the East were they. ”You ask in vain. 232 .” said Baltasar. As they spurred their horses across the plain Like riders in haste. tell us the news. That all the other stars of the sky Became a white mist in the atmosphere. For their guide was a beautiful. And so the Three Kings rode into the West. For we in the East have seen his star. and have ridden far. as they paused to rest. who had heard this thing. I pray you. Three caskets they bore on their saddle-bows. And sometimes talked. large and clear. Their robes were of crimson silk. And they travelled by night and they slept by day. And have ridden fast. We know of no king but Herod the Great!” They thought the Wise Men were men insane. Through the dusk of night. ”Go down unto Bethlehem.” So they rode away. The star was so beautiful. and the star stood still.” And the people answered.

it stood still of its own free will. till their horses turned And neighed as they entered the great inn-yard. His mother. Her heart was troubled yet comforted. Yes. Through the silent street. And cradled there in the scented hay. . have broken 233 . For they knew his malice and feared his hate. and the doors were barred. The little child in the manger lay. The frankincense. But the windows were closed. And only a light in the stable burned. with its odor sweet. Then the Kings rode out of the city gate. But they went not back to Herod the Great. For the joy of life and the terror of death Were mingled together in her breast. The Child that would be King one day Of a kingdom not human. where Christ was born. the Paraclete. Was for the Priest. With a clatter of hoofs in proud array. In the air made sweet by the breath of kine. they say. Remembering what the Angel had said Of an endless reign and of David’s throne. And returned to their homes by another way. Baby dear. And the Three Kings rode through the gate and the guard. Watching the even flow of his breath. The myrrh for the body’s burying. Right over Bethlehem on the hill. And the mother wondered and bowed her head. but divine. Mary of Nazareth. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [1807-1882] LULLABY IN BETHLEHEM There hath come an host to see Thee. For the heavens. And sat as still as a statue of stone.The only one in the gray of morn. it stopped. They laid their offerings at his feet: The gold was their tribute to a King. Sat watching beside his place of rest. Bearded men with eyes of flame And lips of fear. The city of David.

myrrh. Mary and Christ in Bethlehem. I know. And the costly gowns that fold Thee. They draw near. behold. and gold. God’s holy angels sang to them. Yea. they say. The hay was soft to Him. Our little Lord of long ago.and fast I hold Thee. They brought Him incense. Henry Howarth Bashford [1880A CHILD’S SONG OF CHRISTMAS My counterpane is soft as silk. Mary and Christ in Bethlehem. And the Lord. The stable-doves they cooed to them. hath spoken In a little wondrous story. Baby dear. Baby dear. And bright upon my Christmas gifts. And a blazing star hath led them. Crowned with gold. And my fear. though all the world should woo Thee. I have neither jade nor jasper. My blankets white as creamy milk. Bright shines the sun across the drifts. Baby dear. Thou art all my hope and glory. Our little Lord who lived of old. They have brought rare silks to bind Thee. and clad in purple.Into blinding gulfs of glory. they spread them. Baby dear. 234 . soft and clear our mother sings Of Christmas joys and Christmas things. There have come three kings to greet Thee. Our hearts they hold all Christmas dear. Above the roofs the pigeons fly In silver wheels across the sky. Oh. Yet for all the gems that strew Thee. From their thrones they sprang to find Thee. Thou art mine . At Thy feet. Baby dear.

His eyes they keep a-sayin’: ”What’s the matter. havin’ been a boy hisself. suspicions me When jest ’fore Christmas. an’ ”Yessur” to the men. C. I’ll be a missionarer like her oldest brother. Mother calls me Willie. heaven was in His sight. That little Child of long ago. an’ don’t wear out yer shoes. with its lots an’ lots of candies. little Bill?” The old cat sneaks down off her perch an’ wonders what’s become Of them two enemies of hern that used to make things hum! But I am so perlite an’ ’tend so earnestly to biz. Nor read the Life of Daniel Boone. so solemn-like an’ still. when I’m good as I kin be! And then old Sport he hangs around. an’ only man is vile! But gran’ma she has never been to see a Wild West show. Dan. But jest ’fore Christmas I’m as good as I kin be! Got a yeller dog named Sport. I know. the whole year round. Marjorie L. First thing she knows she doesn’t know where she is at! Got a clipper sled. an’ mind yer p’s an’ q’s.And earth seems sweet and heaven seems near. An’ don’t bust out yer pantaloons. He reaches at us with his whip. but the fellers call me Bill! Mighty glad I ain’t a girl . an’ things that’s worn by Fauntleroy! Love to chawnk green apples an’ go swimmin’ in the lake Hate to take the castor-ile they give for belly-ache! ’Most all the time. Without them sashes. for proper kids an’ not for naughty boys. Pickthall [1883-1922] JEST ’FORE CHRISTMAS Father calls me William. an’ larrups up his hoss. 235 . sister calls me Will. Where every prospeck pleases. ye never teched me!” But jest ’fore Christmas I’m as good as I kin be! Gran’ma says she hopes that when I git to be a man. an’ when us kids goes out to slide. ”Oh. Oh. they say. don’t pass yer plate for pie again. As was et up by the cannibuls that lives in Ceylon’s Isle. there ain’t no flies on me. ’Long comes the grocery cart an’ we all hook a ride! But sometimes when the grocery man is worrited an’ cross. An’ then I laff an’ holler. That mother says to father: ”How improved our Willie is!” But father. So wash yer face an’ bresh yer hair. Was made. cakes an’ toys. curls. I’m as good as I kin be! For Christmas. sick him on the cat. or else I guess she’d know That Buff’lo Bill and cow-boys is good enough for me! Excep’ jest ’fore Christmas.ruther be a boy. Say ”Yessum” to the ladies. An’ when they’s company.

Jest ’fore Christmas be as good as yer kin be! Eugene Field [1850-1895] A VTSTT FROM ST. And he whistled. I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack. A bundle of toys he had flung on his back. NICHOLAS ’Twas the night before Christmas. what to my wondering eyes should appear. Comet! on Cupid! on. His eyes . In hopes that St. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care. I knew in a moment it must be St. As I drew in my head. from his head to his foot. thinking of the things yer’d like to see upon that tree. Nick. He had a broad face and a little round belly. his nose like a cherry! His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow. When.But. The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below. Dancer! now. Prancer and Vixen! On. in a twinkling. And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot. And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow. and shouted. so lively and quick. But a miniature sleigh. Nicholas too. and I in my cap. Nicholas came with a bound. And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath. and was turning they twinkled! his dimples how merry! His cheeks were like roses. And mamma in her ’kerchief. and eight tiny reindeer. When they meet with an obstacle. And then. Donder and Blitzen! To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!” As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly. ”Now. When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter. not even a mouse. I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. With the sleigh full of toys. The children were nestled all snug in their beds. With a little old driver. Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. and St. 236 . Dasher! now. mount to the sky. when all through the house Not a creature was stirring. So up to the house-top the coursers they flew. Nicholas soon would be there. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came. While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads. Away to the window I flew like a flash. Down the chimney St. and called them by name. Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap. He was dressed all in fur.

and For good success in his spending. A wink of his eye and a twist of his head. And giving a nod. For so the holy sages once did sing That he our deadly forfeit should release. merry boys. in spite of myself. The Christmas log to the firing. He sprang to his sleigh. For the rare mince-pie And the plums stand by To fill the paste that’s a-kneading. While my good dame.” Clement Clarke Moore [1779-1863] CEREMONIES FOR CHRISTMAS Come. and to all a good-night. when he laughed. Our great redemption from above did bring. And filled all the stockings. Of wedded maid and virgin mother born. to his team gave a whistle. And with his Father work us a perpetual peace. Drink now the strong beer. He was chubby and plump. Cut the white loaf here. Robert Herrick [1591-1674] ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST’S NATIVITY This is the month. up the chimney he rose. then turned with a jerk. And laying his finger aside of his nose. The while the meat is a-shredding. ere he drove out of sight. And I laughed when I saw him. And away they all flew like the down of a thistle. That sweet luck may Come while the log is a-tending. a right jolly old elf. With the last year’s brand Light the new block. like a bowlful of jelly. But I heard him exclaim. but went straight to his work. And drink to your hearts’ desiring. Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. On your psaltries play.That shook. she Bids ye all be free. 237 . ”Happy Christmas to all. He spoke not a word. bring with a noise. and this the happy morn Wherein the Son of Heaven’s Eternal King. My merry.

or solemn strain To welcome him to this his new abode. THE HYMN It was the winter wild While the heaven-born Child All meanly wrapped in the rude manger lies. came softly sliding Down through the turning sphere. no hymn. 238 . Forsook the courts of everlasting day. here with us to be. that her Maker’s eyes Should look so near upon her foul deformities. Have thou the honor first thy Lord to greet. Confounded. prevent them with thy humble ode And lay it lowly at his blessed feet. And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay. But he. He laid aside. The star-led wizards haste with odors sweet! O run. that Light unsufferable. Pollute with sinful blame. Now while the heaven. by the sun’s team untrod. Say. Only with speeches fair She woos the gentle air To hide her guilty front with innocent snow. She. With her great Master so to sympathize: It was no season then for her To wanton with the sun. and. And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright? See how from far. Heavenly Muse. And that far-beaming blaze of Majesty Wherewith he wont at Heaven’s high council-ta To sit the midst of Trinal Unity. shall not thy sacred vein Afford a present to the Infant God? Hast thou no verse. upon the eastern road. Sent down the meek-eyed Peace. crowned with olive green. The saintly veil of maiden white to throw.That glorious Form. Hath took no print of the approaching light. And on her naked shame. her fears to cease. And join thy voice unto the angel choir From out his secret altar touched with hallowed fire. her lusty paramour. Nature in awe to Him Had doffed her gaudy trim. With turtle wing and amorous clouds dividing. His ready harbinger.

Or Lucifer that often warned them thence. The hooked chariot stood Unstained with hostile blood. And kings sat still with awful eye. with deep amaze. The shepherds on the lawn Or ere the point of dawn Sat simply chatting in a rustic row. Bending one way their precious influence. Perhaps their loves. While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave. As his inferior flame The new-enlightened world no more should need. When such music sweet Their hearts and ears did greet 239 . As if they surely knew their sovereign Lord was by. or else their sheep. Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep. The trumpet spake not to the armed throng. She strikes a universal peace through sea and land. No war. And will not take their flight For all the morning light.And waving wide her myrtle wand. or battle’s sound Was heard the world around: The idle spear and shield were high uphung. Stand fixed in steadfast gaze. with wonder whist. and bid them go. Smoothly the waters kissed. He saw a greater Sun appear Than his bright throne. But in their glimmering orbs did glow Until their Lord himself bespake. The sun himself withheld his wonted speed. or burning axletree. Whispering new joys to the mild ocean Who now hath quite forgot to rave. Full little thought they then That the mighty Pan Was kindly come to live with them below. And hid his head for shame. And though the shady gloom Had given day her room. The stars. could bear. But peaceful was the night Wherein the Prince of Light His reign of peace upon the earth began: The winds.

For if such holy song Enwrap our fancy long. And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep. And cast the dark foundations deep. At last surrounds their sight A globe of circular light That with long beams the shamefaced night arrayed. She knew such harmony alone Could hold all heaven and earth in happier union. The helmed Cherubim And sworded Seraphim Are seen in glittering ranks with wings displayed. Such music (as ’tis said) Before was never made But when of old the sons of morning sung. Nature. While the Creator great His constellations set And the well-balanced world on hinges hung. ye crystal spheres! Once bless our human ears. And Hell itself will pass away. And that her reign had here its last fulfilling. As all their souls in blissful rapture took: The air. With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close. Harping in loud and solemn choir With unexpressive notes. And speckled vanity Will sicken soon and die. 240 . And let the bass of Heaven’s deep organ blow. Ring out. that heard such sound Beneath the hollow round Of Cynthia’s seat the airy region thrilling.As never was by mortal finger strook Divinely-warbled voice Answering the stringed noise. Now was almost won To think her part was done. to Heaven’s new-born Heir. such pleasure loth to lose. and fetch the age of gold. Time will run back. And leprous sin will melt from earthly mould. And with your ninefold harmony Make up full consort to the angelic symphony. If ye have power to touch our senses so. And let your silver chime Move in melodious time.

In straiter limits bound. With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving: No nightly trance or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine. This must not yet be so. With such a horrid clang As on Mount Sinai rang While the red fire and smouldering clouds outbrake: The aged Earth aghast With terror of that blast Shall from the surface to the centre shake. Truth and Justice then Will down return to men. at the world’s last session. Mercy will sit between Throned in celestial sheen. Orbed in a rainbow.And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day. When. And then at last our bliss Full and perfect is. like glories wearing. Yea. and. Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail. And. wroth to see his kingdom fail. to those ychained in sleep The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep. With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering. No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. as at some festival. The Babe yet lies in smiling infancy That on the bitter cross Must redeem our loss. And Heaven. The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread His throne. and loud lament. The oracles are dumb. Not half so far casts his usurped sway. So both himself and us to glorify: Yet first. The lonely mountains o’er And the resounding shore A voice of weeping heard. 241 . But wisest Fate says No. But now begins. for from this happy day The old Dragon under ground. Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall.

or green. Now sits not girt with tapers’ holy shine. fled. to show his Godhead true. and Orus. The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyen. and altars round A drear and dying sound Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint. He feels from Juda’s land The dreaded Infant’s hand. Naught but profoundest Hell can be his shroud. 242 . With flower-inwoven tresses torn The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn. The Lybic Hammon shrinks his horn: In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn. Nor is Osiris seen In Memphian grove. Trampling the unshowered grass with lowings loud: Nor can he be at rest Within his sacred chest. While each peculiar Power foregoes his wonted seat. Nor all the gods beside Longer dare abide Nor Typhon huge ending in snaky twine: Our Babe. With that twice-battered god of Palestine. In consecrated earth And on the holy hearth The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint. And the chill marble seems to sweat.From haunted spring and dale Edged with poplar pale The parting Genius is with sighing sent. Isis. In vain with timbrelled anthems dark The sable stoled sorcerers bear his worshiped ark. Hath left in shadows dread His burning idol all of blackest hue. Peor and Baalim Forsake their temples dim. In vain with cymbals’ ring They call the grisly king. and the dog Anubis. In urns. Can in His swaddling bands control the damned crew. In dismal dance about the furnace blue. And sullen Moloch. haste. The brutish gods of Nile as fast. And mooned Ashtaroth Heaven’s queen and mother both.

And often she is sweet enough to choose a leafy nook. if mother has the time. over pale. In winter. And mother tells the servants that of course they must contrive To manage all the household things from four till half-past five. But see! the Virgin blest Hath laid her Babe to rest. our tedious song should here have ending: Heaven’s youngest teemed star Hath fixed her polished car. Each fettered ghost slips to his several grave: And the yellow-skirted fays Fly after the night-steeds. She shows me with her pencil how a poet makes a rhyme. Time is. Through bush. when the corn’s asleep. John Milton [1608-1674] FAIRYLAND THE FAIRY BOOK In summer. Where I cuddle up so closely when she reads the Fairybook.So. Dear mother puts her thimble by in answer to my look. Norman Gale [1862FAIRY SONGS I From ”A Midsummer-Night’s Dream” Over hill. Over park. And I cuddle up so closely when she reads the Fairybook. when the sun in bed Curtained with cloudy red Pillows his chin upon an orient wave. and birds are not in song. when the grass is thick. 243 . leaving their moon-loved maze. The flocking shadows pale Troop to the infernal jail. Her sleeping Lord with hand-maid lamp attending: And all about the courtly stable Bright-harnessed Angels sit in order serviceable. over dale. When we cuddle close together with the happy Fairybook. For we really cannot suffer interruption from the cook. through brier. And crocuses and violets have been away too long.

lullaby! Never harm. In those freckles live their savors: I must go seek some dew-drops here. hence! Beetles black. Worm nor snail. do no wrong. approach not near. through fire. Sing in our sweet lullaby. Philomel. The wild waves whist. lullaby! Never harm. with lullaby. the burthen bear. lullaby. lulla. III From ”The Tempest” Come unto these yellow sands. So. with melody. 244 . with lullaby. come not here. sweet sprites. Foot it featly here and there. lulla. be not seen. Come not near our fairy queen. lulla. And hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear. with melody. Sing in our sweet lullaby. Lulla. do no offence. Nor spell nor charm. Philomel. Swifter than the moon’s sphere. And. you long-legged spinners. To dew her orbs upon the green: The cowslips tall her pensioners be. lullaby. Lulla. Hence.Through flood. lulla. II From ”A Midsummer-Night’s Dream” You spotted snakes with double tongue. In their gold coats spots you see. And I serve the fairy queen. Those be rubies. fairy favors. Come our lovely lady nigh. and kissed. Nor spell nor charm. I do wander everywhere. Thorny hedgehogs. Weaving spiders. good-night. good night. Newts and blind-worms. And then take hands: Court’sied when you have. lulla. lulla. So. Come our lovely lady nigh.

hark! I hear The strain of strutting chanticleer Cry. The watch-dogs bark: Bow. merrily. puts in ladles: Trains forth old wives in their slumber With a sieve the holes to number. wow. This is she that empties cradles. Hark. William Shakespeare [1564-1616] QUEEN MAB From ”The Satyr” This is Mab. wow. She that pinches country wenches If they rub not clean their benches. some of lovers. There I couch when owls do cry. Takes out children. with shrieks and laughters: And on sweet Saint Anna’s night Feed them with a promised sight. Home through ponds and water-furrows. Cock-a-diddle-dow! IV From ”The Tempest” Where the bee sucks.Hark. And then leads them from her burrows. On the bat’s back I do fly After summer merrily: Merrily. Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. In a shoe she drops a tester. there suck I: In a cowslip’s bell I lie. As she please without discerning. She can start our Franklins’ daughters. And with sharper nails remembers When they rake not up their embers: But if so they chance to feast her. Some of husbands. hark! Bow. Which an empty dream discovers. 245 . shall I live now. the Mistress-Fairy. In their sleep. That doth nightly rob the dairy And can hurt or help the churning.

to shelter himself. Till green leaves come again. Till green leaves come again. When frost has spoiled their mossy beds. Holding it over him. frightened. in red Vesuvius Carousals they maintain. Inhabiting the wreathed shells That lie in coral caves. And crystallized their rills? Beneath the moon they cannot trip In circles o’er the plain. Perhaps.”Good gracious me! ”Where is my toadstool?” loud he lamented. Under the toadstool sound asleep. Out of the rain. 246 . blue diving-bells They plunge beneath the waves. When they return. Soon woke the Dormouse . Tugged till the toadstool toppled in two. And fairy wings upon the earth. Perhaps.Ben Jonson [1573?-1637] THE ELF AND THE DORMOUSE Under a toadstool crept a wee Elf. When snow lies on the hills. Sat a big Dormouse all in a heap. gayly he flew. To the next shelter . And cheer their little spirits thus. dry as could be. Soon he was safe home. there will be mirth And music in the air.And that’s how umbrellas first were invented. . in small. Oliver Herford [1863-1935] ”OH! WHERE DO FAIRIES HIDE THEIR HEADS?” Oh! where do fairies hide their heads. Trembled the wee Elf. And draughts of dew they cannot sip.maybe a mile! Sudden the wee Elf smiled a wee smile. and yet Fearing to fly away lest he get wet.

Then’s the time for orchard-robbing. Will bar the doors in vain. Where ’twixt the bracken and the trees The goblins lie and take their ease By winter moods undaunted. Stolen looks are nice in chapels. to keep the elves aloof. They stretch and chuckle in the wind. With wanton eyes and wary. blithe and antic. Stolen sweets are always sweeter. Thomas Haynes Bayly [1797-1839] FAIRY SONG From ”Amyntas” We the Fairies. Of dimensions not gigantic. Oft in orchards frisk and peep us. There down the golden gravel The laughing rivers travel. Stolen kisses much completer. Though the moonshine mostly keep us. Elves wake at nights and whisper low Between the bracken and the snow Their dreamings to unravel. And one has kissed a fairy. The maids. Yet the fruit were scarce worth peeling Were it not for stealing. stolen be your apples. Starlit and pixey-haunted. 247 . When to bed the world is bobbing. Twisted and lank and hairy. stealing.And mischief everywhere. Translated by Leigh Hunt from the Latin of Thomas Randolph [1605-1635] DREAM SONG I come from woods enchaunted. Stolen. For one has found a mermaid kind. No key-hole will he fairy-proof When green leaves come again. They know no melancholy.

Richard Middleton [1882-1911] FAIRY SONG Shed no tear! O. look up! I flutter now On this flush pomegranate bough.I fly . Her eyes are blue. Look up. Adieu. And when a good child goes to bed She waves her hand from right to left. She has a little silver wand. And gather sleep within the brake To deck a kingdom when they wake. Adieu. adieu! John Keats [1795-1821] QUEEN MAB A little fairy comes at night.adieu! I vanish in the heaven’s blue. 248 .But fashion crowns of holly. dry your eyes! For I was taught in Paradise To ease my breast of melodies. Dry your eyes! O. Down in the pixies’ hollow. Overhead! look overhead! ’Mong the blossoms white and red. And makes a circle round its head. shed no tear! The flower will bloom another year. her hair is brown. shed no tear! The flower will bloom another year. See me! ’tis this silvery bill Ever cures the good man’s ill. And from the moon she flutters down. weep no more! Young buds sleep in the root’s white core. Shed no tear! O. And bless the dreamer’s folly. With silver spots upon her wings. Weep no more! O. Shed no tear. adieu . Ah! would that I might follow The servants of Apollo! But it is sweet to heap the hours With quiet dreams and poppy-flowers.

And pretty dwarfs to show the way Through fairy hills and fairy dales. To shed the blood of girls and boys. And trees that bear delicious fruit. And serpents crawl along the ground. But good ones love the dark. All up on the Caldon-Low?” ”I saw the glad sunshine come down. my Mary. Of fountains filled with fairy fish. And wish the long black gloom away. From left to right she weaves her rings. And bow their branches at a wish: Of arbors filled with dainty scents From lovely flowers that never fade. a dreadful noise.” 249 . my Mary. For singing songs and telling tales.And then it dreams of pleasant things. Thomas Hood [1799-1845] THE FAIRIES OF THE CALDON-LOW A Midsummer Legend ”And where have you been. And then it dreams all through the night Of only ugly horrid things! Then lions come with glaring eyes. And tigers growl. Or raging flames come scorching round. Bright flies that glitter in the sun. And ogres draw their cruel knives. And I saw the merry winds blow. And glow-worms shining in the shade: And talking birds with gifted tongues. Fierce dragons hover in the air. Then stormy waves rush on to drown. and find The night as pleasant as the day. And where have you been from me?” ”I’ve been to the top of the Caldon-Low. Then wicked children wake and weep. But when a bad child goes to bed. The midsummer night to see!” ”And what did you see.

Till the tears fill both his eyes!’ ”And some they seized the little winds. And they shall clear the mildew dank From the blind old widow’s corn: 250 .’ they said. mother. my mother. And the harpers they were nine. how he will laugh.” ”Oh.all that ever you know. All up on the Caldon-Hill?” ”I heard the drops of the water made. But. That sounded over the hill. mother of mine: A hundred fairies danced last night.”And what did you hear. ’shall speedily turn The poor old miller’s mill. When he sees the mill-dam rise! The jolly old miller. That you did hear them say?” ”I’ll tell you all. my Mary All . oh! the words of their talking Were merrier far than all!” ”And what were the words. how he will laugh. And listen. my Mary.’ said they. But let me have my way. And a busy man will the miller be At the dawning of the day! ”’Oh! the miller. ’the merry winds go Away from every horn. ”Some of them played with the water. ”And their harp-strings rang so merrily To their dancing feet so small. ”’For there has been no water Ever since the first of May. For you must have seen the fairies Last night on the Caldon-Low!” ”Then take me on your knee. And rolled it down the hill. tell me all. And each put a horn into his mouth. And blew both loud and shrill: ”’And there. my Mary. And the ears of the green corn fill. ’And this.

coming down from the hill-top. And.’ said they. ”And down the weaver’s croft I stole. With a long beard on his chin: ’I have spun up all the tow. afar below.’ said he. I heard. was seen The yellow ears of the mildewed corn All standing stout and green. sure enough. ’And I want some more to spin. And nothing I saw but the mossy stones That round about me lay. And an apron for her mother!’ ”With that I could not help but laugh. And I met the weaver at his gate With the good news on his tongue! 251 . To see if the flax were sprung. the poor blind widow Though she has been blind so long. ”But. How busy the jolly miller was.”’Oh. And how merry the wheel did go! ”And I peeped into the widow’s field. ”’I’ve spun a piece of hempen cloth And I want to spin another A little sheet for Mary’s bed. And then on the top of the Caldon-Low There was no one left but me. ’by the sunrise In the weaver’s croft shall grow! ”’Oh. And the corn stands tall and strong!’ ”And some they brought the brown linseed And flung it down the Low: ’And this. the poor lame weaver! How will he laugh outright When he sees his dwindling flax-field All full of flowers by night!’ ”And then outspoke a brownie. ”And all on the top of the Caldon-Low The mists were cold and gray. And I laughed out loud and free. She’ll be merry enough when the mildew’s gone.

Wee folk. They live on crispy pancakes Of yellow tide-foam. High on the hill-top The old King sits. mother. Or going up with music On cold starry nights To sup with the Queen Of the gay Northern Lights. mother. All night awake. On his stately journeys From Slieveleague to Rosses. red cap. With a bridge of white mist Columbkill he crosses. good folk. We daren’t go a-hunting For fear of little men. So. But she was dead with sorrow. Down the rushy glen. He is now so old and gray He’s nigh lost his wits.”Now. They have kept her ever since Deep within the lake. prithee. They stole little Bridget For seven years long. And all that I did see. With frogs for their watch-dogs. make my bed. 252 . this is all I heard. When she came down again Her friends were all gone. Green jacket. Between the night and morrow. Trooping all together. For I’m tired as I can be!” Mary Howitt [1799-1888] THE FAIRIES Up the airy mountain. They thought that she was fast asleep. They took her lightly back. And white owl’s feather! Down along the rocky shore Some make their home. Some in the reeds Of the black mountain lake.

But my heart is cold in the cold night-tide. They sweep through the night like a whistling wind. And stars in the mist are hiding. She makes no moan. And white owl’s feather! William Allingham [1824-1889] THE FAIRY THRALL On gossamer nights when the moon is low. Up the airy mountain. ”Ah! why did I roam where the elfins ride. Down the rushy glen. To wander o’er hill and hollow. Over the hill where the foxgloves grow You may see the fairies riding. They pass and have left no traces. Green jacket. We daren’t go a-hunting For fear of little men. 253 . Like a whistling wind. Kling! Klang! Kling! Their stirrups and their bridles ring. And their horns are loud and their bugles blow. Their glimmering steps to follow? They bore me far from my loved one’s side. When the moon is low. But one of them lingers far behind The flight of the fairy faces. good folk. Trooping all together. Through the mosses bare.On a bed of flag-leaves. Wee folk. red cap. By the craggy hill-side. She sorrows in the dark alone. If any man so daring As dig them up in spite. They have planted thorn-trees For pleasure here and there. She wails for the love of human kind. He shall find their sharpest thorns In his bed at night. Kling! Klang! Kling! Their stirrups and their bridles ring. Watching till she wake.

Are now grown Puritanes. But now. Or Ciss to milking rose. For love of your demains. Yet who of late. lament. rewards and fairies! Good housewives now may say. At morning and at evening both You merry were and glad.Where the elfins ride. Their songs were Ave-Maries. which yet remain. Byron [1861FAREWELL TO THE FAIRIES Farewell.” Mary C. 254 . They never danced on any heath As when the time hath been. By which we note the fairies Were of the old profession. alas! they all are dead. And later. But since of late. And though they sweep their hearths no less Than maids were wont to do. Then merrily merrily went their tabor And nimbly went their toes. The fairies’ lost command! They did but change priests’ babies. Witness those rings and roundelays Of theirs. for cleanliness. Or gone beyond the seas. So little care of sleep or sloth These pretty ladies had. And all your children sprung from thence. old abbeys. When Tom came home from labor. Finds sixpence in her shoe? Lament. G. Or farther for religion fled. Elizabeth. James came in. Their dances were procession. Were footed in Queen Mary’s days On many a grassy plain. Who live as changelings ever since. Or else they take their ease. But some have changed your land. For now foul sluts in dairies Do fare as well as they.

And when they’re shaken with the wind Their merry ringing swells. For when the stars are shining clear And all the world is still. When bright the moonlight beams. They float across the silver moon From hill to cloudy hill. For in the whole of fairy-land They have no finer sight Than little children sleeping sound With faces rosy bright. Are hung with silver bells. And hear about the fairy folk That wander in the night. was punished sure. 255 . It was a just and Christian deed To pinch such black and blue: Oh. On tip-toe crowding round their heads. how the Commonwealth doth need Such justices as you! Richard Corbet [1582-1635] THE FAIRY FOLK Come cuddle close in daddy’s coat Beside the fire so bright. With lightest finger tips They lay a hundred kisses sweet Upon the ruddy lips. their cloaks of green. They whisper little tender words That fill their minds with dreams. And when they see a sunny smile. And whoso kept not secretly Their mirth. They guide them down the purple sky With golden bridle rings.A tell-tale in their company They never could endure. To stand beside their cosy cots And at their faces peep. They love to visit girls and boys To see how sweet they sleep. And riding on the crimson moth. With black spots on her wings. Their caps of red.

’Tis ”All aboard for Fairyland!” Which seems to be so near. bairnies. And walk about unseen. She wandered at her will At time of daffodillies 256 . Where Bobby is a velvet Prince. And visitors pick basketfuls As often as they please. hide in daddy’s coat. It is the nicest time of day Though Bedtime is so near. Come. Where Little People live in nuts. For soon we reach the pleasant place Of Once Upon a Time. Where one can talk with animals. And where I am a Queen. Where candy grows on every bush. And wonders kindly come to pass Before your very eyes. Beside the fire so bright Perhaps the little fairy folk Will visit you to-night. Where birdies sing the hour of day. When Mother takes the Fairy Book And we curl up to hear. And flowers talk in rhyme. And ride on butterflies. And playthings on the trees. Robert Bird [1867THE FAIRY BOOK When Mother takes the Fairy Book And we curl up to hear. And bear away the fairy crowd With shaking bridle rings.And then the little spotted moths Spread out their crimson wings. Abbie Farwell Brown [1875-1927] THE VISITOR The white goat Amaryllis.

the cat.Afar and up the hill: We hunted and we holloa’d And back she came at dawn. pagan Faun. And found he’d gone away. Away up Woolcombe hill. The white goat Amaryllis. maybe. 257 .to our sorrow The little. or more. But never . Then back she comes at dawn. The cows were all in milk. She stays until the morrow.his hoofs came merry As up the path he clicked. But no one comes to get them Unless. She wanders at her will At time of daffodillies. A junket for his winning We set in dairy delf. He’d call the milkmaids cheerly Upon a reedy pipe! That fortnight of his staying The work went smooth as silk: The hens were all in laying. A blanket for his bedding We spread beside the door. His ears were high and pricked: Tip-tap . perhaps. And when the cocks crowed clearly Before the dawn was ripe. say. He eat it . And then .and then one morning The maids woke up at day Without his oaten warning. He left no trace behind him. But what d’you think had followed? A little. pagan Faun! His face was like a berry. may find him With butter and with cream: Beside the door they set them In bowl and golden pat. But still the milkmaids deem That they.peart and grinning As Christian as yourself! He stayed about the steading A fortnight.

The satyrs in the grotto bent Their heads to see the wondrous sight. The satyrs gasped and looked and smiled. I asked him why he was so small.” said he.” The tiny satyr jumped for joy.” John Kendrick Bangs [1862-1922] THE SATYRS AND THE MOON Within the wood behind the hill The moon got tangled in the trees.” ”A temple dome from Babylon. ”As you are big for you. Her splendor made the branches thrill And thrilled the breeze. ”It is a wondrous silver toy Bring it to me!” A great wind whistled through the blue And caught the moon and tossed it high.” ”It is a cyclops’ glaring eye. And why he didn’t grow.” ”A little sun. And kicked hoofs in utmost glee.” The little satyr looked and guessed: ”It is an apple that one sees. He slightly frowned. ”I’m quite as big for me.” ”A Titan’s cup of ivory. once. And wagged their heads from side to side.Patrick R. Chalmers [18 THE LITTLE ELF I met a little Elf-man. Brought from that garden of the West Hesperides. ”It is a god in banishment That stirs the night. 258 . and with his eye He looked me through and through. Down where the lilies blow. A bubble of pale fire it flew Across the sky.

They have made me more manly and mild. They are angels of God in disguise. When I think of the paths steep and stony. And the fountain of feeling will flow. And the glory of gladness within. But that life may have just enough shadow To temper the glare of the sun. Of the tempest of fate blowing wild. Oh. as others have done. Ere the world and its wickedness made me A partner of sorrow and sin. To bid me good night and be kissed. The little ones gather around me. All radiant. the little white arms that encircle My neck in their tender embrace! Oh. Of the mountains of sin hanging o’er them. Herbert S. 259 . Oh. Gorman [1893THE CHILDREN THE CHILDREN When the lessons and tasks are all ended. Of joy that my heart will remember. I ask not a life for the dear ones. Shedding sunshine of love on my face! And when they are gone. Who cried and cried. His glory still shines in their eyes. And the school for the day is dismissed. I would pray God to guard them from evil. Where the feet of the dear ones must go. His sunlight still sleeps in their tresses. When the glory of God was about me. While it wakes to the pulse of the past. there’s nothing on earth half so holy As the innocent heart of a child! They are idols of hearts and of households. the smiles that are halos of heaven. And I know now how Jesus could liken The kingdom of God to a child. I sit dreaming Of my childhood too lovely to last.Except their shaggy little child. Those truants from home and from heaven. All my heart grows as weak as a woman’s.

My frown is sufficient correction. That is known as the Children’s Hour. and the flowers That are brought every morning for me. When the lessons of life are all ended. Grave Alice. And the gush of their innocent glee. Their song in the school and the street. Ah. They have taught me the goodness of God: My heart is the dungeon of darkness Where I shut them for breaking a rule. When the night is beginning to lower. And death says: ”The school is dismissed!” May the little ones gather around me. But a sinner must pray for himself. Ah! a seraph may pray for a sinner. The sound of a door that is opened. The twig is so easily bended.But my prayer would bound back to myself. My love is the law of the school. I shall miss them at morn and at even. I have banished the rule and the rod I have taught them the goodness of knowledge. The group on the green. Comes a pause in the day’s occupations. Descending the broad hall stair. And the tread of their delicate feet. and laughing Allegra. how I shall sigh for the dear ones That meet me each morn at the door! I shall miss the ”good nights” and the kisses. And Edith with golden hair. To traverse its threshold no more. I shall leave the old house in the autumn. I hear in the chamber above me The patter of little feet. 260 . To bid me good night and be kissed! Charles Monroe Dickinson [1842-1924] THE CHILDREN’S HOUR Between the dark and the daylight. From my study I see in the lamplight. And voices soft and sweet. I shall miss the low hum of their voices.

they surround me. Their arms about me entwine. Of all created things. And will not let you depart. O blue-eyed banditti. and then a silence: Yet I know by their merry eyes They are plotting and planning together To take me by surprise. then found a better way For woman. Nothing here Can be to us more gracious or more dear. ’Twas said of children in a later day That none could enter Heaven save such as they. A sudden rush from the stairway. There was no rosy flower of babyhood. but his third way was the best. And there will I keep you forever. Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine! Do you think. Till the walls shall crumble to ruin. Such an old mustache as I am Is not a match for you all! I have you fast in my fortress. Yes. And though.A whisper. A sudden raid from the hall! By three doors left unguarded They enter my castle wall! They climb up into my turret O’er the arms and back of my chair. the loveliest And most divine are children. And moulder in dust away. But put you down into the dungeon In the round-tower of my heart. They seem to be everywhere. Because you have scaled the wall. If I try to escape. They almost devour me with kisses. when God saw all his works were good. 261 . forever and a day. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [1807-1882] LAUS INFANTIUM In praise of little children I will say God first made man.

Just four years old. And left. tone of bird. Give me a little boy all mine. Give me a nestling head of brown. O little child. Heaven laughed to find your face so pure and fair. Soared up itself to God’s own Heaven in you. Just four years old. Hand of harper. when you were born. William Canton [1845THE DESIRE Give me no mansions ivory white Nor palaces of pearl and gold. Sound of woods at sundawn stirred. nor palm branches unrolled. Was glad. As Mary once her Paradise. fold on fold. Give me a cheek that’s like the peach. which thrills when skylarks scale the blue. And all my heaven’s within my reach. 262 . Katherine Tynan Hinkson [1861-1931] A CHILD’S LAUGHTER All the bells of heaven may ring. Two arms to clasp me from the cold. which feels the flowering of a thorn.The earth. The earth. Give me no gold and starry crown Nor harps. You give me from Your skies A little paradise to hold. All the winds on earth may bring All sweet sounds together. Give me a child for all delight. Give me no wings of rosy shine Nor snowy raiment. All the birds of heaven may sing. Sweeter far then all things heard. All the wells on earth may spring. which loves to lean down and to glass Its beauty in each dewdrop on the grass. O little child. its reflex there. Dear God. Just four years old. Just four years old. Just four years old. And Heaven.

nothing best. Fills a child’s clear laughter. Heard from morning’s rosiest height. 263 . If the golden-crested wren Were a nightingale . Very sound of very light. Seven white swans on one lake’s lea.why. wan weather. Golden bells of welcome rolled Never forth such note. nor told Hours so blithe in tones so bold. When the soul of all delight. Hoped in heaven hereafter. Seven white loaves of blameless leaven. Seven white flowerlike stars in Heaven. Not the blessing of the bread. and closes Wings above the sun’s grave spread When the starshine on the snows is Sweet as sleep on sorrow shed. Nothing sweeter. then Something seen and heard of men Might be half as sweet as when Laughs a child of seven. Life. As the radiant mouth of gold Here that rings forth heaven. Not the breeze that ere day grows is Fresh for sails and swans. Wind in warm. Soft and strong and loud and light. All are types unmeet to be For a birthday’s crown of seven. Not the radiance of the roses. half tired with hours to measure. grief takes rest. Knows not well the sweetest one Heard of man beneath the sun. One thing yet there is. Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909] SEVEN YEARS OLD Seven white roses on one tree. Holds so good and sweet a treasure As the love wherewith once blest Joy grows holy. Seven white sails on one soft sea. Hearing ere its chime be done.Welling water’s winsome word. that none.

Whence you came the brightest bird. my bonnie wee bairn. Little heart so glad of love. than fa’in’ wi’ a bang. As the passion undefiled. creep afore ye gang. creep afore ye gang. Through the imperial. full fed With the joy of love. Creep awa’. Seven years since. Little soul so glad of living. . whose bliss is More than mortal wine and bread. 264 . my bairnie. Present godhead of a child.Fills his eyes and lips and breast With most light and breath of pleasure.creep afore ye gang. Creep awa’. Plume of raven and plume of dove. Worth a worthier crown than this is. undisputed. Better creepin’ cannie. Little hands so glad of giving. Time for mirth and time for grieving. Lips whose words are sweet as kisses. I can give you but a word Warm with love therein for leaven. Duntin’ a’ your wee brow. While the strong swift hours are weaving Light with darkness woven above. ye’re ower young to learn To tot up and down yet. Ye’ll creep. an’ ye’ll hotch. of seven times seven. my bairnie. Recompensed and reconciled. Worth a worthier song instead. Cock ye baith your lugs to your auld Grannie’s sang: Gin ye gang as far ye will think the road lang. As the rapture unpolluted. Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909] CREEP AFORE YE GANG Creep awa’. Sweet grave wise round mouth. an’ ye’ll nod to your mither. By whose force all pains heart-rooted Are transfigured and transmuted. Brown bright eyes and fair bright head. my bairnie. But a song that falls unheard Yet on ears of sense unstirred Yet by song so far from Heaven.

James Ballantine [1808-1877] CASTLES IN THE AIR The bonnie. .what sees he there? Ha! the young dreamer’s bigging castles in the air. Hearts are broken.creep afore ye gang. He sees little sodgers pu’ing them a’ doun. Glowering in the fire wi’ his wee round face. He’ll brown his rosy cheeks. All in the Midsummer weather. Three little girls with fluttering curls 265 . bleezing wi’ a flare. under my window. Warlds whommlin’ up and doun. Laughing at the fuffin’ lowe . when they climb ower hie. like mony mighty men: A wee thing mak’s us think. my bairnie. wi’ castles in the air. a sma’ thing mak’s us stare. James Ballantine [1808-1877] UNDER MY WINDOW Under my window.Watchin’ ilka step o’ your wee dousy brither. His wee chubby face and his touzie curly pow Are laughing and nodding to the dancing lowe. There are mair folk than him bigging castles in the air. and singe his sunny hair. Folks are sure to tumble. Sic a night in winter may weel mak’ him cauld: His chin upon his buffy hand will soon mak’ him auld. Glowering at the imps wi’ their castles in the air. See how he loups as they glimmer in the air! For a’ sae sage he looks. bonnie bairn who sits poking in the ase. what can the laddie ken? He’s thinking upon naething.O pray that daddy Care Wad let the wean alane wi’ his castles in the air! He’ll glower at the fire. He sees muckle castles towering to the moon. But mony sparkling stars are swallowed up by Night: Aulder e’en than his are glamored by a glare. heads are turned. creep afore ye gang. His brow is brent sae braid . Rest ye on the floor till your wee limbs grow strang. Creep awa’. They wha canna walk right are sure to come to wrang. An’ ye’ll be a braw chiel yet. and he’ll keek at the light. The wee birdie fa’s when it tries ower soon to flee.

The Ancient Mariner Piped the blackbird on the beechwood spray ”Pretty maid. I catch them all together: Bell with her bonnet of satin sheen. And Maud and Bell twine wreaths and posies. In the blue Midsummer weather.Flit to and fro together: There’s Bell with her bonnet of satin sheen.” said he. under my window. she steals my roses. under my window. slow wandering this way.” quoth she. And Maud with her mantle of silver-green. Pretty maid with showery curls of gold. Little Bell sat down beneath the rocks Tossed aside her gleaming golden locks ”Bonny bird. And leaps in my arms with a loving kiss. And Kate with her scarlet feather. and Bell she pouts. And Maud with her mantle of silver-green. Merry and clear.” ”Here’s the very finest song I know. on a hushed tiptoe.” ”Little Bell. Little Bell. And Kate with her scarlet feather. Under my window. But dear little Kate takes naught amiss. And I give her all my roses. As merry as bees in clover. under my window. Ah! sly little Kate. What’s your name?” quoth he ”What’s your name? Oh stop and straight unfold.” said she. Under my window. They scamper and drop their posies. Under my window. Leaning stealthily over. Thomas Westwood [1814?-1888] LITTLE BELL He prayeth well who loveth well Both man and bird and beast. the voice I hear Of each glad-hearted rover. ”Sing me your best song before I go. While Maud she flouts. And off through the orchard closes. 266 . Stealing slow.

squirrel. Little Bell sat down amid the fern ”Squirrel. if you’re not afraid. kissed brown by July sun. Knelt sweet Bell. In the little childish heart below All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow. All for love of that sweet face below. ’Neath the morning skies. Up.” pipes he. Little Bell gave each his honest share Ah the merry three! And the while these frolic playmates twain Piped and frisked from bough to bough again. And shine forth in happy overflow From the blue. void of fear. now soft and slow. you never heard Half so gay a song from any bird Full of quips and wiles. and frolicked. And shine out in happy overflow From her blue. with folded palms to pray 267 . In the little lap dropped one by one Hark. Come and share with me!” Down came squirrel eager for his fare Down came bonny blackbird I declare. Dimpled o’er with smiles. By her snow-white cot at close of day. Down the dell she tripped and through the glade. away the frisky squirrel hies Golden wood-lights glancing in his eyes And adown the tree. Now so round and rich. And from out the tree Swung. And the while the bonny bird did pour His full heart out freely o’er and o’er ’Neath the morning skies. While bold blackbird piped that all might hear ”Little Bell. bright eyes. and leaped. Peeped the squirrel from the hazel shade. to your task return Bring me nuts. how blackbird pipes to see the fun! ”Happy Bell. bright eyes.” quoth she. In the little childish heart below All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow. Great ripe nuts. Little Bell looked up and down the glade ”Squirrel.” piped he.And the blackbird piped.

Of the wild flower’s time and place. 268 .” the angel said. Flight of fowl and habitude Of the tenants of the wood.” the angel fair Murmured. Sleep that wakes in laughing day. Little Bell. with happy heart. barefoot boy! Oh for boyhood’s painless play. Crooned the blackbird in the orchard croft. Knowledge never learned of schools. with cheek of tan! With thy turned-up pantaloons. Child. ”Whom God’s creatures love. In blue heaven.Love deep and kind Shall watch around and leave good gifts behind. inward joy: Blessings on thee. With the sunshine on thy face. . ”That. Thou hast more than he can buy In the reach of ear and eye. an angel shape serene Paused awhile to hear ”What good child is this. ”Bell. Let the million-dollared ride! Barefoot. for thee!” Thomas Westwood [1814?-1888] THE BAREFOOT BOY Blessings on thee. Through thy torn brim’s jaunty grace. ”God doth bless with angels’ care. I was once a barefoot boy! Prince thou art.the grown-up man Only is republican. unseen.Very calm and clear Rose the praying voice to where. Outward sunshine. How the tortoise bears his shell. trudging at his side. dear Bell!” crooned he. redder still Kissed by strawberries on the hill. And thy merry whistled tunes. With thy red lip. Of the wild bee’s morning chase. beside her bed Prays so lovingly?” Low and soft. oh! very low and soft. Barefoot boy. From my heart I give thee joy. Health that mocks the doctor’s rules. thy bed shall be Folded safe from harm . little man.

Nature answers all he asks. 269 . Fashioned for a barefoot boy! Oh for festal dainties spread. How the robin feeds her young. Me. All the world I saw or knew Seemed a complex Chinese toy. For my sport the squirrel played. on bending orchard trees.How the woodchuck digs his cell. Hand in hand with her he walks. Humming-birds and honey-bees. Part and parcel of her joy. Plied the snouted mole his spade. Mine. Where the freshest berries grow. Apples of Hesperides! Still as my horizon grew. And the ground-mole sinks his well. When all things I heard or saw. I was rich in flowers and trees. Laughed the brook for my delight Through the day and through the night. Where the wood-grape’s clusters shine. Mason of his walls of clay. Of the black wasp’s cunning way. How the oriole’s nest is hung. Where the ground-nut trails its vine. waited for. eschewing books and tasks. Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond Mine the walnut slopes beyond. Blessings on the barefoot boy! Oh for boyhood’s time of June. Face to face with her he talks. Crowding years in one brief moon. Where the whitest lilies blow. And the architectural plans Of gray hornet artisans! For. Whispering at the garden wall. Larger grew my riches too. For my taste the blackberry cone Purpled over hedge and stone. their master. Talked with me from fall to fall.

my little man. Looped in many a wind-swung fold. The rich man’s son inherits cares. Ere it passes. Lose the freedom of the sod. fringed with gold. Lit the fly his lamp of fire. like a regal tent. Like a colt’s for work be shod. On the door-stone. Every evening from thy feet Shall the cool wind kiss the heat: All too soon these feet must hide In the prison cells of pride. and gold. And. I was monarch: pomp and joy Waited on the barefoot boy! Cheerily. While for music came the play Of the pied frogs’ orchestra. the factory burn. Ah! that thou couldst know thy joy. to light the noisy choir. 270 . it seems to me. Up and down in ceaseless moil: Happy if their track be found Never on forbidden ground. the sunset bent. as boyhood can! Though the flinty slopes be hard. And he inherits soft white hands. Cloudy-ribbed. Stubble-speared the new-mown sward. Happy if they sink not in Quick and treacherous sands of sin. then. The bank may break.Like my bowl of milk and bread. Pewter spoon and bowl of wood. barefoot boy! John Greenleaf Whittier [1807-1892] THE HERITAGE Thee rich man’s son inherits lands. And tender flesh that fears the cold. Nor dares to wear a garment old. Every morn shall lead thee through Fresh baptisms of the dew. Purple-curtained. Made to tread the mills of toil. Live and laugh. One scarce would wish to hold in fee. gray and rude! O’er me. A heritage. A breath may burst his bubble shares. And piles of brick and stone.

A heart that in his labor sings. A king might wish to hold in fee. to bear it. soft white hands. What doth the poor man’s son inherit? Wishes o’erjoyed with humble things. A heritage. And wearies in his easy-chair. Large charity doth never soil. But only whiten. In merely being rich and great. A king might wish to hold in fee. A heritage. King of two hands. A hardy frame. With sated heart. if sorrow come. A heritage. There is worse weariness than thine. Worth being rich to hold in fee. O rich man’s son! there is a toil That with all others level stands. it seems to me. O poor man’s son! scorn not thy state. What doth the poor man’s son inherit? Stout muscles and a sinewy heart. Courage. And makes rest fragrant and benign. a hardier spirit. This is the best crop from thy lands. Content that from employment springs. it seems to me. One scarce would wish to hold in fee. he does his part In every useful toil and art. it seems to me. it seems to me. it seems to me. A heritage. A heritage. Toil only gives the soul to shine. A king might wish to hold in fee. he hears the pants Of toiling hinds with brown arms bare. A rank adjudged by toil-won merit. The rich man’s son inherits wants. A heritage. One scarce would wish to hold in fee. What doth the poor man’s son inherit? A patience learned of being poor.And soft white hands could hardly earn A living that would serve his turn. it seems to me. A fellow-feeling that is sure To make the outcast bless his door. 271 . His stomach craves for dainty fare.

And her young artless words began to flow. A heritage. well: but when I touched the nest. ”O yes! I see it. And laughed and prattled in her world-wide bliss! But when we turned her sweet unlearned eye On our own Isle. Worth being poor to hold in fee. all its sea and land. By tint and outline. heirs to some six feet of sod. Come see a fairy-tale. Are equal in the earth at last. tales seen are best!” The dove was brooding on the nest In the lowest crotch of the apple tree. James Russell Lowell [1819-1891] LETTY’S GLOBE Or Some Irregularities In A First Lesson In Geography When Letty had scarce passed her third glad year. How she leaped. One day we gave the child a colored sphere Of the wide Earth. that she might mark and know. she raised a joyous cry. It looked at us with a wild dark eye. it seems to me. The child recoiled upon my breast. old Empires peeped Between her baby fingers. her soft hand Was welcome at all frontiers. ”Birdie. children of the same dear God.” Ah. fly. Charles Tennyson Turner [1808-1879] DOVE’S NEST ”Sylvia. I lifted her up so quietly. hush!” I said. 272 . Both. ”come here. Prove title to your heirship vast By record of a well-filled past. That when she could have touched the bird The soft gray creature had not stirred. it seems to me. Impatient Sylvia.A heritage. ”Birdie. my dear! Tales told are good. Well worth a life to hold in fee. But. Both. Letty’s home is there!” And while she hid all England with a kiss. Was ever such a startling thing? Sudden silver and purple wing. Bright over Europe fell her golden hair. fly!” was Sylvia’s cry. She patted all the world.

Struggling heart-break on the grass. A gold-haired. You taught me here docility . sunny child came by. She stopped and wavered. since men go. ”Why do you read?” she said. Forgetful of these sweetest things. The mode of plucking pansies and the art of sowing cress. more lovely than his rhyme. with propitiatory pats For mother dogs. (Ah! the pale gold around her head!) And o’er my shoulder stopped to peer. With questions in her lingering eye. colored leaves and trickling rills. And looked at me.the streams.The dove was out. Who sang through all his living hours Beauty of earth . Whose eyes’ divine expectancy foretells some starry goal. and little acts of courtesy to cats. ”I read a poet of old time. Whom seasons fit as do the sheaths that wrap the daffodils. away. O connoisseur of pebbles. ”come back!” Joseph Russell Taylor [1868-1933] THE ORACLE I lay upon the summer grass. Since he and I love brooks that flow. across. and bees. ”Birdie!” Sylvia cried. and flash of wings!” She stared at me with laughing look.and how to save my soul. Then clasped her hands upon my knees: ”How strange to read it in a book! I could have told you all of these!” Arthur Davison Ficke [1883TO A LITTLE GIRL You taught me ways of gracefulness and fashions of address. then drew near. ”And now I read him. 273 . as loath to pass. And how to handle puppies. And dawns. And there in the cup within the tree Two milk-white eggs were ours to see. the flowers And stars. Was ever thing so pretty? Alack.

274 . like a lily. kind and true. laughing sprite. And. (That dog will bite him. (My dear.(Drat the boy! There goes my ink!) Thou cherub. if he pulls its tail!) Thou human humming-bee.first let me kiss away that tear!) Thou tiny image of myself! (My love. and unsoiled by sin. So loving. . by moonlight pale. .Helen Parry Eden [18 TO A LITTLE GIRL Her eyes are like forget-me-nots. Singing in youth’s Elysium ever sunny. happy elf! (But stop. Fit playfellow for Fays. (Another tumble! That’s his precious nose!) Thy father’s pride and hope! (He’ll break the mirror with that skipping-rope!) With pure heart newly stamped from nature’s mint. Jane. Thou idol of thy parents.but of earth. the child is swallowing a pin!) Thou little tricksy Puck! With antic toys so funnily bestuck. extracting honey From every blossom in the world that blows. he’s poking peas into his ear!) Thou merry. Light as the singing bird that wings the air. With spirits feather-light. In harmless sport and mirth. best of all. Gustav Kobbe [1857-1918] A PARENTAL ODE TO MY SON Aged Three Years And Five Months Thou happy. Untouched by sorrow. her little soul Is. white. Her lips are like a pink sea-shell Just as the sun shines through. he’ll set his pinafore afire!) Thou imp of mirth and joy! In Love’s dear chain so strong and bright a link. (The door! the door! he’ll tumble down the stair!) Thou darling of thy sire! (Why. Her hair is like the waving grain In summer’s golden light. .

) Thomas Hood [1799-1845] A NEW POET I write. Strange fancies throng that baby brain. no clouds. snipping at your gown!) Thou pretty opening rose! (Go to your mother. Prompting the face grotesque. He dips his pen in charmed air: What is it he pretends to write? He toils and toils. (I knew so many cakes would make him sick!) With fancies. With many a lamb-like frisk! (He’s got the scissors. and antic brisk. my love. child. (He’s got a knife!) Thou enviable being! No storms. bestride the stick. (He really brings my heart into my mouth!) Fresh as the morn.and now again His unrecording pen he plies. play on. yet gentle as the dove. buoyant as the thistle-down. What then? His little heart is glad. 275 . that’s his plan!) Touched with the beauteous tints of dawning life. he lives The poems that he cannot pen. He sits beside my chair. I cannot write unless he’s sent above. and wipe your nose!) Balmy and breathing music like the South. And scribbles.reflects . (I wish that window had an iron bar!) Bold as the hawk. in hushed delight. My elfin John! Toss the light ball. (I’ll tell you what. sweet looks! What earnest eyes! He stops . What grave. and brilliant as its star. Play on. in thy blue sky foreseeing.(Where did he learn that squint?) Thou young domestic dove! (He’ll have that jug off with another shove!) Dear nursling of the hymeneal nest! (Are these torn clothes his best?) Little epitome of man! (He’ll climb upon the table. too. the paper gives No clue to aught he thinks.

the mind Persists in hoping. This thought.It seems a satire on myself. Bright as the dream flung over thee By all that meets thee now. Child of the sunny brow. Thy heart is beating joyously. I would that thou might’st ever be As beautiful as now. who knows how many times We two have made the angels smile! William Canton [1845TO LAURA W–. And sweetly breaks the melody Of thy imperfect words. That time might ever leave as free Thy yet unwritten brow. the heart. Wouldst drive thy father to despair? Despair! Ah. Like him I strive in hope my rhymes May keep my name a little while.schemes and strives That there may linger with our kind Some memory of our little lives. O child. That naught but chastened melody Might stain thine eye of jet. Thy voice is like a bird’s. The urus which he made his prey. I would life were all poetry To gentle measure set. 276 .but deeper things than these With woman’s lot are wove: Wrought of intensest sympathies. . I would . TWO YEARS OLD Bright be the skies that cover thee. no. I know no fount that gushes out As gladly as thy tiny shout. And nerved by purest love. These dreamy nothings scrawled in air. Beneath his rock in the early world Smiling the naked hunter lay. Nor one discordant note be spoken. this work! Oh tricksy elf. Till God the cunning harp hath broken. And sketched on horn the spear he hurled.

Thy witching tone and air. White and glowing. Thine eye’s beseeching earnestness May be to thee a snare. scarcely two. pink and new. All your softly gracious ways Make an island in my days Where my thoughts fly back to be Sheltered from too strong a sea. Is woman won to heaven. I am suddenly aware Of the angels in the air. All your luminous delight Shines before me in the night When I grope for sleep and find Only shadows in my mind. a spirit undefiled. The silver stars may purely shine. Peace may fling back the gift again. At God’s pure throne to bow? The world is but a broken reed. By the fierce wrong forgiven. And life grows early dim Who shall be near thee in thy need. The waters taintless flow: But they who kneel at woman’s shrine Breathe on it as they bow. With so swift a sense of fun Although life has just begun. beautiful child? Keep thee as thou art now? Bring thee.By the strong spirit’s discipline. when I remember you. But the crushed flower will leave a stain. Rose. ”Her lot is on thee. What shall preserve thee.” lovely child God keep thy spirit undefiled! I fear thy gentle loveliness. By all that wrings the heart of sin. To lead thee up to Him? He who himself was ”undefiled?” With Him we trust thee. 277 . Little lady. when I remember you. beautiful child! Nathaniel Parker Willis [1806-1867] TO ROSE Rose.

Babbling out the very heart. Yet abandoned to thy will. in May Flitting to each bloomy spray. Like the linnet in the bush To the mother-linnet’s note Moduling her slender throat. Like the linnet green. Infant fair. in time will be forgot: Other pleasures. Every morn and every night Their solicitous delight. Wanton in the change of toys. I should like to make a prayer To the angels in the air: ”If an angel ever brings Me a baby in her wings.With so sure a pride of place In your very infant face. blithe and hale. Ambrose Philips [1675?-1749] THE PICTURE OF LITTLE T. still at ease. resembled thee. Yet imagining no ill. This. other cares. Ever-busy Time prepares. Singing many a tuneless song. Wearied then and glad of rest. once. This picture. Please be certain that it grows Very. very much like Rose. waking. C. Little gossip. And thou shalt in thy daughter see. Pleasing. Lavish of a heedless tongue. Fondling of a happy pair. Like the linnet in the nest: This thy present happy lot. IN A PROSPECT OF FLOWERS See with what simplicity This nymph begins her golden days! 278 . Tattling many a broken tale. void of art. Simple maiden. Yet too innocent to blush.” Sara Teasdale [1884-1933] TO CHARLOTTE PULTENEY Timely blossom. Sleeping. without skill to please. Chirping forth thy pretty joys.

And. Reform the errors of the Spring. Whom Nature courts with fruits and flowers. ere we see. And them does tell What color best becomes them.In the green grass she loves to lie. Ere they have tried their force to wound. And there with her fair aspect tames The wilder flowers. and gives them names. and ensigns torn. seeing they are fair. Lest Flora. But O young beauty of the woods. but spare the buds. in the blossom. And them that yield but more despise: Let me be laid Where I may see the glories from some shade. angry at thy crime To kill her infants in their prime. See his bow broke. Nip. Meantime. Make that the tulips may have share Of sweetness. Ere with their glancing wheels they drive In triumph over hearts that strive. Gather the flowers. whilst every verdant thing Itself does at thy beauty charm. Who can foretell for what high cause This darling of the gods was born? Yet this is she whose chaster laws The wanton Love shall one day fear. 279 . all our hopes and thee. under her command severe. But only with the roses plays. And. Happy who can Appease this virtuous enemy of man! O then let me in time compound And parley with those conquering eyes. And roses of their thorns disarm But most procure That violets may a longer age endure. Do quickly make the example yours. and what smell. Andrew Marvell [1621-1678] TO HARTLEY COLERIDGE Six Years Old O thou! whose fancies from afar are brought: Who of thy words dost make a mock apparel.

The Author Then Forty Lords. Or to be trailed along the soiling earth. O too industrious folly! O vain and causeless melancholy! Nature will either end thee quite. A gem that glitters while it lives. And Grief. I think of thee with many fears For what may be thy lot in future years. and look The power they have to be obeyed. But. nor reputation. by individual right. I thought of times when Pain might be thy guest. that cannot read. that thy boat May rather seem To brood on air than on an earthly stream. the numerous band That wear the fair Miss Mary’s fetters. at the touch of wrong. And no forewarning gives. and squires. 280 . Nor quality. What hast thou to do with sorrow. Lord of thy house and hospitality. Thou fairy voyager! that dost float In such clear water. knights. Preserve for thee. Were summoned by her high command To show their passions by their letters. Or. Lest those bright eyes. Dear Five-years-old befriends my passion. Or the injuries of to-morrow? Thou art a dew-drop. Slips in a moment out of life. A young lamb’s heart among the full-grown flocks. Where earth and heaven do make one imagery: O blessed vision! happy child! Thou art so exquisitely wild.And fittest to unutterable thought The breeze-like motion and the self-born carol. Ill-fitted to sustain unkindly shocks. 1704. Suspended in a stream as clear as sky. without a strife. Forbids me yet my flame to tell. My pen amongst the rest I took. which the morn brings forth. Should dart their kindling fires. lengthening out thy season of delight. William Wordsworth [1770-1850] TO A CHILD OF QUALITY Five Years Old. uneasy lover! never rest But when she sate within the touch of thee.

For. I would look about the air. With stars for marbles? Did the things Play Can you see me? through their wings? Didst Thou kneel at night to pray. being young. and just like me? Didst Thou sometimes think of there. while she makes her silkworms’ beds With all the tender things I swear. In papers round her baby’s hair. She may receive and own my flame.And I may write till she can spell. I fear. She’ll pass for a most virtuous dame. That I shall be past making love When she begins to comprehend it. that were not too tall. this way? And did they tire sometimes. And ask where all the angels were? I should think that I would cry For my house all made of sky. And at waking ’twould distress me Not an angel there to dress me! Hadst Thou ever any toys. Whilst all the house my passion reads. Then too. She’ll give me leave to write. And we shall still continue friends. Like us little girls and boys? And didst Thou play in Heaven with all The angels. alas! when she shall tear The rhymes some younger rival sends. And make the prayer seem very long? 281 . And I for an unhappy poet. though the strictest prudes should know it. For. ’Tis so ordained (would Fate but mend it!). wast Thou shy Once. and just so small as I? And what did it feel like to be Out of Heaven. Matthew Prior [1664-1721] EX ORE INFANTIUM Little Jesus. And didst Thou join Thy hands. as our different ages move. And wonder where my angels were. For.

And did Thy Mother at the night Kiss Thee. my dog is dead! Murdered by poison! . So many smile to see the rivers shed Of tears for one poor. Take me by the hand and walk. but checked my thought. ”A better dog can easily be can always pray. consoling . I said. dog or horse. From word of mine could any comfort come? A bitter sorrow ’tis to lose a brute Friend. Thy Son.” ”Oh. ”Tell me thy trouble.” For no . Thou art so fair). that we Should join our hands to pray to Thee? I used to think. dumb touches! Therefore I was dumb. speechless creature dead. with them ’tis well!” 282 . a little Child. To Thy Father show my prayer (He will look.what animal could him replace? Those loving eyes! That fond. that children’s tongue Has not changed since Thou wast young! Francis Thompson [1859-1907] OBITUARY Finding Francesca full of tears. say. And listen to my baby-talk. confiding face! Those dear. The prayer not said unless we do.” And He will smile. Could’st Thou talk Thy Father’s way? So. come down And hear a child’s tongue like Thy own.” . and Thy prayers said? Thou canst not have forgotten all That it feels like to be small: And Thou know’st I cannot pray To Thee in my father’s way When Thou wast so little. ”Certainly. When parents die there’s many a word to say Kind words. for grief must then be mute. And say: ”O Father. I. Bring the prayer of a little one. before I one knows for what! Was ever dog born capable of that?” ”Child. and fold the clothes in right? And didst Thou feel quite good in bed. When children die ’tis natural to tell Their mother.And dost Thou like it best.I began to say. Kissed. and sweet.

’twas all the life he had. new and old converge In one eternal Now! I give thy feet the hopeful sod. Who prize the sacred soul of man For what his hands have sold. Since death is end of dogs. naught more dear. And these shall deem thee humbly bred: They shall not hear. Than his young mistress. Now he has passed away. With pride in gaud and faith in gold. And pearled with women’s tears. The stars of Socrates! Unaged the ancient tide shall surge. they shall not see The kings among the lordly dead Who walk and talk with thee! A tattered cloak may be thy dole. or good or bad. Thy skies shall glow with Pindar’s sun. a sordid clan. without one hope above! When a dog dies there’s nothing to be said But .But for a dog. there are those. And thine the roof that Jesus had: The broidered garment of the soul Shall keep thee purple-clad! The blood of men hath dyed its brede.kiss me. darling! . sought no brighter sphere. Ne’er guessed at God nor ever dreamed of heaven. With Eld thy chain of days is one: The seas are still Homeric seas.dear old Smiler’s dead. asked not to be forgiven. The old Spring burn along the bough: For thee. Thomas William Parsons [1819-1892] THE CHILD’S HERITAGE On. Having no sin. And it was wrought by holy seers With sombre dream and golden deed. This was his world. The glory of the search for God Be thine in life and death! 283 . Thy mouth. so much of love Goes from our life. Imagined nothing better. the priceless boon of breath. he was contented here.

Caught the sweet imprint of her breast. Edward Sandford Martin [1856ON THE PICTURE OF A ”CHILD TIRED OF PLAY” Tired of play! Tired of play! What hast thou done this live-long day! The bird is silent and so is the bee. Neihardt [1881A GIRL OF POMPEII A public haunt they found her in: She lay asleep. imperishably pure. austere yet warm. from harm. And turn Time’s chariot back. The shadow is creeping up steeple and tree. A sinless touch. And bid mistrustful men be sure That form shall fate of flesh escape. And. Her supple outlines fixed in clay The universal law suspend. Thy soul. surely clasped. shape Itself.Unto thy flesh. Truer than work of sculptor’s art Comes this dear maid of long ago. The only thing left undefiled Where all things else bore taint of sin. And the nests are dark with the drooping leaves. Twilight gathers. to show A spirit’s lovely counterpart. a lovely child. How hast thou spent it. Sheltered from woeful chance. And held her. Thy father gives to thee! John G. Around her girlish figure pressed. restless one? Playing! And what hast thou done beside To tell thy mother at eventide? 284 . and day is done. the gift of being free: The torch my fathers gave in trust. quit of earth’s corruptions. the soothing dust. The doves have flown to the sheltering eaves. and blend A thousand years with yesterday.

low-spoken word Hath plead with thy human heart unheard Then. And. it has sung for three years: Poor Susan has passed by the spot. Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale. .What promise of morn is left unbroken? What kind word to thy playmate spoken? Whom hast thou pitied. when daylight appears. Bright volumes of vapor through Lothbury glide. a vision of trees. Hangs a Thrush that sings loud. with joy and peace at the thought of rest. With wearied limbs and aching brow. and whom forgiven? How with thy faults has duty striven? What hast thou learned by field and hill. 285 . Down which she so often has tripped with her pail. From the creeping worm to the brooding dove If never a sad. By greenwood path and by singing rill? There will come an eve to a longer day That will find thee tired. eloquently If every creature hath won thy love. and has heard In the silence of morning the song of the Bird. Nathaniel Parker Willis [1806-1867] THE REVERIE OF POOR SUSAN At the corner of Wood Street. ’Tis a note of enchantment. when the night steals on. what ails her? She sees A mountain ascending. Well will it be for thee then if thou Art as free from sin and shame as now! Well for thee if thy tongue can tell A tale like this. And wish the shadows would faster creep And long to go to thy quiet sleep.but not with play! And thou wilt learn. Thou wilt sink to sleep on thy mother’s breast. as now It will bring relief to thine aching brow. as thou learnest now. And thy pity hath sprung to wretchedness If thou hast forgiven the sore offence And humbled thy heart with penitence. If Nature’s voices have spoken to thee With her holy meanings. And a river flows on through the vale of Cheapside. of a day spent well! If thine open hand hath relieved distress.

When it rains we stay at home. Ford Madox Ford [1873THE MITHERLESS BAIRN When a’ other bairnies are hushed to their hame By aunty. or cousin. or frecky grand-dame. The mist and the river. and the hill will not rise. Then the sun comes back again. Sometimes we have jam and meat. Then the sun comes back again. 286 . All the things we like to eat. the hill and the shade: The stream will not flow. And then sometimes other some Of the neighbors’ children come. and her heart is in heaven: but they fade. Sometimes rain and sometimes snow. So. how we’d like to know Why the weather alters so. a nest like a dove’s. His wee hackit heelies are hard as the airn. The one only dwelling on earth that she loves. But that was after father died. Goodness. or haps his bare head. sometimes wind and sometimes rain. Goodness. Sometimes rain and sometimes snow.the mitherless bairn! The mitherless bairn gangs to his lane bed. Nane covers his cauld back. Wha stands last and lanely. She looks. Once when we were put to bed We had nowt and mother cried.And a single small cottage. And the colors have all passed away from her eyes! William Wordsworth [1770-1850] CHILDREN’S SONG Sometimes wind and sometimes rain. an’ naebody carin’ ? ’Tis the puir doited loonie. Sometimes we make do with bread And potatoes boiled instead. . how we’d like to know If things will always alter so. When the weather’s really good We go nutting in the wood.

for the mitherless bairn! William Thom [1798?-1848] THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN Do ye hear the children weeping. That lo’e na the locks o’ the mitherless bairn! Yon sister that sang o’er his saftly rocked bed Now rests in the mools where her mammie is laid. An’ kens na the wrangs o’ his mitherless bairn. Do you ask them why they stand Weeping sore before the bosoms of their mothers.he trembles the while. In their dark hour o’ anguish the heartless shall learn That God deals the blow. . And that cannot stop their tears. The young birds are chirping in the nest. In the country of the free. Do you question the young children in the sorrow. 287 . O’ hands that wont kindly to kame his dark hair. The old wound. The young fawns are playing with the shadows. They are weeping bitterly! They are weeping in the playtime of the others. speak him na harshly. The young lambs are bleating in the meadows. Aneath his cauld brow siccan dreams hover there. O my brothers. that passed in yon hour o’ his birth.An’ litheless the lair o’ the mitherless bairn. Why their tears are falling so? The old man may weep for his to-morrow Which is lost in Long Ago. O my brothers. The old hope is hardest to be lost: But the young. is the sorest. and blesses your smile. Recording in heaven the blessings they earn Wha couthilie deal wi’ the mitherless bairn! O. young children. He bends to your bidding. The father toils sair their wee bannock to earn. if stricken. Still watches his wearisome wanderings on earth. Her spirit. But mornin’ brings clutches. The old tree is leafless in the forest. The young flowers are blowing toward the west But the young. O my brothers. young children. The old year is ending in the frost. a’ reckless an’ stern. Ere the sorrow comes with years? They are leaning their young heads against their mothers.

If we cared for any meadows. little Alice never cries.In our happy Fatherland? They look up with their pale and sunken faces. the children! they are seeking Death in life. And we cannot run or leap. and not the children For the outside earth is cold. to feel your fingers let them through! But they answer. it were merely To drop down in them and sleep.” say the children. And their looks are sad to see. as the little thrushes do. children. in the rime. ”we are weary. ”Are your cowslips of the meadows Like our weeds anear the mine? Leave us quiet in the dark of the coal-shadows.” say the children. Sing out. ”it may happen That we die before our time: Little Alice died last year . Our knees tremble sorely in the stooping. ”That we die before our time. For the smile has time for growing in her eyes: And merry go her moments. ”Your old earth. lulled and stilled in The shroud by the kirk-chime. ”are very weak. From your pleasures fair and fine! ”For oh. With a cerement from the grave.’ If you listen by that grave.” say the children. be sure we should not know her. We looked into the pit prepared to take her: Was no room for any work in the close clay! From the sleep wherein she lieth none will wake her. in sun and shower. Go out. Could we see her face. ”is very dreary. For the man’s hoary anguish draws and presses Down the cheeks of infancy. With your ear down.” Alas. alas. yet are weary Our grave-rest is very far to seek: Ask the aged why they weep. children. Laugh aloud. from the mine and from the city. Crying.her grave is shapen Like a snowball. little Alice! it is day. And we young ones stand without. Few paces have we taken. ”True. ’Get up. Our young feet” they say. And the graves are for the old.” they say. Pluck your handfuls of the meadow cowslips pretty. as best to have! They are binding up their hearts away from breaking. It is good when it happens. in our bewildering. 288 .

all the day. turning. of praying we remember.We fall upon our faces. the human creatures near us Pass by. 289 . Hears our weeping any more? ”Two words. indeed. Turn the black flies that crawl along the ceiling: All are turning. ”For. The reddest flower would look as pale as snow. the iron wheels are droning. Spin on blindly in the dark. ’O ye wheels. ”Who is God that He should hear us. Till our hearts turn. all day. and we with all. mouth to mouth! Let them touch each other’s hands. which God is calling sunward. And at midnight’s hour of harm. we drive the wheels of iron In the factories. They answer. in a fresh wreathing Of their tender human youth! Let them feel that this cold metallic motion Is not all the life God fashions or reveals: Let them prove their living souls against the notion That they live in you. And. with pulses burning. all day. trying to go. While the rushing of the iron wheels is stirred? When we sob aloud. And all day. O my brothers. all day. our heads. (breaking out in a mad moaning) ’Stop! be silent for to-day!’” Ay. Through the coal-dark. we drag our burden tiring. And the children’s souls. Turns the long light that drops adown the wall.’ looking upward in the chamber. Their wind comes in our faces. underneath our heavy eyelids drooping. underground. all day. For. be silent! Let them hear each other breathing For a moment. who blesseth all the others. O wheels! Still. And the walls turn in their places: Turns the sky in the high window blank and reeling. Or. hearing not. or answer not a word! And we hear not (for the wheels in their resounding) Strangers speaking at the door: Is it likely God. with angels singing round Him. ’Our Father. Will bless them another day. or under you. Now tell the poor young children. Grinding life down from its mark. the iron wheels go onward. the wheels are droning. round and round. And sometimes we could pray. To look up to Him and pray. So the blessed One.

what ye preach? For God’s possible is taught by His world’s loving. Are slaves. They have never seen the sunshine. And tread onward to your throne amid the mart? Our blood splashes upward.We say softly for a charm. And well may the children weep before you! They are weary ere they run. weeping faster. And your purple shows your path. but tears have made us blind. by the pang without the palm: Are worn as if with age. yet unretrievingly The harvest of its memories cannot reap. O cruel nation. in some pause of angels’ song. ”how long. with their pale and sunken faces. But the child’s sob in the silence curses deeper Than the strong man in his wrath!” Elizabeth Barrett Browning [1806-1861] 290 . my child. ’Come and rest with me. . He would surely (For they call Him good and mild) Answer. For they mind you of their angels in high places. smiling down the steep world very purely. Do not mock us. without its calm.”Up in Heaven. Stifle down with a mailed heel its palpitation. without the liberty in Christdom. We know no other words except ’Our Father. Dark. Let them weep! let them weep! They look up.’ And we think that. God may pluck them with the silence sweet to gather. And hold both within his right hand which is strong. And the children doubt of each. wheel-like. Go to!” say the children. grief has made us unbelieving: We look up for God. turning clouds are all we find.” Do you hear the children weeping and disproving. They sink in man’s despair. without its wisdom. ”He is speechless as a stone. ’Our Father!’ If He heard us. Will you stand.’ ”But no!” say the children. nor the glory Which is brighter than the sun. And they tell us. of His image is the master Who commands us to work on. O gold-heaper. And their look is dread to see. They know the grief of man. Are orphans of the earthly love and heavenly.” they say. Are martyrs. O my brothers. With eyes turned on Deity. on a child’s heart. ”How long. to move the world.

Mother. Forever turn the wheels around. are they giants bound. Mother. And will they growl forever? Yes. mother. Daughter. our thread will all be spun. mother? If all day long I run and run. fiery giants underground. And is the white thread never spun. Mother. the live-long day. Mother. But with the wheels your feet must run Run with the wheels forever. Your hands must pick the threads away. Do they grow sleepy never? Oh. And they will grind forever. baby thing. Why do the birds sing in the sun. mother? While sunshine children are at play? And must I work forever? Yes. mother? The wheels are always buzzing bright. little daughter. Daughter. Why do I feel so tired each night. little daughter. Why do I pick the threads all day. so soft and white. yes. shadow-child. And feel the sunshine never. Daughter.THE SHADOW-CHILD Why do the wheels go whirring round. Run with the wheels forever? The birds may sing till day is done. And work no more forever. Mother. mother? 291 . mother? Oh. The big wheels grind us in their might. little daughter. And rumble-grumble ever. For you and me done never? Oh. When we lie down out in the sun. little daughter. Daughter. mother? And is the white cloth never done. And when will come that happy day. Daughter. Mother. little daughter.

some with praise: Some with envy dumb. ”I can. and father sighed. I chanced to see. Mother turned and wept. ”Thou must. When Duty whispers low. There in the sun forever. ”To-morrow.” The youth replies. Greeted old and young. Daughter. 292 .” Up and down the place he sped. shall we laugh and sing and play Out in the sun forever? Nay. we’ll rest all day. little daughter. Far and wide the tidings spread.Oh. Where green grass grows and roses gay.” many a gossip cried. some Free with counsel. when I crossed the wild. With delight aglow Cried the lad.” cried. ”To the pit I go. Clapt his hands and sung. ”May he. shadow-child. Came his cronies.” Father hid his face and sighed. The solitary child. Joseph Skipsey [1832-1903] DUTY So nigh is grandeur to our dust.” Ralph Waldo Emerson [1803-1882] LUCY GRAY Or Solitude Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray: And. ”Be from peril kept. at break of day. Harriet Monroe [1860-1936] MOTHER WEPT Mother wept. So near is God to man. some to gaze Wrapped in wonder.

no comrade Lucy knew. The wretched parents all that night Went shouting far and wide. A furlong from their door. Child. ”To-night will be a stormy night.” ”That.No mate. But the sweet face of Lucy Gray Will never more be seen. She dwelt on a wide moor. That rises up like smoke. The storm came on before its time: She wandered up and down: And many a hill did Lucy climb: But never reached the town. And thence they saw the bridge of wood. Father. The hare upon the green. He plied his work. turning homeward.and Lucy took The lantern in her hand. cried. And snapped a fagot-brand. The minster-clock has just struck two. to light Your mother through the snow.” When in the snow the mother spied The print of Lucy’s feet. They wept. 293 . Not blither is the mountain roe: With many a wanton stroke Her feet disperse the powdery snow. At daybreak on the hill they stood That overlooked the moor. ”In heaven we all shall meet. But there was neither sound nor sight To serve them for a guide. You to the town must go. . And take a lantern. The sweetest thing that ever grew Beside a human door! You yet may spy the fawn at play. will I gladly do: ’Tis scarcely afternoon. . And yonder is the moon!” At this the Father raised his hook.and.

And mangle the living dog that had loved him and fawned at his knee Drenched with the hellish oorali . big chest. And never looks behind. big merciless hands! Wonderful cures he had done. Fresh from the surgery-schools of France and of other lands Harsh red hair. but his voice and his face were not kind. And by the low stone-wall. O yes. nor ever lost.Yet some maintain that to this day She is a living child. I could think he was one of those who would break their jests on the dead. and I pray for them all as my own:” 294 .it was all but a hopeless case: And he handled him gently enough. And to the bridge they came. But he sent a chill to my heart when I saw him come in at the door. but they said too of him He was happier using the knife than in trying to save the limb. And it was but a hopeless case. And that I can well believe. O’er rough and smooth she trips along. And then an open field they crossed The marks were still the same They tracked them on. ”to seek the Lord Jesus in prayer.” I told him. and the smile.” ”All the more need. Into the middle of the plank.I am sure that some of our children would die But for the voice of love. I never had seen him before. They followed from the snowy bank Those footmarks. one by one. for he looked so coarse and so red. That you may see sweet Lucy Gray Upon the lonesome wild. every bone seemed out of its place Caught in a mill and crushed . And further there were none! . and the comforting eye Here was a boy in the ward. And sings a solitary song That whistles in the wind.Then downwards from the steep hill’s edge They tracked the footmarks small: And through the broken hawthorn-hedge. They are all His children here. And he said to me roughly ”The lad will need little more of your care.that ever such things should be! Here was a boy . William Wordsworth [1770-1850] IN THE CHILDREN’S HOSPITAL Emmie Our doctor had called in another. big voice. he had seen it and made up his mind.

play with ’em. you see. Empty you see just now! We have lost her who loved her so much Patient of pain though as quick as a sensitive plant to the touch. ”If I. but I know that I heard him say. our meek little maid. had I been so grieved and so vexed! Emmie had heard him. Never since I was nurse.” I walked with our kindly old doctor as far as the head of the quiet. I find that it always can please Our children. you used to send her the flowers. Softly she called from her cot to the next. and you leave ’em outside on the bed The Lord has so much to see to! but.” Had? has it come? It has only dawned. I fear. ”but then if I call to the Lord. you tell it Him plain.I felt I could do it no more. It’s the little girl with her arms lying out on the counterpane.But he turned to me. ”All very well . and a clatter of hail on the glass. It will come by and by. I must do it to-morrow. what shall I do?” Annie considered.” said the wise little Annie. Emmie. Again she considered and said: ”Emmie. How should He know that it’s me? such a lot of beds in the ward?” That was a puzzle for Annie. can prayer set a broken bone?” Then he muttered half to himself. Flowers to these ”spirits in prison” are all they can know of the spring. how could I serve in the wards if the hope of the world were a lie? How could I bear with the sights and the loathsome smells of disease But that He said ”Ye do it to me. she’ll never live through it. and we thought her at rest. ”He says I shall never live through it. And we passed to this ward where the younger children are laid: Here is the cot of our orphan. Nurse. 295 . talk to ’em hours after hours! They that can wander at will where the works of the Lord are revealed Little guess what joy can be got from a cowslip out of the field. Quietly sleeping . the dear Lord Jesus with children about His knees. good woman. Emmie. O. ”Poor little dear. Hers was the gratefullest heart I have found in a child of her years Nay you remember our Emmie. our doctor said. I should cry to the dear Lord Jesus to help me. you put out your arms.” said Emmie. Then I returned to the ward. ”was you.’” (Meaning the print that you gave us. That was my sleeping-night. ”Ay. our darling. And she lay with a flower in one hand and her thin hands crossed on her breast Wan. They freshen and sweeten the wards like the waft of an angel’s wing. How she would smile at ’em. it often moved me to tears.) ”Yes. Hers was the prettiest prattle. O Annie. when ye do it to these”? So he went.I could not watch her for four My brain had begun to reel . for.but the good Lord Jesus has had his day. and I will.” I had sat three nights by the child . but I thought that it never would pass. It’s all in the picture there: ’Little children should come to Me. There was a thunderclap once. but as pretty as heart can desire. the child didn’t see I was there.

It is not true that Love will do no wrong. your talk. left others of my own. being dead. little arms lying out on the counterpane. poor Child! I seem to hear your laugh.And there was a phantom cry that I heard as I tossed about. The motherless bleat of a lamb in the storm and the darkness without. Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892] ”IF I WERE DEAD” ”If I were dead. Say that His day is done! Ah. And the doctor came at his hour. lean. And the tears brake From eyes which. and their lashes yet From his late sobbing wet. And I. fearing lest his grief should hinder sleep. With darkened eyelids. with moan. . brightly smiled.His Mother. Poor Child!” The dear lips quivered as they spake. long. My sleep was broken besides with dreams of the dreadful knife And fears for our delicate Emmie who scarce would escape with her life. O God. who was patient. you’d sometimes say. unless it be That sweet amends thrice told are come to thee. who looked from thoughtful eyes And moved and spoke in quiet grown-up wise. Kissing away his tears. have Thou no mercy upon me! Poor Child! Coventry Patmore [1823-1896] THE TOYS My little Son. But found him slumbering deep. should lie awake. I struck him. and we went to see the child. I visited his bed. Poor Child. 296 . Having my law the seventh time disobeyed. and Emmie had passed away. when you so cried and smiled. Then. He had brought his ghastly tools: we believed her asleep again Her dear. your song. not to grieve me. in lonely nights. And of those words your full avengers make? Poor Child. and dismissed With hard words and unkissed. How I. Then in the gray of the morning it seemed she stood by me and smiled. poor Child! And now. why should we care what they say? The Lord of the children had heard her. Poor Child! And did you think.

and see the smiling faces.” Coventry Patmore [1823-1896] A SONG OF TWILIGHT Oh. no good has been denied me. standing straight and steady. And six or seven shells. Still each answers to my call. He had put. Dark head. mother!” the eager voices calling. A piece of glass abraded by the beach. Shoulder set to shoulder. to come home once more. I wept. mother!” the high child voices calling. My burdens have been fitted to the little strength that’s mine. when the heart its path retraces. bright head. Much the years have taken. and said: Ah. ranged there with careful art. And Thou rememberest of what toys We made our joys. when the early dusk is falling. the image will remain. on a table drawn beside his head. Men and women now they are. pride and peace have walked by day beside me. and how can I repine? But oh. Beauty. To comfort his sad heart. Grave heart. But until time is not for me. And two French copper coins. how should they be but ready! The future shines before them with the light of their own eyes. mother. Thou’lt leave Thy wrath. So when that night I prayed To God. clustered at the pane. To see the nursery lighted and the children’s table spread. fit for life’s emprise. The evening closes gently in. fatherly not less Than I whom Thou hast moulded from the clay. he had to go to bed!” 297 . The nursery windows glowing and the children’s table spread. to see once more. A bottle with bluebells. A box of counters and a red-veined stone. Not vexing Thee in death. ”He couldn’t stay awake for you. to come home once more. when the dusk is falling. ”The baby was so sleepy that he had to go to bed!” Oh. and say. mother. Then. gay heart. when at last we lie with tranced breath.For. within his reach. ”I will be sorry for their childishness. ”Mother. How weakly understood Thy great commanded good. ”Mother.

toddling off to his trundle-bed. But the little toy friends are true! Ay. Across the unknown sea. the years are long. And. But sturdy and stanch he stands. as he was dreaming. Past hoary Mimir’s well and tree. ”And don’t you make any noise!” So. Time was when the little toy dog was new. as waiting the long years through In the dust of that little chair. What has become of our Little Boy Blue. And the soldier was passing fair. Eugene Field [1850-1895] THE DISCOVERER I have a little kinsman Whose earthly summers are but three. And his musket moulds in his hands. Since he kissed them and put them there. He dreamt of the pretty toys.” he said. And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue Kissed them and put them there.Unknown LITTLE BOY BLUE The little toy dog is covered with dust. Each in the same old place. ”Now. Ay. And they wonder. don’t you go till I come. The smile of a little face. Than all their peers together! He is a brave discoverer. And the little toy soldier is red with rust. faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand. Awaiting the touch of a little hand. And. 298 . he has travelled whither A winged pilot steered his bark Through the portals of the dark. And yet a voyager is he Greater then Drake or Frobisher. far beyond the tether Of them who seek the frozen Pole. Has sailed where the noiseless surges roll. an angel song Awakened our Little Boy Blue Oh! the years are many.

or answer well What the little one has found Since he left us.” . Who can tell How he fares.Suddenly. He has more learning than appears On the scroll of twice three thousand years. Or from furthest Indies brought. nor seed.With his sweet smile innocent Our little kinsman went. in his fair young hour. 299 . To lay beside this severed curl. Came one who bore a flower. And his eyes behold Things that shall never. But he comes not back. Since that time no word From the absent has been heard. perchance. And yet I dare aver He is a brave discoverer Of climes his elders do not know. What shapes the angels wear. Some starry offering Of chrysolite or pearl? Ah. That was not fruit. Edmund Clarence Stedman [1833-1908] A CHRYSALIS My little Madchen found one day A curious something in her play. no! not so! We may follow on his track. Hush! does not the baby this way bring. how spirits fare. outward bound? Would that he might return! Then should we learn From the pricking of his chart How the skyey roadways part. Sail beneath the evening star. And a wondrous land discover. And laid it in his dimpled hand With this command: ”Henceforth thou art a rover! Thou must make a voyage far. He knows. What is their guise and speech In those lands beyond our reach. never be to mortal hearers told. nor flower. More than in the groves is taught.

by and by. My little Madchen would be dead? To-day the butterfly has flown. or swam. Or crept. She was not here to see it fly. And Death that robbed me of delight Was but the radiant creature’s flight! Mary Emily Bradley [1835-1898] MATER DOLOROSA I’d a dream to-night As I fell asleep.” ”A butterfly is not like this. 300 . She brought in her tiny hand To see if I would understand. Whether it was alive or dead. splendid wings had spread. And sorrowing I wonder why The empty shell is mine alone. indeed. or flew. Gone to leave me sad. slowly. the child I had. a spotted wing. O! the touching sight Makes me still to weep: Of my little lad. And wondered when I made reply.It was not anything that grew. And yet she was not sure. in the dull brown thing Now still as death. ”And will it. or climbed. truly?” questioned she Her laughing lips and eager eyes All in a sparkle of surprise ”And shall your little Madchen see?” ”She shall! I said. Perhaps the secret lies in this: I too had found a chrysalis. would unfold. Ay.” With doubtful look she answered me. she said. All radiant in blue and gold. ”You’ve found a baby butterfly. Had neither legs nor wings. How. So then I told her what would be Some day within the chrysalis. How could I tell That ere the worm within its shell Its gauzy. And then another. Till from the empty shell would fly A pretty creature.

never mourn. Her tears that burnt like fire So bitter and slow ran down She could not think on the new-washed children Playing by Mary’s gown. There in train came by Children fair and meek. But they did not speak.But was not to keep. Each was clear to sight. half-turned about. She heard the milky ewes Bleat to their lambs astray. alas! She heard her heart’s blood drip in the night As the ewes’ milk on the grass. a little sad. ”Your tears put it out. I my child did seek. Her one little son of seven. Then. Her heart cried for her lamb Lapped cold in the churchyard sod. As in heaven high. O it did not burn! He.” William Barnes [1801-1886] THE LITTLE GHOST The stars began to peep Gone was the bitter day. 301 . Oh who is this comes in Over her threshold stone? And why is the old dog wild with joy Who all day long made moan? This fair little radiant ghost. New ’scaped from the band of merry children In the nurseries of Heaven. Each in lily white. Came my child in turn. to clear my doubt. With a lamp alight. Mother. Said. She heard the calling ewes And the lambs’ answer. But the lamp he had. She could not think on the happy children At play with the Lamb of God.

the sleepy children Twixt Mary’s arm and breast. his lovely eyes Just knew me for his mother. However long it be. To Thee my eyes would turn. She has seen them lie. Katherine Tynan Hinkson [1861-1931] MOTHERHOOD The night throbs on. At morning she came back. and he died. my own mother. His curls had a ring of light That rose and fell again. And you shall have great ease. Hast Thou an angel there to mother him? I say be loves me best . As a bird homes to its nest. He cannot praise Thee.He was all clad in white Without a speck or stain. all his life had learned Was to hold fast my kisses in the night. Give him to me . he cannot sing. For you shall see the lost children Gathered to Mary’s knees. let me pray. dear lad! Crush off his name a moment from my mouth. As she goes in and out She sings unto hersel’. Her eyes were strange to see. And hand in hand with the little ghost Through the dark night she ran. Back to my arm beside me.” Oh. ”Now come with me. where he lay So little. O.if he forgets. Lord. She is gone swift as a fawn. She will not fear the long journey. If Thou allow it that my child forgets 302 . so little and so warm! I cannot think that Thou hadst need of him! He was so little. Lord. For she has seen the mothers’ children And knows that it is well.he is not happy there! He had not felt this life. but they go back. lightly sprang she up Nor waked her sleeping man.

running. my heart. Takes his little hand to guide his stranger feet ’Mid the countless hosts that cross the floor of heaven. the Lord has taken from me. Lovely is he now and strong with four sweet summers. While the gentle angels lift him from his bed. Thou God of all the mothers. Thou hast my child. If upon her breast she holds his baby beauty. Do angels kiss in heaven? Give him back! Forgive me. and cold to comforting. And tired of tears. Thou art wise.And runs not out to meet me when I come What are my curses to Thee? Thou hast heard The curse of Abel’s mother. my child shall go Orphaned among the angels! All alone. so my whispers soar there. See Thou tend him well. 303 .ah. To threat and pray Thee that Thou hold them still In memory of us. He only knows his mother . Laughing. Thou wilt not reprove her for Thy pity sweet. and tender. and he is safe in Thee. Oh Lord. His holy will be done. If he lack One of his kisses . though they did beseech me. The little grave lies lonely in the sun. The mourners all have gone. So little and alone! He knows not Thee. his mother. all save I. but I am sick with grief. whose babe on earth is living. when Thou gavest he was weak and helpless. my heart. aye. Could not rise nor wander from my shielding arm. Lord. Heaven’s door is open. Blessed be His name. If some tender mother. And I believe Ah. God. and since then We have not ceased to threaten at Thy throne. hard to keep from harm. Nay! I would not follow. I know. All his golden hair will fall about her hand. For the angels come now waiting for my dead. Josephine Daskam Bacon [1876THE MOTHER’S PRAYER The good Lord gave.give him back. tumbling. and good.

hold me to Thy will ungrateful: Soon I shall stand upright. so leetla theeng! But steell eet mak’ hees hearta seeng: ”Oh. But ’tis lonely yet. He was so patience. glad his joy to see. Wan day. Smiled upon his folly. da joy Eet ees too late! He was so cold. dat he ees seeck.forgat-me-not. She will understand. So. Each eve shall I come beside his bed so lowly. smiling. if he be frightened. at las’. Lord. lay the blame on me.w’at-you-call? . He no could wait. Never did I chide him for his noise or riot. Sweet the gift Thou gavest All the cherished treasure of those golden years. Thou shouldst hear me weeping. Lord. now. Take no heed of this grief. Ever was I wayward. by the little grave! Dora Sigerson Shorter [1862-1918] DA LEETLA BOY Da spreeng ees com’. How manny day. If he prove unruly. ’tis lonely. so sweet! Eet hurts my throat for theenk of eet. Do not. oh. Wilful are his ways and full of merry mischief. Da leetla girl dat’s livin’ dere Ees raise her window for da air. by the little grave.” softly shall I sing. therefore. ”Hush-a-by. I no can count how manny week. An’ put outside a leetla pot Of . wan brighta sunny day. The song he loved shall reach him and sure comfort bring. ees com’ da spreeng! 304 . lonely. He see. if in my praying. With a son in heaven the sad earth forgetting. So smalla flower. How manny night I seet an’ hold Da leetla hand dat was so cold. always full of tears. strong. across da alleyway. but oh. An’ all he evra ask ees w’en Ees gona com’ da spreeng agen. Oh.Laughing let her fingers pull it into ringlets Long and lovely ringlets. and brave. my baby. my leetla boy. full of sleep and anger.

so white. oh. An’ een da alley all da night Ees fall da snow. so cold! Da spreeng ees com’. so cold. my leetla boy. but. He no could wait.Da leetla plant ees glad for know Da sun ees com’ for mak’ eet grow. too. ah! da night com’ down an’ den Da weenter ees sneak back agen. 305 .and the world grew poor To me. But. III I met a mother on the moor.” So lika dat he seeng hees song. I left her . So. Love lit her eyes with lovelier hues Than the eve-star was shedding. I am grow warm and strong. I led her to her father’s door A cottage midst the clover. An’ cover up da leetla pot Of . By a new grave a-praying.w’at-you-call? . II I met a maid upon the moor. Down all the lonely night I heard But bridal bells a-ringing. All night da leetla hand I hold Ees grow so cold. so cold. da joy Eet ees too late! He was so cold. And o’er the stile went singing. We crossed the fields together.forgat-me-not. She looked a sweet good-bye to me. The happy swallows in the blue Upon the winds were playing. Thomas Augustin Daly [1871ON THE MOOR I I met a child upon the moor A-wading down the heather. The morrow was her wedding. a childless rover. She put her hand into my own.

nor fall. o’er this tomb. was never cold. From their dust shall spring and bloom Loves and graces like to thee. But. What love-deeds by fancy done. Childhood’s dawning sex did dower With warm gusts of womanhood. in the flower. And her trippings were so few! Summers only eight in all Had the sweet child wandered through.”Would I were in his grave. whence they shoot. if flower and fruit By their nature fitly show What the seeds are. Trip no more shall she. All her ways were winning ones. And the fancy. too carelessly!) Touched this tomb. now Thou hadst been his teacher bold. Cale Young Rice [1872EPITAPH OF DIONYSIA Here doth Dionysia lie: She whose little wanton foot. life’s few suns Love’s strong seeds had ripened warm. and fell into ’t. till now. But. Oh what joys by hope begun.” I said. All her cunning was to charm. already. if buried seeds upthrow Fruits and flowers. Who. While the flesh was in the bud. Once Love’s aptest scholar. Oh what kisses kissed by thought. Dionysia. Where thy buried beauties be. Tripping (ah. Death to endless dust hath wrought! Had the fates been kind as thou. 306 . ”And he beside her standing!” There was no heart to break if death For me had made demanding.

Yet.” My listening heart takes up the strain. Sow it with penitential pains. The happiest smile of Charlie’s life. the house is still. For wherefore should I fast and weep. Who every day doth Christmas make. sweet wife. and leave my sin Without. 307 . nor he. And patience learned of mournful days. the King. I will anoint me where he lies. that precious hill. And sullen moods of mourning keep? I cannot bring him back. Content if. Eat. dim hymn. His will be done! Who gave and took away my son. and be glad. come to me. ”For Charlie’s sake. and mine. as they pass. hopeful. For any calling. content for Charlie’s sake. And lay on baby’s lips a kiss. They drop into thy dreams. The angels of the hour fulfil Their tender ministries. And. All starred and belled for Charlie’s sake.for Charlie’s sake. Fitted with words of lowly praise. And gives it to the night again. patient husbandman.Unknown FOR CHARLIE’S SAKE The night is late. God sealed . and move From couch to couch in cares of love. after all. Fresh from his angel-brother’s bliss. wait the latter rains. For Charlie’s sake I will arise. I’m very poor . And. and praise the Lord. And change my raiment. and go in To the Lord’s house. In ”the far land” to shine and sing Before the Beautiful. and seat me at his board. I till With faith and prayers.this slender stone Marks all the narrow field I own. they seem to make A strange. And memories of the dead child’s ways. His will be done. The bond the angel Death did sign. the spot Yield barely one forget-me-not Whether or figs or thistles make My crop.

Or plague his painless countenance: I would not any seer might place His staff on my immortal’s face. How is it with the child? ’Tis well. or chirp of bird. John Williamson Palmer [1825-1906] ”ARE THE CHILDREN AT HOME?” Each day. builded well Only that little lonesome cell.I have no houses. Or lip to lip. For Charlie’s sake my lot is blest: No comfort like his mother’s breast. The good child’s wistful charities. banned and poor. Red-cloaked and weird. For Charlie’s sake we leave the rest To Him who gave. For Charlie’s sake my heart is dressed. Their rainbowed cloud of glooms and joys Born with their songs. And saved us twice. Nor ever is its stillness stirred By purr of cat. Go tripping lightly by. no charm expressed In fairest forms hath half her zest. Nor would I any miracle Might stir my sleeper’s tranquil trance. To bless the good child’s gracious eyes. For Charlie’s sake this bird’s caressed That death left lonely in the nest. Charm back his pale mortality. in its best. And the wee ones. Or mother’s twilight legend. 308 . when the glow of sunset Fades in the western sky. No praise like hers. told Of Horner’s pie. Shunamite! I would not break God’s stillness. Nor bashful sweethearts. Where never romping playmates come. tired of playing. Let them weep who wake. Or fairy hobbling to the door. No. cunning-dumb An April burst of girls and boys. gone with their toys. and who did take. for Charlie’s sake. And crippled changeling’s hunch to make Dance on his crutch. or Tiddler’s gold. As for its birthday. and eye to eye. for good child’s sake.

And the children are all about me.” And I sing. 309 . ”It is night! are the children home?” ”Yes. Passed to the world of the blest. With his head upon his hand. Twin brothers bold and brave. the angels. With tremulous voice he calls me. At home. Thank God! floats over their grave. Alone in the dear old homestead That once was full of life. A vision from the skies: The babes whose dimpled fingers Lost the way to my breast. And the beautiful ones. where never a sorrow Shall dim their eyes with tears! Where the smile of God is on them Through all the summer years! I know. in the dusk of evening. I see their radiant brows. The red sword sealed their vows! In a tangled Southern forest. Sometimes. And watch from the open doorway Their faces fresh and fair. . A song so soft and low. With never a cloud upon them. They fell. And I tell to myself the number At home in the better land. ”They’re all home long ago. love!” I answer him gently.yet my arms are empty. in my quivering treble. That fondly folded seven. as the shadows come. I only shut my eyes. Ringing with girlish laughter.I steal away from my husband. And oft. and the flag they died for. Till the old man drops to slumber. Asleep in his easy-chair. My boys that I gave to freedom. Echoing boyish strife. We two are waiting together. And the mother-heart within me Is almost starved for heaven.

love.” Margaret Sangster [1838-1919] THE MORNING-GLORY We wreathed about our darling’s head The morning-glory bright.” So always from that happy time We called her by their name. All alone in the night. and the vision is lifted Away on wings of light. So full of life and light. That we could only say. As those dear arms whose outstretched plea Clasped all hearts to her own. 310 . ”Say. They tell me his mind is failing. And again we two are together. tired of playing. with eyes uplifted. Brimmed with sleep’s tender dew. And very fitting did it seem For. ”Yes. And still. But I smile at idle fears. And her poor types are they.A breath. He is only back with the children. as the summer sunset Fades away in the west. Go trooping home to rest. have the children come?” And I answer. As turned her sweet eyes to the light. In the dear and peaceful years. Behind her cradle bars she smiled To catch the first faint ray. dear! they are all at home. As from the trellis smiles the flower And opens to the day. And not so close their tendrils fine Round their supports are thrown. sure as morning came. Her little face looked out beneath. We used to think how she had come. My husband calls from his corner. And the wee ones. But not so beautiful they rear Their airy cups of blue. So lit as with a sunrise. ”She is the morning-glory true.

O God. then leaves unbent. So is my memory thrilled and stirred. by gusts unriven. and cold. As on the little dewdrops round Shines back the heart of day. The tender things the winter killed Renew again their birth. But the glory of our morning Has passed away from earth. and dead! The morning-glory’s blossoming Will soon be coming round We see the rows of heart-shaped leaves Upspringing from the ground. O Earth! in vain our aching eyes Stretch over thy green plain! Too harsh thy dews. too gross thine air Her spirit to sustain. Like the morning-glory’s cup. As clasps some lake. We never could have thought. We never thought to see her droop Her fair and noble head. And how in her was imaged forth The love we could not say. at one bound. I only know she came and went. Till she lay stretched before our eyes. The blue dome’s measureless content. I only know she came and went. which a bird Lights on to sing. The last and perfect added gift To crown Love’s morning hour. So my soul held that moment’s heaven. As. our swift spring heaps 311 . That she must wither up.Even as comes the flower. Maria White Lowell [1821-1855] SHE CAME AND WENT As a twig trembles. But up in groves of Paradise Full surely we shall see Our morning-glory beautiful Twine round our dear Lord’s knee. Wilted. Almost before a day was flown.

And thought of the leaden sky 312 . From sheds new-roofed with Carrara Came Chanticleer’s muffled crow. As did robins the babes in the wood. Again I looked at the snow-fall. How the flakes were folding it gently. when the room grows slowly dim. James Russell Lowell [1819-1891] THE FIRST SNOW-FALL The snow had begun in the gloaming. Through the low doorway of my tent. Saying. And the sudden flurries of snow-birds. The stiff rails softened to swan’s-down. And busily all the night Had been heaping field and highway With a silence deep and white. One gush of light these eyes will brim. And life’s last oil is nearly spent.The orchards full of bloom and scent. So clove her May my wintry sleeps. And still fluttered down the snow. I only know she came and went. Like brown leaves whirling by. An angel stood and met my gaze. Only to think she came and went. I only know she came and went. ”Father. Every pine and fir and hemlock Wore ermine too dear for an earl. who makes it snow?” And I told of the good All-father Who cares for us here below. And the poorest twig on the elm-tree Was ridged inch deep with pearl. I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn Where a little headstone stood. The tent is struck. the vision stays. Oh. I stood and watched by the window The noiseless work of the sky. Up spoke our own little Mabel.

She had a rustic.” She answered. How many may you be?” ”How many? Seven in all.” she said. kissing back. . little Maid. And two are gone to sea. What should it know of death? I met a little cottage Girl: She was eight years old. And she was wildly clad: Her eyes were fair. James Russell Lowell [1819-1891] ”WE ARE SEVEN” A simple Child. My sister and my brother. Flake by flake. ”Two of us in the church-yard lie. And feels its life in every limb.Her beauty made me glad. woodland air. I 313 . and very fair. That lightly draws its breath. Darling. Folded close under deepening snow. healing and hiding The scar that renewed our woe. she said: Her hair was thick with many a curl That clustered round her head. I remembered the gradual patience That fell from that cloud like snow. ”Seven are we. And two of us at Conway dwell. in the church-yard cottage. And she. the merciful Father Alone can make it fall” Then. And again to the child I whispered. ”Sisters and brothers. could not know That my kiss was given to her sister. with eyes that saw not. When that mound was heaped so high. And. ”And where are they? I pray you tell. I kissed her. ”The snow that husheth all.That arched o’er our first great sorrow. And wondering looked at me.

”And when the ground was white with snow. And I could run and slide. how this may be. they may be seen.Dwell near them with my mother. And sing a song to them. ”If they two are in heaven?” Quick was the little Maid’s reply. My kerchief there I hem. 314 . ”The first that died was sister Jane. Sweet Maid. And they are side by side. And then she went away.” Then did the little Maid reply. Together round her grave we played. when the grass was dry.I pray you tell.” The little Maid replied: ”Twelve steps or more from my mother’s door. ”And often after sunset. And two are gone to sea. And eat my supper there.” ”Their graves are green. ”My stockings there I often knit. If two are in the church-yard laid.” ”How many are you. And he lies by her side. And there upon the ground I sit. My brother John and I. ”So in the church-yard she was laid. In bed she moaning lay.” ”You run about. Sir. I take my little porringer. And. When it is light and fair. ”Seven boys and girls are we. Then ye are only five. my little Maid. Till God released her of her pain.” ”You say that two at Conway dwell.” said I. then. Two of us in the church-yard lie Beneath the church-yard tree. My brother John was forced to go. Your limbs they are alive. Yet ye are seven .

Seek him inquiringly.he is not there! I know his face is hid Under the coffin-lid.he is not there! I thread the crowded street. With the same beaming eyes and colored hair. through the open door. Before the thought comes that . And. Yet my heart whispers that . those two are dead! Their spirits are in heaven!” ’Twas throwing words away. And. A satchelled lad I meet.he is not there! I cannot make him dead! When passing by the bed. Yet when my eyes. Follow him with my eye.”O Master! we are seven. now dim With tears. . I hear a footfall on the chamber stair. ”Nay. My hand that marble felt. I’m stepping toward the hall To give my boy a call. as he’s running by. My spirit and my eye. we are seven!” William Wordsworth [1770-1850] MY CHILD I cannot make him dead! His fair sunshiny head Is ever bounding round my study chair.he is not there! When. O’er it in prayer I knelt.he is not there! I walk my parlor floor. So long watched over with parental care. With my first breathing of the morning air 315 . Scarcely believing that . from sleep I wake. I turn to him. Closed are his eyes.” ”But they are dead. at the cool gray break Of day. cold is his forehead fair. And said. for still The little Maid would have her will. The vision vanishes. And then bethink me that .

he is not there! When at the day’s calm close. Meeting at thy right hand. ”Thou shalt see me there!” Yes. soft came your cry. in spirit. offering up our prayer. my sweet. that now doth press Upon that cast-off dress. . Another Father now. Then comes the sad thought that . And on his angel brow. absent son. And when I lifted you. That.he is not there! Not there! . praying For our boy’s spirit. nor. I’m with his mother. more strong than I. Has borne you voiceless to your dear blue sky. George Parsons Lathrop [1851-1898] 316 .he is there! John Pierpont [1785-1866] THE CHILD’S WISH GRANTED Do you remember. is he? The form I used to see Was but the raiment that he used to wear.In all the past He lives. I see it written. then. Of seeing him again will I despair. ”Put me ’way up . Before we seek repose. In dreams I see him now.Where. to the last. To Him who gave my boy. How in the soft June days forever done You loved the heavens so warm and clear and high. with joy.’way.set you down. Whate’er I may be saying. ’way up in blue sky”? I laughed and said I could not. thy chastening rod So help us. in the spirit-land. .My soul goes up. thine afflicted ones. Your gray eyes wonder-filled beneath that crown Of bright hair gladdening me as you raced by. we all live to God! Father. though .he is not there! He lives! . to bear. The grave. I am. Is but his wardrobe locked. ’Twill be our heaven to find that .

so white. But it is blessedness! A year ago I did not see it as I do to-day. You almost are too tired to pray to-night.CHALLENGE This little child. This restless. curling head from off your breast This lisping tongue that chatters constantly. A child’s dear eyes are looking lovingly From underneath a thatch of tangled hair. folding yours so tight. and too slow To catch the sunshine till it slips away. And now it seems surpassing strange to me That. Into the abyss. We are so dull and thankless. their grave had tripped.” Do you know more? Kenton Foster Murray [18 TIRED MOTHERS A little elbow leans upon your knee. You do not prize this blessing overmuch. 317 . Are you as brave? So small. Your tired knee that has so much to bear. Alone she stepped. And if some night when you sit down to rest. ”she did not know This babe of four Just what it signifies to go. moist fingers. ”Ah. I could not blame you for your heartache then! I wonder so that mothers ever fret At little children clinging to their gown. And ne’er would nestle in your palm again. You miss this elbow from your tired knee. I did not kiss more oft and tenderly The little child that brought me only good. Encountered death without a qualm.” you explain. If the white feet into. Perhaps you do not heed the velvet touch Of warm. and armed with naught beside Her mother’s kiss. while I wore the badge of motherhood. unterrified. If from your own the dimpled hands had slipped. so calm. Decked for her grave.

” Then I say: ”It must lead to the far away city. but I know that its coming will prove That it went to the walls of the wonderful city. it lingers. My womanly daughter Louise. We watch the bright billows. Are ever black enough to make them frown. That broadens away to the limitless west. But ah! the dainty pillow next my own Is never rumpled by a shining head. Sweet clay to lie under the pitiful sod: 318 . The magical City of Love. There is no woman in God’s world could say She was more blissfully content than I. If I could mend a broken cart to-day. when the days are wet. If I could kiss a rosy. my beautiful daughter. She steps to the boat with a touch of his fingers. To-morrow make a kite to reach the sky. I wait for her coming from over the seas.Or that the footprints. Gleams bright. as of old. My singing birdling from its nest has flown. My seat on the sand and her seat on my knees. And hear its patter in my house once more. do I and my daughter. Or cap. To weep for my daughter Louise. like a way that an angel has trod. reaching out in its splendor. on my chamber-floor.” In the light of the moon. The shallop is lost in the distance. by the side of the water. In the light of the moon. And one loves my daughter. I wait but to welcome the dust of my daughter. The beautiful City of Rest. May Riley Smith [1842-1927] MY DAUGHTER LOUISE In the light of the moon. We wonder what city the pathway of glory. by the side of the water. The little boy I used to kiss is dead. restless foot.she minds her of some pretty story And says: ”To the city that mortals love best. And out on the diamonded pathway they move. The path. Stand two in the shadow of whispering trees. My sweet little daughter Louise. Leads up to . or jacket. by the side of the water. It waits. If I could find a little muddy boot. I kiss the cold burden its billows surrender.

illumined by no ray? And wilt thou come. and say. The child you lost. The world is great: I tried to mount the hill Above the pines. Baby.But she rests. in the city Whose ”builder and maker is God. Oh Baby. And I am lonely. Dumb with great doubt. where the light lies so still. And make loud holiday: how fast they walk! I’m lame. sea birds cry And hurt my heart: my little sister went. Nor shall we see thee other than thou wast. The stars are golden fruit upon a tree All out of reach: my little sister went.” while we in sudden fear. I wonder where it comes from. ”Behold! I’m here. With unknown face. George Eliot [1819-1880] SONNETS From ”Mimma Bella” I Have dark Egyptians stolen Thee away. But such as thou art printed in the heart. they push me: little Lisa went. shall find no word to say? One darker than dark gipsy holds thee fast. on some far distant day. And I am lonely. The world is great: the wind comes rushing by. at the end of the path. in whose cot we peer As down some empty gulf that opens sheer And fathomless. One whose strong fingers none has forced apart Since first they closed on things that were too fair. II 319 . The world is great: the people laugh and talk.” Homer Greene [1853”I AM LONELY” From ”The Spanish Gypsy” The world is great: the birds all fly from me. But it rose higher: little Lisa went And I am lonely. In changeless baby loveliness still there. And I am lonely.

and fall headlong from to-day. bless the law that veils the Future’s face. with her little doll. the soul would miss Its footing. The feet that on life’s brambles never fell. wet with rain. and Florence scrolls her name In every blossom Primavera flings. The breeze’s murmur would become the cries Of stormy petrels where the breakers race. Near other children. and wreaths of young vine frame The daffodils that every light breeze swings.two radiant Tuscan springs. VI Oh. as if Adonis came Just there to die. shall seek one bud in vain. And deathless stars shine nightly overhead. for the over-wise. 320 . while the seasons in their order roll. rosy as the lining of a shell Were the wee hands that now are white as snows. We live as moves the walker in his sleep. I mind me. now deaf in Death’s strong spell. Or bear the beauty of the evening skies. And when the amber roses. straight and tall. And sun and rain pour down from God’s great dome. Now. And like pink coral. And like the incurved petal of a rose The little ear. with their elfin toes. When nothing warned us of the dark decree. If he could see what cometh on apace? The ticking of the death-watch would replace The baby’s prattle. when the scented iris. And the anemones that April brings Make purple pools. We. Now. For who could smile into a baby’s eyes. VIII One day. What time the wild red tulips are aflame In the new wheat. Shall tapestry the old gray villa wall. She waits the wizard that will never come To wake the sleep-struck playground of the dead. at May’s exulting call. Shall hedge the garden gravel once again With pale blue flags. And with its tiny smile. left alone. IV Oh. adorable The mouth that never knew life’s bitter sloes. now that she is dead. Who walks because he sees not the abyss His feet are skirting as he goes his way: If we could see the morrow from the steep Of our security.Two springs she saw .

The frailest of the unsubstantial forms That leave the shores that are for those that seem! XX What essences from Idumean palm. for wrecked gold. beside her little bed. To fashion for thy name a fretted shrine. O Sea of Nevermore. What ambergris. Willing feet.on the shrine that Time Makes ever holier for the soul. Where never ripple breaks upon the shore Of Death’s pale Isles of Twilight as they dream. still locked in virgin mine. If I could swathe thy memory in such balm! Oh. while years Obliterate the rolls of human fame. in a minor key. Eugene Lee-Hamilton [1845-1907] ROSE-MARIE OF THE ANGELS Little Sister Rose-Marie. and .felt no dread. Will thy voice as bird-note clear Lift and ripple over Heaven As its mortal sound is given. And we will wander by the purple sea. I crooned them low. to lull her. Swift bird-voice. To stud the pyx.” I crooned it. what sacerdotal wine. To lay upon the altar of thy name. What Arab myrrh. As they run the blue skies under. from depths for ever calm. O Mimma Bella. Such fancies as first came into my head. give back. what spikenard.God help me! .I crooned. No rubies but heart’s drops. would be thine. . Will thy feet as willing-light Run through Paradise. And the refrain was somehow ”Come with me. Give back. for strange gems. Oh. beyond the stress of storms. O Purple Sea. no pearls but tears. Little Sister Rose-Marie! Adelaide Crapsey [1878-1914] 321 . so young and clear? How God will be glad of thee. where thought would bring sweet psalm! I have but this small rosary of rhyme. so airy-light? Little Sister Rose-Marie. I wonder.

a timid glance. . That our ears perceive no more. wreathed in one. that gliding stream Beautiful to thee must seem. that bough with snows encumbered. May glides onward into June. Deafened by the cataract’s roar? Oh. 322 . Sees the falcon’s shadow fly? Hearest thou voices on the shore.Life hath snares! Care and age come unawares! Like the swell of some sweet tune. with reluctant feet. where slumbered Birds and blossoms many-numbered. Gather. Where the brook and river meet. Morning rises into noon. When bright angels in thy vision Beckon thee to fields Elysian? Seest thou shadows sailing by. each flower that grows.MAIDENHOOD MAIDENHOOD Maiden! with the meek. Golden tresses. thou child of many prayers! Life hath quicksands. On the brooklet’s swift advance. As the river of a dream. Womanhood and childhood fleet! Gazing. As the dove. with. In whose orbs a shadow lies Like the dusk in evening skies! Thou whose locks outshine the sun. brown eyes. On the river’s broad expanse! Deep and still. then. Age. When the young heart overflows. Childhood is the bough. with startled eye. Then why pause with indecision. As the braided streamlets run! Standing.

Gentle as falcon. and worst Times still succeed the former.To embalm that tent of snows. The higher he’s a-getting. That age is best which is the first. Or hawk of the tower: 323 . Then be not coy. Robert Herrick [1591-1674] TO MISTRESS MARGARET HUSSEY Merry Margaret As midsummer flower. In thy heart the dew of youth. You may for ever tarry. and ruth. The sooner will his race be run. Gates of brass cannot withstand One touch of that magic wand. The glorious lamp of heaven. go marry: For having lost but once your prime. TO MAKE MUCH OF TIME Gather ye rosebuds while ye may. but use your time. the worse. Even as sleep our eyes doth seal. shall steal Into wounds that cannot heal. that dew. like sunshine. When youth and blood are warmer. But being spent. wrong. Old Time is still a-flying: And this same flower that smiles to-day To-morrow will be dying. like balm. Bear through sorrow. dart Into many a sunless heart For a smile of God thou art. Oh. And nearer he’s to setting. On thy lips the smile of truth. And while ye may. the sun. And that smile. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [1807-1882] TO THE VIRGINS. Bear a lily in thy hand.

Much mirth and no madness. That all the world amazes? Sure ’tis some angel from above. that huntress bold. Or suffice to write Of merry Margaret As midsummer flower. far passing That I can indite. Eye that ye can find So courteous. All good and no badness. Or ’tis the Cyprian Queen of Love Attended by the Graces. So joyously. This midsummer flower. Heaven’s great dame. So maidenly. yet one that shall 324 . Or hawk of the tower. As patient and still And as full of good will As fair Isaphill. John Skelton [1460?-1529] ON HER COMING TO LONDON What’s she. Or from old Tithon’s bed so cold. As merry Margaret. Or Pallas armed. Far. Or Cynthia. Or is’t not Juno. Steadfast of thought. So womanly Her demeaning In every thing. Gentle as falcon. Good Cassander. so kind. More gorgeous than the mid-day sun. Gentle as falcon. so late from Penshurst come. Aurora chasing night? No. Coliander. Well made. Or hawk of the tower.With solace and gladness. well wrought. none of those. Far may be sought. Sweet pomander. as on she came To assist the Greeks in fight.

For beauty. March strews the earth With violets and posies. increase the store Of graces born with you. The glory of our English court. Of noble Sidney’s race. To welcome her the Spring breathes forth Elysian sweets. fair Lesley. 325 . The sun renews his darting fires. wit. happy maid. A brighter nymph none breathes the air. The beauties there locked-up outshine The beauties of her face. Oh! could you see into her mind. Go. and more Add to their number still. And ne’er made sic anither! Thou art a queen. And glad each eye and ear. sent from heaven To add more wonders to the seven. April puts on her best attires. SAW YE BONNY LESLEY” O saw ye bonny Lesley As she gaed owre the Border? She’s gane. Edmund Waller [1606-1687] ”O. a maid high-born. For nature made her what she is. nor fortune’s rage Shall ever work you ill. To spread her conquests farther. perhaps exceed them all. Crown of her sex. the Muse’s port. as chaste as fair. and birth. Nor envy’s blast. Or treads upon the earth. And May her crown of roses. And lovely as the blushing morn. before thee. And love but her for ever. As good as great. like Alexander. To see her is to love her.Compare. The brightness of our sphere. Fair Dorothea. ’Tis Dorothee. So neither all-consuming age. Thy subjects we.

Deeply ripened. Return to Caledonie! That we may brag we hae a lass There’s nane again sae bonny. Thou’rt like themselves sae lovely That ill they’ll ne’er let near thee. Like red poppies grown with corn. Pure-bosomed as that watery glass. Round her eyes her tresses fell. Intent upon her destined course. that winds through yonder glade. fair Lesley. And say. But long lashes veiled a light. The hearts o’ men adore thee. Who many a glowing kiss had won. Like the sweetheart of the sun. Misfortune sha’ na steer thee. Graceful and useful all she does. The deil he couldna scaith thee. Far from the world’s gay busy throng: With gentle yet prevailing force. . Blessing and blest where’er she goes. Return again. On her cheek an autumn flush. Clasped by the golden light of morn. fair Lesley. Apt emblem of a virtuous maid! Silent and chaste she steals along. He’d look into thy bonny face.such a blush In the midst of brown was born. ”I canna wrang thee!” The powers aboon will tent thee. Which were blackest none could tell.Thou art divine. 326 . Robert Burns [1759-1796] TO A YOUNG LADY Sweet stream. Or aught that wad belang thee. And Heaven reflected in her face! William Cowper [1731-1800] RUTH She stood breast high among the corn.

And battles long ago: Or is it some more humble lay. Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides. And sings a melancholy strain. and may be again! Whate’er the theme. Thomas Hood [1799-1845] THE SOLITARY REAPER Behold her. And her hat. Lay thy sheaf adown and come. Thus she stood amid the stooks. Praising God with sweetest looks: Sure. with shady brim. Stop here. Heaven did not mean. as I mounted up the hill. 327 . loss. far-off things. the Maiden sang As if her song could have no ending. No Nightingale did ever chaunt More welcome notes to weary bands Of Travellers in some shady haunt. The music in my heart I bore. single in the field. I saw her singing at her work. Share my harvest and my home. And. or gently pass! Alone she cuts and binds the grain. That has been. unhappy. Among Arabian sands: A voice so thrilling ne’er was heard In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird. I listened. or pain. Will no one tell me what she sings? Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old. motionless and still. I said. Made her tressy forehead dim. Yon solitary Highland Lass! Reaping and singing by herself. Familiar matter of to-day? Some natural sorrow. O listen! for the Vale profound Is overflowing with the sound. And o’er the sickle bending.That had else been all too bright. Where I reap thou shouldst but glean.

William Wordsworth [1770-1850] THE THREE COTTAGE GIRLS I How blest the Maid whose heart . Whom Labor.but the voice obeyed The breath of an Helvetian Maid. she joins the festal band. A Sister serves with slacker hand.Say whence that modulated shout! From Wood-nymph of Diana’s throng? Or does the greeting to a rout Of giddy Bacchanals belong? Jubilant outcry! rock and glade Resounded . Another’s first. who heeds not pelf. 328 . the tossing waves. never urged to toil. yon Italian Maid. Our Lady’s laggard Votaress. glittering like a star. Where lurks a Spirit that replies To stillest mood of softest skies. III How blest (if truth may entertain Coy fancy with a bolder strain) The Helvetian Girl . Then.Long after it was heard no more. In her light skiff.yet free From Love’s uneasy sovereignty Beats with a fancy running high. Whose heaviest sin it is to look Askance upon her pretty Self Reflected in some crystal brook.who daily braves. Hath cherished on a healthful soil. Who knows not pomp. And quits the bosom of the deep Only to climb the rugged steep! . and then her own?) Such haply. Yet hints at peace to be o’erthrown. II Such (but O lavish Nature! why That dark unfathomable eye. Whom grief hath spared . and can hear Another’s praise from envy clear.who sheds no tear But in sweet pity. Her simple cares to magnify. Halting beneath the chestnut shade To accomplish there her loveliness: Nice aid maternal fingers lend.

Life prepares. Her courage animates the flood. The Votaress by Lugano’s side. 329 . Be as thou art . in following joy.IV Her beauty dazzles the thick wood. as keen As grief can be in grief’s pursuit? When youth had flown did hope still bless Thy goings . on Uri’s steep descried! William Wordsworth [1770-1850] BLACKMWORE MAIDENS The primrwose in the sheade do blow. for the virtuous. seen No breach of promise in the fruit? Was joy. who nursed the blossom. While Hope and Love around thee played. The patriot Mother’s weight of anxious cares! ”Sweet Highland Girl! a very shower Of beauty was thy earthly dower. Time cannot thin thy flowing hair. The mountains (as ye heard) rejoice Aloud. The fetter which the Matron wears. Her steps the elastic greensward meets Returning unreluctant sweets. not with amaranth crowned But heath-bells from thy native ground. saluted by her voice! Blithe Paragon of Alpine grace. And there shall tread A way with shadows overspread. And that intrepid Nymph.” When thou didst flit before mine eyes. with Thee allied. Gay Vision under sullen skies. Near the rough falls of Inversneyd! Have they. Where what we gladliest would believe Is feared as what may most deceive? Bright Spirit.or the cheerfulness Of innocence survive to mitigate distress? VI But from our course why turn . Nor take one ray of light from Thee.for through thy veins The blood of Heroes runs its race! And nobly wilt thou brook the chains That. For in my Fancy thou dost share The gift of immortality.

You’d cry .” An’ if you looked ’ithin their door. ”The flower O’ beauty.”Why if a man would wive An’ thrive. An’ where do pretty maidens grow An’ blow. An’ as the pretty souls did tweil An’ smile. If you could zee their comely gait.” William Barnes [1801-1886] A PORTRAIT ”One name is Elizabeth” Ben Jonson I will paint her as I see her. There out upon the beaten grass Wer maidens at their play. In Blackmwore by the Stour.” As I upon my road did pass A school-house back in May. You’d cry to bachelors at hwome ”Here. If you vrom Wimborne took your road. is still in bud In Blackmwore by the Stour.The cowslip in the zun. come: ’ithin an hour You’ll vind ten maidens to your mind. A-trippen on so light o’ waight. then. A-gwain to church. An’ all the farmers’ housen showed Their daughters at the door. The thyme upon the down do grow. The cote where streams do run. but where the tower Do rise among the bricken tuns. Then let en look en out a wife In Blackmwore by the Stour. A-doen housework up avore Their smilen mother’s feace. To Stower or Paladore. In Blackmwore by the Stour. You’d own the pretty maidens’ pleace Is Blackmwore by the Stour. I cried. An’ steppen off the stiles. as bells do swing An’ ring within the tower. ’ithout a dower. 330 . An’ pretty feaces’ smiles. To zee em in their pleace.

Frank. For the childhood you would lend her. waiting still On the turnings of your will. Face and figure of a child. it murmurs lowly. Yet child-simple.just as she. Quiet talk she liketh best. As young birds. Watering flowers. When she nestles at your knee. undefiled. Oval cheeks encolored faintly. for the rest. And her face is lily-clear. Lily-shaped. And her voice. as all young things. As if drawn from thoughts more far Than our common jestings are. and tender. you think. He would sing of her with falls 331 . Which come softly . or early wheat When the wind blows over it. In a bower of gentle looks. Moving light. And if any poet knew her. And her smile it seems half holy. Which two blue eyes undershine. Like meek prayers before a shrine. and dropped in duty To the law of its own beauty. Choosing pleasures. Only.Ten times have the lilies blown Since she looked upon the sun. or reading books. free from flutterings Of loud mirth that scorneth measure Taking love for her chief pleasure. Which a trail of golden hair Keeps from fading off to air: And a forehead fair and saintly. obedient. As a silver stream may run. Though too calm. Which yet feels (you feel) the sun.

And all voices that address her. The lambs are on the grass. A whole Spring’s fickle changes. with long brown lashes.Used in lovely madrigals. Cheeks like the apple blossom. And all fancies yearn to cover The hard earth. My winsome prattling lass.when he sees her In the street even . sleeken every word. He would whisper . in good sooth. As if speaking to a bird. 332 .”You have done a Consecrated little Una!” And a dreamer (did you show him That same picture) would exclaim. Soften. My darling child of fancy. And if any painter drew her. Red little lips disclosing Twin rows of fairy pearl. . Elizabeth Barrett Browning [1806-1861] TO A CHILD OF FANCY The nests are in the hedgerows. ”’Tis my angel. Thickets of golden curl. And if reader read the poem. We may all be sure HE DOTH. Blue eyes. And all hearts do pray.smileth stilly. with a name!” And a stranger. Just as you would at a lily. Voice lightsome as the merle. ”God love her!” Ay and always. He would paint her unaware With a halo round her hair. With the thymy-scented grasses. With laughter sweet as music The hours lightfooted pass. In every short-lived day. whereon she passes.

Or. But the buttercups are mown. and grow splendid With blossoms of its own. Shall bourgeon. The same sweet child of fancy. fully grown. The same dear winsome lass. I know not what of fortune The future holds for thee. If I should see thy autumn. But with a spirit vision. And further still the summer. Lewis Morris [1833-1907] DAISY Where the thistle lifts a purple crown Six foot out of the turf. When thy fair tree. ’Twill not be close at hand. Clearly as in a glass. I hence may see thee Amongst the angels stand. perhaps. And the harebell shakes on the windy hill O the breath of the distant surf! The hills look over on the South. But the violets are done. And the rose begins to redden. 333 . From some far-distant land.A passing cloud of April. A thousand quick mutations From graver moods to gay. Dear child. And thy girlhood opens wider Beneath the growing sun. whatever changes Across our lives may pass. I see the season When thy childhood’s course is run. But neither joy nor sorrow Shall sever thee from me. A flowery smile of May. I shall see thee still for ever. And the fruit begins to gather. Far off. Nor if skies fair or clouded Wait thee in days to be.

And candid as the skies. But there’s never a bird. She knew not those sweet words she spake. The fairest things have fleetest end: Their scent survives their close. Then went her sunshine way: The sea’s eye had a mist on it. And the leaves fell from the day. wild heart Fly down to her little hand. But the sweetest flower on Sussex hills Was the Daisy-flower that day! Her beauty smoothed earth’s furrowed face! She gave me tokens three: A look. childish things. A berry red. there were flowers in Storrington On the turf and on the spray. Breast-deep ’mid flower and spine: Her skin was like a grape. And the love with her sweet eyes. Nor knew her own sweet way. a word of her winsome mouth. idle. so sweet a song Thronged in whose throat that day! Oh.strings of sand! And yet they made my wild. And a wild raspberry.And southward dreams the sea. She went her unremembering way. A still word. For standing artless as the air. 334 . . She listened with big-lipped surprise. whose veins Run snow instead of wine. Where ’mid the gorse the raspberry Red for the gatherer springs. But the rose’s scent is bitterness To him that loved the rose! She looked a little wistfully. She took the berries with her hand. And with the sea-breeze hand in hand Came innocence and she. a guileless look. Two children did we stray and talk Wise.

You are fain to hide. Nay. and what of that?” Petronilla cried. Innocents have died.” Petronilla said. Slaughtered whilst you slept. but I am very sure. Homage has been done to you.She went and left in me The pang of all the partings gone. And partings yet to be. Now forever must it stay Coiled about your head. Since you left my side. She left me marveling why my soul Was sad that she was glad. Slain to bind that pretty crown Closer round your head. Tell me Whence the great Command Hitherward has sped. 335 . And take the berries with her hand. Still. Yesterday is dead. ”Silly boy. still Look up with soft replies. Something has befallen you. as if I cared. At all the sadness in the sweet. Petronilla. ”Silly boy. And the love with her lovely eyes. as if I knew. Francis Thompson [1859?-1907] TO PETRONILLA WHO HAS PUT UP HER HAIR Yesterday it blew alway. The sweetness in the sad.” Petronilla said. much I fear Scarcely have you wept All those merry yesterdays. Nothing begins. And perish in our own. ”Silly boy. That is not paid with moan. For we are born in others’ pain. still I seemed to see her. and nothing ends.

Yet than Southern dawn more bright. And her eyes Are as dark as Southern night. alluring light In them lies. Henry Alford [1810-1871] FANNY A Southern Blossom Come and see her as she stands. among her hair Twined the light bluebell and the stone-crop gay. 336 . half he gave Her one day In a merry. And the vowels are preferred. She seemed a child of some sun-favored clime. Strong indeed her magic power. And a soft. All her consonants are slurred. None deny if she beseech With that pretty. which in maiden pride Pillowed a string of pearls. Even Cupid is her slave. liquid speech Of the South. playful hour. Venus. So they say. Crimson roses in her hands. Her loose vest hung in rudely gathered folds On her swart bosom. When my thought fills with treasured memories. So still.Henry Howarth Bashford [1880THE GYPSY GIRL Passing I saw her as she stood beside A lonely stream between two barren wolds. Dowered with these and beauty’s dower. Curling its wreathed smoke into the air. That image nearest borders on the blest Creations of pure art that never dies. And not far thence the small encampment lay. not to be outdone By her generous little son. so habited to warmth and rest. There’s a poem in each word From that mouth. And in my wayward musings on past time. Of her arrows.

scarlet lips. Then you will crimson. In the bend of Silver Water’s arm. Who shall learn the eyes’ deep secret well. But she’s only a child now. Sitting sewing by the western window As the too brief mountain sunshine flies.Shaped the mouth Very like to Cupid’s bow. Where the deer come trooping down at even. and cheeks of rose. Blessed be he who shall find it out. Only a child in her careless grace: When Love and Womanhood come this way Will anything sadden the flower-like face? Louise Chandler Moulton [1835-1908] EMILIA Halfway up the Hemlock valley turnpike. Dwells Emilia. Hast thou seen a slender-shouldered figure With a chestnut braid. Tender eyes where the shadows sleep. Drink the cowslip pool. with a dimple there. Lit from within by a secret ray. 337 . Rounded chin. Lack-a-day! Our North can show No such lovely flowers as grow In the South! Anne Reeve Aldrich [1866-1892] SOMEBODY’S CHILD Just a picture of Somebody’s child. Tender eyes that will shine like stars When love and womanhood come this way: Scarlet lips with a story to tell. Violet eyes. Sweet face set in golden hair. loveliest cheeks: Eyes will brighten and blushes will burn When the one true lover bends and speaks. Minerva-wise. Then you will tremble. as you see. And read the heart with never a doubt. and fear no harm. Flower of the fields of Camlet Farm.

Outdoors calling with a quaint refrain. Dimly moving in a cloud of change: Desdemona. Sing the cuckoo and the English primrose. and saints and fairies. Hark. Where her few and secret poems lie. enchanted eyes? When the freshets flood the Silver Water. Younger sister Of the damsel-errant Rosalind. wandering by the water. Emilia slips away.Round her temples. Mighty tankards Foaming cider in the glasses high. Forth she goes. Falls forgotten. in some old dress and faded. Fearless of the showery shifting wind. When the swallow flying northward braves Sleeting rains that sweep the birchen foothills Where the windflowers’ pale plantation waves (Fairy gardens Springing from the dead leaves in their graves). Emilia’s needle. 338 . from the village sports and dances. then. Moonlight rises on the burning woodland. Early missed. Hidden papers in the dusty garret. Emilia! In her ear the airy voices call. ”Would she mingle with her young companions!” Vainly do her aunts and uncles say. And a rainbow Seems to brighten through the gusty rain. Echoes dwindle from the distant Fall. with absent-musing eye. fleeting through her brain. Shadowing her gray. And her bright braids in a ’kerchief pinned. Ever. While she helps to serve the harvest supper In the lantern-lighted village hall. While she serves. They should find her comrades shy and strange: Queens and princesses. Whither vanished? With what unimagined mates to play? Did they seek her. Thither flies her heart to join her treasure. Kilted are her skirts to clear the mosses. Ancient ballads.

a dream.Mariana of the Moated Grange. I sit and fill my painful reams. Sarah N. Long they listen. . And see you only in my dreams. A dream. Autonoe! Where’er you vain! The years divide: Where Thamis rolls a murky tide. Oft they linger at a sound of chanting In the meadows by the turnpike side. . brought From under-lands of Memory.Autonoe! How sweet with you on some green sod To wreathe the rustic garden-god. There comes a gladness on the grass. Where’er you go. You wake in me a Pan not dead. I hear the pebbly rillet flow. . like Alcestis. To woo you in soft woodland words. Cleghorn [1876TO A GREEK GIRL With breath of thyme and bees that hum.where’er you pass. Autonoe! In vain. Across the years you seem to come. To watch across the stricken chords Your rosy-twinkling fingers flee. A dream of Form in days of Thought. A vision. Across the years with nymph-like head. How sweet beneath the chestnut’s shade With you to weave a basket-braid. Autonoe! Austin Dobson [1840-1921] 339 . A girlish shape that stirs the blood With pulse of Spring. And wind-blown brows unfilleted. You bring blithe airs where’er you tread. Up this valley to the fair and market When young farmers from the southward ride. . With woodland pipe. Not wholly dead! . Deep in fancies of a fairy bride.where’er you go. Blithe airs that blow from down and sea. A girlish shape that slips the bud In lines of unspoiled symmetry.

in a tone as low and deep As love’s first whisper. be good. Day after day in her first years. Whose shape upon the earth did press Like a new snow-flake. Be wise as thou art tender. She bowed her slight and graceful form. What far. Oh God! if souls unsoiled as these Need daily mercy from Thy throne. And from her long and flowing dress Escaped a bare and slender foot. And. sweet Splendor! Be true. Be all that Beauty should. Take praise in solemn mood. Must kneel and pray for grace from Thee. BE NOT FALSE” Ah. from slumber pure and warm. And humbly prayed to be forgiven. far deeper need have we! How hardly. Her blue eyes sheltered in the lid. Will our wild errors be forgiven! Nathaniel Parker Willis [1806-1867] ”AH. with those soft eyes in tears. not untimely.”CHAMBER SCENE” An Exquisite Picture In The Studio Of A Young Artist At Rome She rose from her untroubled sleep. Take love sublimely. And put away her soft brown hair. Just swelling with the charms it hid. Our loveliest and our purest one. be not false. And there. She. If she upon her bended knees. breathed a prayer Her snow-white hands together pressed. Not ignobly. Richard Watson Gilder [1844-1909] 340 . If she. white and ”mute”. if she win not heaven. Not lightly be thy citadel subdued. Like a young spirit fresh from heaven. with a face so clear and bright. We deem her some stray child of light. The folded linen on her breast.

There! little girl. I know. those radiant eyes! Those dancing feet . I know. don’t cry! They have broken your see thee so submit!) Margaret Steele Anderson [1869-1921] 341 . don’t cry! There! little girl. Are things of the long ago. I must work my plans who sovereign sit. my son. what wisdom comes to thee: (But oh. And your play-house. those limbs of morn! Those proud young shoulders. then. don’t cry! They have broken your slate. too. don’t cry! They have broken your heart. Yet do not tremble so! I cannot bear Though I am God . wild ways Of your school-girl days Are things of the long ago.that I myself made free! How shall I sadden them to make them wise?) Nay. I myself made straight! How shall ye wear the yoke that must be worn?) Look thou. And your tea-set blue. But childish troubles will soon pass by. that vine-clad head. But life and love will soon come by. that singing mouth. I know. And the glad.A LIFE-LESSON There! little girl. There! little girl. thou shalt! Resist not . There! little girl.have a care! (Yea. don’t cry! There! little girl. And the rainbow gleams Of your youthful dreams Are things of the long ago. don’t cry! James Whitcomb Riley [1849-1916] THE MAN THE BREAKING The Lord God Speaks To A Youth Bend now thy body to the common weight: (But oh. But Heaven holds all for which you sigh.

and in the air. departs. On the earth. Richard Henry Stoddard [1825-1903] ”DAYS OF MY YOUTH” Days of my youth. Cheeks of my youth. Strength of my youth. Eyes of my youth.THE FLIGHT OF YOUTH There are gains for all our losses. Your gay visions are flown. Hairs of my youth. And we sigh for it in vain: We behold it everywhere. All your vigor is gone. I’m content ye should fall. Ye have glided away. Thoughts of my youth. There are balms for all our pain: But when youth. Under manhood’s sterner reign: Still we feel that something sweet Followed youth. We are stronger. And it never comes again. Bathed in tears have you been. the dream. Days of my youth. Thoughts of my youth. Ye are frosted and gray. Cheeks of my youth. Ye are furrowed all o’er. And will never come again. You much evil have seen. You have led me astray. It takes something from our hearts. Hairs of my youth. Your keen sight is no more. with flying feet. Strength of my youth. I wish not your recall. Something beautiful is vanished. Eyes of my youth. But it never comes again. and are better. Why lament your decay? 342 .

some fate forsworn. St. Divergence deep and wide. Be religion your light. You’ll wear no withered roses for my sake. On some dim. George Tucker [1752-1827] AVE ATQUE VALE Farewell my Youth! for now we needs must part. heart from heart. I may re-cross the set. No melody in song. Eyes of my age. Yet awhile ye can last. Dream of the golden splendors of your smile. Yet must we fare together. Then I may dream you are remembering Our ancient vows. Gray Eld must travel in my company To seal this severance more fast and sure. Though I go mourning for you all day long. I and he. In true wisdom delight. i’ faith. I may forget Our long. Finding no magic more in bower or brake. Dream you remember yet. Joys of my age. Pains of my age. Hopes of my age. Ye will shortly be past. But when a blackbird pipes among the boughs. iridescent day in spring.Days of my age. ’twill be. Till I shall tread the footpath way no more. Be ye fixed on your God. Or when some joy foregone. forbidden bourne. long parting for a little while. For here the paths divide. Looks through the dark eyes of the violet. Rosamund Marriott Watson [1863-1911] TO YOUTH 343 . Thoughts of my age. Here hand from hand must sever. Dread ye not the cold sod. A joyless fellowship.

What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled? ’Tis but as a dead-flower with May-dew besprinkled: Then away with all such from the head that is hoary! What care I for the wreaths that can only give glory? Oh Fame! . Love was by And rolled it off again. Walter Savage Landor [1775-1864] STANZAS WRITTEN ON THE ROAD BETWEEN FLORENCE AND PISA Oh. alas! take flight. But sleep hath given a silent sign. She thought that I was not unworthy to love her. talk not to me of a name great in story. I knew it was love. Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover. And both. The days of our youth are the days of our glory. I doubted it. Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee. Then smiling eyes bend over mine.if I e’er took delight in thy praises. There chiefly I sought thee. if there ever was a sigh. light-ankled Youth? With wing at either shoulder. If aught befell it. And smile that never left thy mouth Until the Hours grew colder: Then somewhat seemed to whisper near That thou and I must part. 344 . And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty Are worth all your laurels. I felt no fear. and I felt it was glory. No weight upon the heart. Then lips once pressed invite. I may not call thee back. there only I found thee. ’Twas not a sigh of pain. though ever so plenty. but thou Returnest when the hand Of gentle Sleep waves o’er my brow His poppy-crested wand.Where art thou gone. When it sparkled o’er aught that was bright in my story. So. ’Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases.

345 . Those winged thoughts of mine pursuing So dear were they. it dare not dream its own. but worn and gray beneath. So. ’Tis not on youth’s smooth cheek the blush alone. follow. My thoughts. So lovely and so far away! I seek them still and always will Until my laggard heart is still.or be what I have been. ere youth itself be past. Though wit may flash from fluent lips. Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of happiness Are driven o’er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess: The magnet of their course is gone. which fades so fast. And on and onInto the very heart of dawn! For long I searched the world! Ah me! I searched the sky. George Gordon Byron [1788-1824] ”WHEN AS A LAD” When.George Gordon Byron [1788-1824] STANZAS FOR MUSIC There’s not a joy the world can give like that it takes away. Or weep as I could once have wept o’er many a vanished scene. Oh could I feel as I have felt. Through midnight hours that yield no more their former hope of rest. As springs in deserts found seem sweet. That heavy chill has frozen o’er the fountain of our tears. at break of day I watched the fishers sail away. . Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself comes down. But the tender bloom of heart is gone. like flocking birds. It cannot feel for others’ woes. All green and wildly fresh without. all brackish though they be. And I am free to follow. With much of useless grief and rueing. When the glow of early thought declines in feeling’s dull decay. or only points in vain The shore to which their shivered sail shall never stretch again. midst the withered waste of life. would follow Across the curving sky’s blue hollow. I searched the sea. And though the eye may sparkle still. ’tis where the ice appears. as a lad. ’Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruined turret wreathe. and mirth distract the breast. those tears would flow to me.

Hope. For I own no more castles in Spain! James Russell Lowell [1819-1891] THE QUEST It was a heavenly time of life When first I went to Spain. I have nothing ’twould pain me to lose. and may snatch again. Envy. But I had Aladdin’s lamp. Fortune. You gave. And builded. 346 .Across the curving sky’s blue hollow. Malice. Charity. I had fire enough in my brain. Those thoughts too fleet For any save the soul’s swift feet! Isabel Ecclestone Mackay [1875”AROUND THE CHILD” Around the child bend all the three Sweet Graces . My beautiful castles in Spain! Since then I have toiled day and night. But I’d give all my lamps of silver bright For the one that is mine no more. I have money and power good store.Faith. Take. I had not a friend nor a toy. The lovely land of silver mists. The land of golden grain. And lived in a cellar damp. When I could not sleep for the cold. with roofs of gold. Walter Savage Landor [1775-1864] ALADDIN When I was a beggarly boy. Around the man bend other faces Pride. whatever you choose. My little ship through unknown seas Sailed many a changing day. are his Graces. Sometimes the chilling winds came up And blew across her way.

With all my dreams and me. each time the day comes round. I look for you with smiles. ’tis not thus the voice. He would do all that he had done. When on the far horizon bar Rose up the shores of Spain. O land of golden grain. The beauty of the silver mists And of the golden grain.”were he ordained to run His long career of life again. earthly shrines. as Youth counts the shining links That Time around him binds so fast. he little thinks How hard that chain will press at last. It seems like pastime to grow old. Who said .what a different sound That word had in my youthful ears! And how. But through the rains and through the winds.Sometimes the rain came down and hid The shining shores of Spain. laid Upon unholy. Of nursing many a wrong desire. like Israel’s incense. made Haply for high and pure designs. But oft. And now. And taking every meteor-fire 347 . and false as vain. Far otherwise . that dwells In sober birth-days. I long For that sweet time again. But look for you in vain! Ellen Mackay Hutchinson Cortissoz [?-1933] MY BIRTH-DAY ”My birth-day” . And. Of counsel mocked: of talents.of time it tells Lavished unwisely. Less and less white its mark appears! When first our scanty years are told. speaks to me. no more a child.” Ah. Pleased with the task. Vain was the man. carelessly. with tears. My fairy ship sailed on and on. Upon the untried sea. O lovely land of silver mists. Of wandering after Love too far.

The flowers and fruits of love are gone. in my boyhood twined. the subtle thief of youth. and the will of Heaven: All is. that saving-ark. As ever in my great Task-master’s eye. Where Love’s true light at last I’ve found. It shall be still in strictest measure even To that same lot. And comfortless. Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth That I to manhood am arrived so near. Toward which Time leads me. But my late spring no bud or blossom shew’th. With power to add. the canker. for a star. however mean or high. Yet. when all grows dark. How little of the past would stay! How quickly all should melt away All .but that Freedom of the Mind. be it less or more. and. And that dear home. or soon or slow. Since others it hath ceased to move: Yet. Stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth year! My hasting days fly on with full career. efface The lights and shades. could I trace The imperfect picture o’er again. And inward ripeness doth much less appear. though I cannot be beloved. retouch. The worm. That some more timely-happy spirits endu’th. Those friendships. and stormy round! Thomas Moore [1779-1852] SONNET On His Having Arrived To The Age of Twenty-Three How soon hath Time. John Milton [1608-1674] ON THIS DAY I COMPLETE MY THIRTY-SIXTH YEAR ’Tis time this heart should be unmoved. the joy and pain. All this it tells.That crossed my pathway. Still let me love! My days are in the yellow leaf. Cheering within. if I have grace to use it so. Which hath been more than wealth to me. And kept till now unchangingly. and the grief Are mine alone! 348 .

Unworthy manhood I . I cannot share. around me see! The Spartan. the fear.The fire that on my bosom preys Is lone as some volcanic isle. The exalted portion of the pain And power of love. And one that’s turning. But wear the chain. Was not more free.” 349 . Awake! (not Greece . The sword.and ’tis not here Such thoughts should shake my soul.she is awake!) Awake. and give Away thy breath! Seek out . Me miserable! Here’s one that’s white. No torch is kindled at its blaze A funeral pile. the banner. and the field. the jealous care. Where glory decks the hero’s bier. If thou regret’st thy youth.less often sought than found A soldier’s grave.unto thee Indifferent should the smile or frown Of beauty be. Or binds his brow. Then look around. my spirit! Think through whom Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake. George Gordon Byron [1788-1824] GROWING GRAY ”On a l’age de son caeur. nor now. and choose thy ground.up to the field. borne upon his shield. And take thy rest. D’Houdetot A little more toward the light. Glory and Greece. The hope. why live? The land of honorable death Is here: . for thee the best. Adieu to song and ”salad days.” A. But ’tis not thus . And then strike home! Tread those reviving passions down.

And order mourning. Some in his youth. Young Love’s for us a farce that’s played. That Chloe’s pretty.My Muse. let’s go at once to Jay’s. We must reform our rhymes. Indeed! you really fancy so? You think for one white streak we grow At once satiric? A fiddlestick! Each hair’s a string To which our ancient Muse shall sing A younger lyric. and more when he grew old. Be grave. From aught but sour didactic themes Our years exempt us. my Dear. But pretty lies loved I As much as any king. no more. When youth was on the wing. I never was among The choir of Wisdom’s song. We have. Doubt not that Solomon Listened to many a one. not witty. Austin Dobson [1840-1921] THE ONE WHITE HAIR The wisest of the wise Listen to pretty lies And love to hear’em told. Renounce the gay for the severe. Alas! and I have not 350 . And (must it then be told?) when youth had quite gone by. the right to find That Pyrrha’s hair is neatly twined. Shall ”cakes and ale” Grow rare to youth because we rail At schoolboy dishes? Perish the thought! ’Tis ours to chant When neither Time nor Tide can grant Belief with wishes. The heart’s still sound. Gray hairs but ill accord with dreams. Light canzonet and serenade No more may tempt us.

contented or resigned. Our verses all were threnodies. ”Life’s more amusing than we thought”! ENVOY O nate mecum.” I wot. but that is naught. We set our souls on salmon flies. untimely wise! Oh. she never was so fair! Walter Savage Landor [1775-1864] BALLADE OF MIDDLE AGE Our youth began with tears and sighs. now we look behind: Life’s more amusing than we thought! Oh. With rainy clouds and southern wind. In elegiacs still we whined. With common cares and faces kind. With seeking what we could not find. old. With pains and joys each morning brought? Ah. Confound the woes of human-kind! By Heaven we’re ”well deceived. We marvel. She leaped. and tired we find Life’s more amusing than we thought! Though youth ”turns spectre-thin and dies.” To mourn for youth we’re not inclined. ”O Walter! I am quite Bewildered with affright! I see (sit quiet now) a white hair on your head!” Another more benign Snipped it away from mine. We sought and knew not what we sought. foolish youth. our eyes were blind. worn and lined Our faces show. And in her own dark hair Pretended it was found . and twirled it round . Fair as she was. phantoms of the sickly mind! What? not content with seas and skies. Our hearts are young ’neath wrinkled rind: Life’s more amusing than we thought! 351 . .The pleasant hour forgot When one pert lady said. . . We whistle where we once repined. Who hum. . and worn. Our ears were deaf.

The men whose hair was sprinkled With little flecks of gray. And every friend was true. At thirty. And done at thirty-five. I let my hopes fly free. A man may be alive. We knew their hearts were cold. But slower. For us were flung the portals Of fame and victory. we admitted. And all the things I willed then Seemed destined to be mine.Andrew Lang [1844-1912] MIDDLE AGE When that my days were fewer. And thus we spent our gay time 352 . And now were spent and old. If Fate prolongs his earth-days. We were the true immortals Who held the earth in fee. The days were bright and breezy. The cup of joy was filled then With Fancy’s sparkling wine. Whose faded brows were wrinkled Sure they had had their day. Friends had I then in plenty. And though we bore no malice. Some twenty years ago. And time itself seemed slow. And every peak was easy To scale at twenty-two. And gay our banners flew. Friends always are at twenty. And deemed the world was fashioned My playing-field to be. And after five more birthdays He totters down the hill. feebler witted. And all that is was newer. His joys grow fewer still. And on to twenty-two. For they had drained their chalice. With ardor all impassioned.

Our hopes go out in tears. For youth it is the season Of restlessness and strife. Lost in the dim receding. Have doubted. swift. But we have toiled and wandered With weary feet and numb. pondered. Swift. Since. though his cheeks have roses. An airy perfume lingers. Of passion and unreason. A man of forty-two. 353 . Rudolph Chambers Lehmann [1856-1929] TO CRITICS When I was seventeen I heard From each censorious tongue. that pretty playtime Flew by and had its end.As having much to spend. how insanely I formerly aspired. Yet. Irrevocable years. And lo! without a warning I woke. as others do. And still the distant peaks have The glow of twenty-two. One fine mid-winter morning. The sky still shines as blue. How else should knowledge come? Have seen too late for heeding. though with busy fingers No more we wreathe the flowers. But as for me I know. A man has reached his best age At forty-two or so. sifted. And now I see how vainly Is youth with ardor fired. And ignorance of life. No boy can understand That everything he knows is A graft at second hand. How fondly. And though no rose our cheeks have. A boy may still detest age. A brightness still is ours.

And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety. I’m quite as often told Of this or that I shouldn’t do Because I’m quite too old. O carping world! If there’s an age Where youth and manhood keep An equal poise.”I’d not do that if I were you. Or let me die! The Child is father of the Man. alas! I must Have passed it in my sleep. William Wordsworth [1770-1850] LEAVETAKING Pass. let us part: Pass thou away. Walter Learned [1847-1915] THE RAINBOW My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began. Lovely thy tarrying. Pass. You see you’re rather young. So is it now I am a man. thou wild light. William Watson [1858-1935] EQUINOCTIAL 354 . Wild light on peaks that so Grieve to let go The day. Wild heart of youth that still Hast half a will To stay. thou wild heart. lovely too is night: Pass thou away. I grow too old a comrade.” Now that I number forty years. So be it when I shall grow old.

the sunset calm. Summer. And soon may barely leave the gleam That coldly scores a winter’s day. An Indian Summer comes at last! Adeline D. And life. The summer-shine of lengthened light Faded and failed. with flowers that fell. Not yet disrobed of all their green.The sun of life has crossed the line. Meet midway with a solemn charm. the shadow of death. ’Tis equal day and equal night. without hands to smite. that endures for a breath. each to each. with a gift of tears. Flame the first tints of frosty sheen. Paling and deepening. the shadow of light. where I stand. One after one. T. And the high gods took in hand Fire. Ah. and the falling of tears. Grief. 355 . fallen from heaven. The flush of morn. the night and day Wage round me their September strife! I bow me to the threatening gale: I know when that is overpast. middle-point. with a glass that ran. Whitney [1824-1906] ”BEFORE THE BEGINNING OF YEARS” From ”Atalanta in Calydon” Before the beginning of years. One side I see the summer fields. There came to the making of man Time. Love. where cloud and storm Make battle-ground of this my life! Where. Remembrance. While westerly. Among the peaceful harvest days. as dwindling hours. And madness. along the hills. Youth’s glowing hopes have dropped away. I am not old. I am not young. Pleasure. even-matched. Night. with pain for leaven. Strength. risen from hell. till.

Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909] MAN Weighing the steadfastness and state Of some mean things which here below reside. Eyesight and speech they wrought For the veils of the soul therein. And bodies of things to be In the houses of death and of birth. He weaves. With life before and after. In his eyes foreknowledge of death. Where birds. And night. They filled his body with life. A time to serve and to sin. The holy Spirit of man. like watchful clocks. In his heart is a blind desire. A time for labor and thought. said I.And a measure of sliding sand From under the feet of the years. And love. and he shall not reap. With travail and heavy sorrow. And dust of the laboring earth. They breathed upon his mouth. Where bees at night get home and hive. For a day and a night and a morrow. I would. And beauty and length of days. the noiseless date And intercourse of times divide. His life is a watch or a vision Between a sleep and a sleep. and sleep in the night. They gave him light in his ways. From the winds of the north and the south They gathered as unto strife. That his strength might endure for a span. And wrought with weeping and laughter. and flowers. And froth and drift of the sea. With his lips he travaileth. And fashioned with loathing and love. my God would give The staidness of these things to man! for these 356 . and set in the same bowers. His speech is a burning fire. Early as well as late. and a space for delight. And death beneath and above. Rise with the sun. and is clothed with derision Sows.

but scarce knows where. alone of all His treasure. to whose winding quest And passage through these looms God ordered motion. Man is the shuttle. And no new business breaks their peace. Yet Solomon was never dressed so fine. He would adore My gifts instead of Me. God made a stay. The birds nor sow nor reap. Rest in the bottom lay. which dispersed lie. But keep them with repining restlessness. Let the world’s riches. honor. Which in the darkest nights point to their homes By some hid sense their Maker gave. Then beauty flowed. If goodness lead him not. Having a glass of blessings standing by Let us (said He) pour on him all we can. Henry Vaughan [1622-1695] THE PULLEY When God at first made Man. then wisdom. Contract into a span. Let him be rich and weary.To His divine appointments ever cleave. So strength first made a way. And rest in Nature. The flowers without clothes live. 357 . Perceiving that. He knocks at all doors. yet weariness May toss him to My breast. strays and roams. For if I should (said He) Bestow this jewel also on My creature. He hath no root. not the God of Nature: So both should losers be. pleasure: When almost all was out. nor to one place is tied. Yet let him keep the rest. He says it is so far. but ordained no rest. Man hath still either toys. But ever restless and irregular About this earth doth run and ride. hath not so much wit as some stones have. He knows he hath a home. That he hath quite forgot how to go there. that at least. yet sup and dine. Nay. or care.

To me alone there came a thought of grief: A timely utterance gave that thought relief. The Moon doth with delight Look round her when the heavens are bare. grove. To me did seem Apparelled in celestial light. and stream. and every common sight. And while the young Lambs bound As to the tabor’s sound. The things which I have seen I now can see no more. I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng.George Herbert [1593-1633] ODE ON THE INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD I There was a time when meadow. The earth. The Cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep: No more shall grief of mine the season wrong. And lovely is the Rose. By night or day. while the Birds thus sing a joyous song. It is not now as it hath been of yore. Shout round me. Land and Sea Give themselves up to jollity. The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep. 358 . And all the earth is gay. II The Rainbow comes and goes. where’er I go. III Now. That there hath passed away a glory from the earth. Turn wheresoe’er I may. The glory and the freshness of a dream. I see The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee. The sunshine is a glorious birth. let me hear thy shouts. Waters on a starry night Are beautiful and fair. But yet I know. And I again am strong. I have heard the call Ye to each other make. thou happy Shepherd-boy! IV Ye blessed Creatures. And with the heart of May Doth every Beast keep holiday. Thou Child of Joy.

Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind. the glory and the dream? V Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: The Soul that rises with us. And the Babe leaps up on his Mother’s arm: I hear. VI Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own. And even with something of a Mother’s mind. Fresh flowers. The fulness of your bliss. our life’s Star.I feel it all. I hear. And that imperial palace whence he came. who daily farther from the East Must travel. And cometh from afar: Not in entire forgetfulness. And the Children are culling On every side. while the sun shines warm. her Inmate Man. I feel .My heart is at your festival. and whence it flows. Both of them speak of something that is gone: The Pansy at my feet Doth the same tale repeat: Whither is fled the visionary gleam? Where is it now. 359 . who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy! Shades of the prison-house begin to close Upon the growing Boy. still is Nature’s Priest. He sees it in his joy. But he beholds the light. At length the Man perceives it die away. A single Field which I have looked upon. Hath had elsewhere its setting. And no unworthy aim. with joy I hear! . The Youth. And not in utter nakedness. To make her Foster-child. Forget the glories he hath known. And fade into the light of common day. And by the vision spendid Is on his way attended. In a thousand valleys far and wide. The homely Nurse doth all she can. of many. But trailing clouds of glory do we come From God. My head hath its coronal.But there’s a Tree. O evil day! if I were sullen While Earth herself is adorning This sweet May morning. one.

at his feet. And this hath now his heart. That. A Presence which is not to be put by. Some fragment from his dream of human life. Haunted for ever by the eternal mind. That Life brings with her in her equipage. a master o’er a Slave. and deep almost as life! IX 360 . down to palsied Age. thou Eye among the blind. Thou best Philosopher. A wedding or a festival. And with new joy and pride The little Actor cons another part. where ’mid work of his own hand he lies. read’st the eternal deep. yet glorious in the might Of heaven-born freedom on thy being’s height. As if his whole vocation Were endless imitation. Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke. In darkness lost. Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife? Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly freight. Shaped by himself with newly-learned art. love. A six years’ darling of a pigmy size! See.VII Behold the Child among his new-born blisses. With light upon him from his Father’s eyes! See. or strife: But it will not be long Ere this be thrown aside. some little plan or chart. Thou little Child. And Custom lie upon thee with a weight Heavy as frost. who yet dost keep Thy heritage. VIII Thou. Filling from time to time his ”humorous stage” With all the Persons. the darkness of the grave: Thou. over whom thy Immortality Broods like the Day. Mighty Prophet! Seer blest! On whom those truths do rest. deaf and silent. And unto this he frames his song: Then will he fit his tongue To dialogues of business. A mourning or a funeral. Fretted by sallies of his Mother’s kisses. whose exterior semblance doth belie Thy Soul’s immensity. Which we are toiling all our lives to find.

Fallings from us. Which neither listlessness. Blank misgivings of a Creature Moving about in worlds not realized. Ye that pipe and ye that play. Those shadowy recollections. But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things. Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither. nor mad endeavor. Can utterly abolish or destroy! Hence.O joy! that in our embers Is something that doth live. in a season of calm weather. and have power to make Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake. Nor Man nor Boy. the simple creed Of Childhood. That nature yet remembers What was so fugitive! The thought of our past years in me doth breed Perpetual benediction: not indeed For that which is most worthy to be blest Delight and liberty. ye Birds. vanishings. With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast: Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise. Can in a moment travel thither And see the children sport upon the shore. be they what they may. High instincts before which our mortal Nature Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised: But for those first affections. 361 . whether busy or at rest. cherish. Though inland far we be. sing. Which. To perish never. Are yet the fountain-light of all our day. sing a joyous song! And let the young Lambs bound As to the tabor’s sound! We in thought will join your throng. Are yet a master-light of all our seeing. Ye that through your hearts to-day Feel the gladness of the May! What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from my sight. And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. X Then sing. Uphold us. Nor all that is at enmity with joy.

Thanks to the human heart by which we live. whose lips like cherries. Not she denied him with unholy tongue. The Clouds that gather round the setting sun Do take a sober coloring from an eye That hath kept watch o’er man’s mortality. its joys. Whose slender limbs inadequately bear A full-orbed bosom and a weight of care. of glory in the flower. which down their channels fret. and Groves. rather find Strength in what remains behind. Hills. Eaton Stannard Barrett [1786-1820] WOMAN There in the fane a beauteous creature stands. In the faith that looks through death. In the soothing thoughts that spring Out of human suffering. while apostles shrank. To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. Another race hath been. ye Fountains. She. The first best work of the Creator’s hands. Thanks to its tenderness. We will grieve not. and other palms are won.Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendor in the grass. In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be. I love the Brooks. and fears. Meadows. 362 . Forebode not any severing of our loves! Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might. Last at the cross and earliest at the grave. I only have relinquished one delight To live beneath your more habitual sway. Even more than when I tripped lightly as they: The innocent brightness of a new-born Day Is lovely yet. William Wordsworth [1770-1850] THE WOMAN WOMAN Not she with traitorous kiss her Saviour stung. could dangers brave. show. Whose teeth like pearls. XI And O. In years that bring the philosophic mind.

And fawn-like eyes still tremble as they glow. From the Sanskrit of Calidasa SIMPLEX MUNDITIIS From ”Epicoene” Still to be neat, still to be dressed As you were going to a feast; Still to be powdered, still perfumed: Lady, it is to be presumed, Though art’s hid causes are not found, All is not sweet, all is not sound. Give me a look, give me a face, That makes simplicity a grace; Robes loosely flowing, hair as free: Such sweet neglect more taketh me Than all the adulteries of art; They strike mine eyes, but not my heart. Ben Jonson [1573?-1637] DELIGHT IN DISORDER A sweet disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness: A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction: An erring lace, which here and there Enthrals the crimson stomacher: A cuff neglectful, and thereby Ribbons to flow confusedly: A winning wave, deserving note, In the tempestuous petticoat: A careless shoe-string, in whose tie I see a wild civility: Do more bewitch me than when art Is too precise in every part. Robert Herrick [1591-1674] A PRAISE OF HIS LADY Give place, you ladies, and begone! Boast not yourselves at all! For here at hand approacheth one Whose face will stain you all. The virtue of her lively looks 363

Excels the precious stone; I wish to have none other books To read or look upon. In each of her two crystal eyes Smileth a naked boy; It would you all in heart suffice To see that lamp of joy. I think Nature hath lost the mould Where she her shape did take; Or else I doubt if Nature could So fair a creature make. She may be well compared Unto the Phoenix kind, Whose like was never seen nor heard, That any man can find. In life she is Diana chaste, In truth Penelope; In word and eke in deed steadfast. What will you more we say? If all the world were sought so far, Who could find such a wight? Her beauty twinkleth like a star Within the frosty night. Her roseal color comes and goes With such a comely grace, More ruddier, too, than doth the rose Within her lively face. At Bacchus’ feast none shall her meet, Nor at no wanton play, Nor gazing in an open street, Nor gadding as a stray. The modest mirth that she doth use Is mixed with shamefastness; All vice she doth wholly refuse, And hateth idleness. O Lord! it is a world to see How virtue can repair, And deck her in such honesty, Whom Nature made so fair. Truly she doth so far exceed 364

Our women nowadays, As doth the gillyflower a weed; And more a thousand ways. How might I do to get a graff Of this unspotted tree? For all the rest are plain but chaff, Which seem good corn to be. This gift alone I shall her give: When death doth what he can, Her honest fame shall ever live Within the mouth of man. John Heywood [1497?-1580?] ON A CERTAIN LADY AT COURT I know a thing that’s most uncommon; (Envy, be silent and attend!) I know a reasonable woman, Handsome and witty, yet a friend. Not warped by passion, awed by rumor; Not grave through pride, nor gay through folly; An equal mixture of good-humor And sensible soft melancholy. ”Has she no faults then, (Envy says), Sir?” Yes, she has one, I must aver: When all the world conspires to praise her, The woman’s deaf, and does not hear. Alexander Pope [1688-1744] PERFECT WOMAN She was a phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight; A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment’s ornament; Her eyes as stars of twilight fair; Like twilight’s, too, her dusky hair; But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful dawn; A dancing shape, an image gay, To haunt, to startle, and waylay. I saw her upon nearer view, A Spirit, yet a Woman too! 365

Her household motions light and free, And steps of virgin liberty; A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet; A creature not too bright or good For human nature’s daily food; For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. And now I see with eye serene The very pulse of the machine; A being breathing thoughtful breath, A traveller between life and death; The reason firm, the temperate will, Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill; A perfect Woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command; And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of angelic light. William Wordsworth [1770-1850] THE SOLITARY-HEARTED She was a queen of noble Nature’s crowning, A smile of hers was like an act of grace; She had no winsome looks, no pretty frowning, Like daily beauties of the vulgar race: But if she smiled, a light was on her face, A clear, cool kindliness, a lunar beam Of peaceful radiance, silvering o’er the stream Of human thought with unabiding glory; Not quite a waking truth, not quite a dream, A visitation, bright and transitory. But she is changed, - hath felt the touch of sorrow, No love hath she, no understanding friend; O grief! when Heaven is forced of earth to borrow What the poor niggard earth has not to lend; But when the stalk is snapped, the rose must bend. The tallest flower that skyward rears its head Grows from the common ground, and there must shed Its delicate petals. Cruel fate, too surely, That they should find so base a bridal bed, Who lived in virgin pride, so sweet and purely. She had a brother, and a tender father, And she was loved, but not as others are From whom we ask return of love, - but rather As one might love a dream; a phantom fair 366

Of something exquisitely strange and rare, Which all were glad to look on, men and maids, Yet no one claimed - as oft, in dewy glades, The peering primrose, like a sudden gladness, Gleams on the soul, yet unregarded fades; The joy is ours, but all its own the sadness. ’Tis vain to say - her worst of grief is only The common lot, which all the world have known; To her ’tis more, because her heart is lonely, And yet she hath no strength to stand alone, Once she had playmates, fancies of her own, And she did love them. They are passed away As Fairies vanish at the break of day; And like a spectre of an age departed, Or unsphered Angel wofully astray, She glides along - the solitary-hearted. Hartley Coleridge [1796-1849] OF THOSE WHO WALK ALONE Women there are on earth, most sweet and high, Who lose their own, and walk bereft and lonely, Loving that one lost heart until they die, Loving it only. And so they never see beside them grow Children, whose coming is like breath of flowers; Consoled by subtler loves the angels know Through childless hours. Good deeds they do: they comfort and they bless In duties others put off till the morrow; Their look is balm, their touch is tenderness To all in sorrow. Betimes the world smiles at them, as ’twere shame, This maiden guise, long after youth’s departed; But in God’s Book they bear another name ”The faithful-hearted.” Faithful in life, and faithful unto death, Such souls, in sooth, illume with lustre splendid That glimpsed, glad land wherein, the Vision saith, Earth’s wrongs are ended. Richard Burton [1861-


”SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY” She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellowed to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress Or softly lightens o’er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and o’er that brow So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent! George Gordon Byron [1788-1824] PRELUDES From ”The Angel in the House” I UNTHRIFT Ah, wasteful woman, she that may On her sweet self set her own price, Knowing man cannot choose but pay, How has she cheapened paradise; How given for nought her priceless gift, How spoiled the bread, and spilled the wine, Which, spent with due, respective thrift, Had made brutes men, and men divine. II HONOR AND DESERT O Queen, awake to thy renown, Require what ’tis our wealth to give, And comprehend and wear the crown Of thy despised prerogative! I, who in manhood’s name at length With glad songs come to abdicate The gross regality of strength, 368

Must yet in this thy praise abate, That, through thine erring humbleness And disregard of thy degree, Mainly, has man been so much less Than fits his fellowship with thee. High thoughts had shaped the foolish brow, The coward had grasped the hero’s sword, The vilest had been great, hadst thou, Just to thyself, been worth’s reward. But lofty honors undersold Seller and buyer both disgrace; And favors that make folly bold Banish the light from virtue’s face. III THE ROSE OF THE WORLD Lo, when the Lord made North and South, And sun and moon ordained, He, Forthbringing each by word of mouth In order of its dignity Did man from the crude clay express By sequence, and all else decreed, He formed the woman; nor might less Than Sabbath such a work succeed. And still with favor singled out, Marred less than man by mortal fall, Her disposition is devout, Her countenance angelical: The best things that the best believe Are in her face so kindly writ The faithless, seeing her, conceive Not only heaven, but hope of it; No idle thought her instinct shrouds, But fancy chequers settled sense, Like alteration of the clouds On noonday’s azure permanence. Pure dignity, composure, ease, Declare affections nobly fixed, And impulse sprung from due degrees Of sense and spirit sweetly mixed. Her modesty, her chiefest grace, The cestus clasping Venus’ side, How potent to deject the face Of him who would affront its pride! Wrong dares not in her presence speak, 369

Nor spotted thought its taint disclose Under the protest of a cheek Outbragging Nature’s boast, the rose. In mind and manners how discreet; How artless in her very art; How candid in discourse; how sweet The concord of her lips and heart! How simple and how circumspect; How subtle and how fancy-free; Though sacred to her love, how decked With unexclusive courtesy; How quick in talk to see from far The way to vanquish or evade; How able her persuasions are To prove, her reasons to persuade. How (not to call true instinct’s bent And woman’s very nature, harm), How amiable and innocent Her pleasure in her power to charm; How humbly careful to attract, Though crowned with all the soul desires, Connubial aptitude exact, Diversity that never tires! IV THE TRIBUTE Boon Nature to the woman bows; She walks in earth’s whole glory clad, And, chiefest far herself of shows, All others help her and are glad: No splendor ’neath the sky’s proud dome But serves her for familiar wear; The far-fetched diamond finds its home Flashing and smouldering in her hair; For her the seas their pearls reveal; Art and strange lands her pomp supply With purple, chrome, and cochineal, Ochre, and lapis lazuli; The worm its golden woof presents; Whatever runs, flies, dives, or delves, All doff for her their ornaments, Which suit her better than themselves; And all, by this their power to give, Proving her right to take, proclaim Her beauty’s clear prerogative To profit so by Eden’s blame.


For once. Who deems obedience better praise Than sacrifice of erring awe. And certain others. like the air. at Empire’s seat. Of which. The foolish hie them post-haste through. See fashions odd and prospects fair. he A solitary desert trod. though there he settle young. Attach them to the Court. Coventry Patmore [1823-1896] A HEALTH I fill this cup to one made up Of loveliness alone. ”How d’ye do. of her gentle sex The seeming paragon. The coinage of her heart are they. And partly sound its polity. Like those of morning birds. Though in the great society Of nature. and tongue. politics.V NEAREST THE DEAREST Till Eve was brought to Adam. If one slight column counterweighs The ocean. and see The Country’s best. A woman. and of God. VI THE FOREIGN LAND A woman is a foreign land. And something more than melody Dwells ever in her words.” And go and brag they have been there. Then get what knowledge ear and eye Glean chancewise in the life-long mart. To whom the better elements And kindly stars have given A form so fair. her heart. ’tis the Maker’s law. The most for leave to trade apply. angels. its accent hit. few and fit. A man will ne’er quite understand The customs. ’Tis less of earth than heaven. that. 371 . Learn of the language. Her every tone is music’s own.

Her feelings have the fragrancy. she appears The image of themselves by turns. but hers. So fill her.And from her lips each flows As one may see the burdened bee Forth issue from the rose. Went dripping music through her thought. and beauty took 372 . She saw a spirit in the stir Of solemn woods. Edward Coote Pinkney [1802-1828] OUR SISTER Her face was very fair to see. The rills that beat Their mosses with voluptuous feet. of her gentle sex The seeming paragon Her health! and would on earth there stood Some more of such a frame. And of her voice in echoing hearts A sound must long remain. such as mine of her. And lovely passions. So luminous with purity: It had no roses. The freshness of young flowers. And weariness a name. changing oft. A woman. So very much endears. but the hue Of lilies lustrous with their dew Her very soul seemed shining through! Her quiet nature seemed to be Tuned to each season’s harmony. Affections are as thoughts to her. But memory. The measures of her hours. That life might be all poetry. The idol of past years! Of her bright face one glance will trace A picture on the brain. The holy sky bent near to her. When death is nigh my latest sigh Will not be life’s. Sweet impulse came to her unsought From graceful things. I fill this cup to one made up Of loveliness alone.

373 . A maid. And Usna’s children died. Troy passed away in one high funeral gleam. whereto she brings A threefold eloquence . Horatio Nelson Powers [1826-1890] FROM LIFE Her thoughts are like a flock of butterflies. And a bright flutter of speech. wearing the shadow of motherhood Wise with the quiet memory of old pain. As the soft glamor of remembered rain Hallows the gladness of a sunlit wood. The casual gazer could not guess Half of her veiled loveliness. toil. What fancies chaste. made holy and serene By faith. Her life. Yet under all a subtle silence lies As a bird’s heart is hidden by its wings. that grew In heaven’s own stainless light and dew! True woman was she day by day In suffering. and victory. In the great Master’s steps went she With patience and humility. and loves. Mournful that no new wonder may betide. with a child’s laugh in her blood. Yet ah! what precious things lay hid Beneath her bosom’s snowy lid: What tenderness and sympathy. She knew what they alone can know Who live above but dwell below. What beauty of sincerity. And you shall search through many wanderings The fairyland of her realities. She has a merry love of little things.voice. was hid with things unseen. hands and eyes. with all their mournful pride. Brian Hooker [1880THE ROSE OF THE WORLD Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream? For these red lips. She hides herself behind a busy brain A woman.A sacred meaning in her look.

by passing glamor nor alarm. Nor sit in pallid lethargy and brood Upon the coming seasons of her pain: By her the mystery is understood Of harvest. Yea. foam of the sky. and fulfilment in the grain. Gray-eyed and fearless. Under the passing stars. and her maternal arm Enfold the generations yet unborn. Weary and kind one lingered by His seat. Delights to heap. like a star Her soul burn whitely. at sunset. archangels. patient and calm. Will from the steadfast way of life be drawn. that waver and give place. Strong must she be and gentle. She is most often joyous. Bow down. Nor she. He made the world to be a grassy road Before her wandering feet. Lives on this lonely face. on the wain Festoons and coronals of the golden yield. she is wont to labor in the field. Like the pale waters in their wintry race. or any hearts to beat. A triumph is the labor of her soul. nor its arrowy beam May any cloud of superstition mar: True to the earth she is. William Butler Yeats [1865DAWN OF WOMANHOOD Thus will I have the woman of my dream. and the passion of the earth Shall be for her adornment and her praise. in your dim abode: Before you were. Sacred shall be the purport of her days. with a mirth That rings true-tempered holy womanhood. Her tranquil eyes shall penetrate afar Through centuries. 374 . She cannot fear the agonies of birth. Yet human. I behold her gaze Outward into the furnace of the dawn.We and the laboring world are passing by: Amid men’s souls.

She loves the sacred hearth: she will defend Her gods from desecration of the vile. Though she is but a vision. Nor trembleth at appearances of death. It will not even shame her if she make A coronal of stars her diadem. 375 . The homestead is her most especial care. Nor to far heaven her spirit wandereth. She. Beautiful is her presence in the bower: Her spirit is the spirit of repose. With diamond and with pearl he need not sue. for her spirit is awake.Sublime along eternity revealed. Or bind to him with fetters of the law. I see her in the evening by the fire. Nor lifteth she her voice in barren prayer. she can rend Whatever may have entered to defile. She shall possess for ornament and gem A flower. He holds her by a spiritual right. godlike in her womanhood. Nor will she deck herself for his delight: Beauty is the adornment of the true. or the drop of dew: More innocently fair than all of them. will fare Calm-visaged and heroic to the end. everlastingly in her control. like a wounded tigress. Lo. the glowworm. Like crested waves the onward centuries roll. I feel her arrowy beam Already. Fierce. and not of those That he with sacramental gold must draw Discreetly to his chamber in the night. illumined from the pile Of blazing logs. Mankind shall hold her motherhood in awe: Woman is she indeed. Under the even measure of her breath. a motherly desire Glows like the moulded passion of a rose. I can take Courage from her. And in her eyes.

a motley Britomart Her lance is high adventure. Jealous to cloak a blessing in a jest. Shrined in a garland of laborious thorn. She holds her little thoughts in sight.the lady of my delight A shepherdess of sheep. She roams maternal hills and bright. And opening new eyes on each new day With faith concealed and courage unconfessed. Washed white with laughter. And folds them in for sleep.the lady of my delight A shepherdess of sheep. Clothe beauty carefully in disarray.And passes down the future like a gleam. She guards them from the steep. Blooms the unchanging Rose of all the World. Her banner to the suns and winds unfurled. She walks . She has her soul to keep. She keeps them white. Dark valleys safe and deep. and beneath her heart. bearing best Her girl’s lithe body under matron gray. She walks . Brian Hooker [1880- 376 .the lady of my delight A shepherdess of sheep. And love absurdly. Harold Monro [1879-1932] THE SHEPHERDESS She walks . Into that tender breast at night The chastest stars may peep. Thus have I made the woman of my dream. Her flocks are thoughts. tipped with scorn. Though gay they run and leap. Alice Meynell [1853-1922] A PORTRAIT Mother and maid and soldier. She is so circumspect and right. that no word betray The worship all her deeds make manifest: Armored in smiles. She feeds them on the fragrant height.

nor care If some day in an idle mood I. 377 . wife. fire. Death quench. Steel true and blade straight The great Artificer made my mate. searching unaware Through some closed corner of my heart. Heart-whole and soul-free. inviolate. A love that life could never tire. It stands serene. Honor. VIVID.THE WIFE The little Dreams of Maidenhood I put them all away As tenderly as mother would The toys of yesterday. DUSKY. or evil stir. Theodosia Garrison [1874”TRUSTY. true. The little dreams I put aside I loved them every one. A fellow-farer true through life. And yet since moon-blown buds must hide Before the noon-day sun. The August Father gave to me. I close them wistfully away And give the key to none. Robert Louis Stevenson [1850-1894] THE SHRINE There is a shrine whose golden gate Was opened by the Hand of God. anger. Though millions have its pavement trod. TRUE” Trusty. When little children grow to men Too over-wise for play. The mighty Master gave to her. O little Dreams of Maidenhood Lie quietly. Teacher. Should laugh to find you there. tender comrade. valor. vivid. With eyes of gold and bramble-dew. dusky.

the world is tired and old.As fresh. My mother . save ever only thee? Digby Mackworth Dolben [1848-1867] THE VOICE As I went down the hill I heard The laughter of the countryside. nor carven throne. once within the enchanted door. And the few violets of my heart Shook in the wind of happier years. To touch me . The garden shawl. Without. who findest out a way To pass the sentinels. 378 . the cap of lace. a single soil Upon the whiteness of its wall. The mists of time are backward rolled. Elizabeth! Elizabeth! It was my mother’s name. The angels’ tears in tender rain Would make the temple theirs again.almost .ah! whom should I see Within. But. rain being past. the whole land stirred With new emotion. A part Of wounded memory sprang to tears. like a bride. Quicker than magic came the face That once was sun and moon for me. And creeds and ages are no more.with thy hand. But all the human-hearted meet In one communion vast and sweet.all is simply fair. The collie’s head against her knee. For. I scarce had left the grassy lane. yet should there fall A single speck. as when the first sunrise Awoke the lark in Paradise. Nor incense-clouds. When something made me catch my breath: A woman called. But in the fragrant morning air A gentle lady sits alone. and called again. and stand Behind my chair at close of day. Mother. I enter . ’Tis compassed with the dust and toil Of common days.

nor stir. In the dark womb where I began. Men will recall thy gracious presence bland. ”Nor ever yet was mother worshipped more!” So shall I live with Thee. Julian Fane [1827-1870] C. We sleep beneath the daisies and the dew. Not now. M. Down in the darkness of the grave 379 . My mother’s life made me a man. Through all the months of human birth Her beauty fed my common earth. nor breathe. I cannot see. both together. L. ”What love unto her son she bore!” Make this addition to thy perfect praise. Conning the pictured sweetness of thy face. But through the death of some of her. under the sweet sky. The lamp of love burns on till death! How trembles if I chance to hear Elizabeth! Elizabeth! Norman Gale [1862MOTHER I have praised many loved ones in my song. Theresa Helburn [1888AD MATREM Oft in the after days. With empty hand. Oh. Perhaps the ripening future holds a time For things unsaid. Will pore o’er paintings by thy plastic hand. and thy dear fame Shall link my love unto thine honored name. how clear. how sure. who crown thee with true bays. men do not celebrate in rhyme Their daily bread. When.Deep in my breast. Saying. when thou and I Have fallen from the scope of human view. And yet I stand Before her shrine. to whom all things belong. And vaunt thy skill and tell thy deeds of grace. may they then.

With such a sky to lead him on? The dewy ground was dark and cold. or said In thanks to that dear woman dead? Men triumph over women still. And seemed to give me spiritual right To travel through that region bright. Men trample women’s rights at will. Behind. all gloomy to behold.She cannot see the life she gave. or tried. She would pass by me in the street. Were in this place the guests of Chance: Yet who would stop.’Twould be a wildish destiny. If we. John Masefield [1878STEPPING WESTWARD STEPPING WESTWARD ”What. Unless my soul’s face let her see My sense of what she did for me. . What have I done to keep in mind My debt to her and womankind? What woman’s happier life repays Her for those months of wretched days? For all my mouthless body leeched Ere Birth’s releasing hell was reached? What have I done. O grave. or fear to advance Though home or shelter he had none. If the grave’s gates could be undone.” . If we should meet. I am so grown. 380 . And man’s lust roves the world untamed.”Yea. ’twas a sound Of something without place or bound. you are stepping westward?” . and far from home. who thus together roam In a strange Land. For all her love. . Nor knock at dusty doors to find Her beauty dusty in the mind. she cannot tell Whether I use it ill or well. keep shut lest I be shamed. She would not know her little son. And stepping westward seemed to be A kind of heavenly destiny: I liked the greeting.

and while my eye Was fixed upon the glowing Sky. faith. and ever green. youth waneth by increasing: Beauty. The echo of the voice enwrought A human sweetness with the thought Of travelling through the world that lay Before me in my endless way. His Saint is sure of his unspotted heart.The voice was soft. And feed on prayers. O Time too swift. Duty. are roots. William Wordsworth [1770-1850] A FAREWELL TO ARMS (To Queen Elizabeth) His golden locks Time hath to silver turned. ”Blest be the hearts that wish my sovereign well. And when he saddest sits in homely cell. . So to the tomb. But spurned in vain. George Peele [1558?-1597?] THE WORLD The World’s a bubble. youth. And lovers’ sonnets turned to holy psalms.” Goddess. He’ll teach his swains this carol for a song. and brought up to years With cares and fears. strength. O swiftness never ceasing! His youth ’gainst time and age hath ever spurned.from the womb. which are Age his alms: But though from court to cottage he depart. are flowers but fading seen. and the life of Man Less than a span: In his conception wretched. Curst be the souls that think her any wrong. But limns on water. 381 . allow this aged man his right To be your beadsman now that was your knight. love. or but writes in dust. and she who spake Was walking by her native lake: The salutation had to me The very sound of courtesy: Its power was felt. A man-at-arms must now serve on his knees. Who then to frail mortality shall trust. His helmet now shall make a hive for bees. Curst from his cradle.

But may be termed the worst of all the three? Domestic cares afflict the husband’s bed. alas! to wive. But single thraldom. ho. ho. But when I came unto my beds. With hey. when they cease. ’Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate. the wind and the rain. Wars with their noise affright us. being born. With hey.What then remains. Peril and toil. or have no wife. A foolish thing was but a toy. then. For the rain it raineth every day. For the rain it raineth every day. ho. What life is best? Courts are but only superficial schools To dandle fools: The rural parts are turned into a den Of savage men. take it for a curse. But when I came.Yet whilst with sorrow here we live oppressed. but that we still should cry For being born. Or pains his head: Those that live single. 382 . the wind and the rain. By swaggering could I never thrive. to have. the wind and the rain. ho. or a double strife? Our own affections still at home to please Is a disease. But when I came to man’s estate. With hey. Or do things worse: Some would have children. We are worse in peace: . to die? Francis Bacon [1561-1626] ”WHEN THAT I WAS AND A LITTLE TINY BOY” From ”Twelfth Night” When that I was and a little tiny boy. With hey. For the rain it raineth every day. And where’s a city from foul vice so free. those that have them moan Or wish them gone: What is it. or. the wind and the rain. To cross the seas to any foreign soil.

The subject made us able to indite. can her Maker praise. A great while ago the world begun. My youth is gone. The soul’s dark cottage. unbodied. But that’s all one. and now my life is done! The spring is past. My thread is cut. and yet it is not sprung. The fruit is dead. The soul. The body stooping does herself erect. Clouds of affection from our younger eyes Conceal that emptiness which age descries. For then we know how vain it was to boast Of fleeting things. No mortal parts are requisite to raise Her that. and yet I saw no sun. and yet I am but young. With hey. the wind and the rain. The seas are quiet when the winds give o’er. So calm are we when passions are no more.With toss-pots still had drunken heads. My crop of corn is but a field of tares. ho. And now I live. And all my good is but vain hope of gain. and yet the leaves be green. The day is fled. and yet it is not spun. battered and decayed. Edmund Waller [1606-1687] A LAMENT The Night Before His Execution My prime of youth is but a frost of cares. I saw the world. 383 . wiser. And we’ll strive to please you every day. both worlds at once they view That stand upon the threshold of the new. so certain to be lost. My feast of joy is but a dish of pain. Lets in new light through chinks that Time has made: Stronger by weakness. For the rain it raineth every day. Leaving the old. and yet I was not seen. men become As they draw near to their eternal home. with nobler resolutions decked. William Shakespeare [1564-1616] OF THE LAST VERSES IN THE BOOK When we for age could neither read nor write. our play is done.

when I find I’m declining. And now I die. On the brink of the grave I’ll not seek to keep hovering. And blithe as the lark that each day hails the dawn. While I carol away idle sorrow. And a purse when a friend wants to borrow. Look forward with hope for Tomorrow. The glass is full. But my face in the glass I’ll serenely survey. With my friends may I share what Today may afford. With an ambling pad-pony to pace o’er the lawn. John Collins [1742?-1808] 384 . Which I’ve worn for three-score years and ten. and now my life is done! I sought my death. I’ll envy no Nabob his riches or fame. With a barn for the use of the flail: A cow for my dairy. I trod the earth. Nor my thread wish to spin o’er again. and now my life is done! Chidiock Tichborne [1558?-1586] TOMORROW In the down-hill of life. and saw it was a shade. And now I live. And let them spread the table Tomorrow. and knew it was my tomb. And while peace and plenty I find at my board. And a small spot of ground for the use of the spade too. May become everlasting Tomorrow. and now I am but made. And with smiles count each wrinkle and furrow. and now my glass is run. And when I at last must throw off this frail covering. I looked for life. With a heart free from sickness and sorrow. both for shelter and shade too.And now I live. and found it in my womb. a dog for my game. As the sunshine or rain may prevail. And a cot that o’erlooks the wide sea. And this old worn-out stuff. which is threadbare Today. Nor what honors may wait him Tomorrow. With a porch at my door. May my fate no less fortunate be Than a snug elbow-chair will afford for reclining. From the bleak northern blast may my cot be completely Secured by a neighboring hill. And at night may repose steal upon me more sweetly By the sound of a murmuring rill.

That fear no spite of wind or tide! Naught cared this body for wind or weather When Youth and I lived in’t together. a breeze ’mid blossoms straying.Ah. we know Can rightly judge of friends and foes. Of Friendship. And all the faults discern in those. Can all the worth of these allow. and Liberty Ere I was old! 385 . and Poesy When I was young! When I was young? . woful When! Ah. Can their destructive force repel. Both were mine! Life went a-maying With Nature. Hope. How lightly then it flashed along: Like those trim skiffs. Love is flower-like. Now. On winding lakes and rivers wide. Love. Where Hope clung feeding like a bee. This body that does me grievous wrong. And now the torch of truth is found. It only shows us where we strayed: By long experience taught. ’tis our boast that we can quell The wildest passions in their rage. That ask no aid of sail or oar. Friendship is a sheltering tree. and thou Art warring with the mighty dead? George Crabbe [1754-1832] YOUTH AND AGE Verse. unknown of yore. Flowers are lovely. Virtue! dost thou arm when now This bold rebellious race are fled? When all these tyrants rest.LATE WISDOM We’ve trod the maze of error round. And their impetuous wrath assuage. Long wandering in the winding glade. Ah. O’er aery cliffs and glittering sands. for the change ’twixt Now and Then! This breathing house not built with hands. Oh! the joys that came down shower-like.

” ”You are old. But the tears of mournful eve! Where no hope is. Father William. . Like some poor nigh-related guest.” the young man cried. And tells the jest without the smile. And abused not my health and my vigor at first. I pray.” Father William replied. That I never might need them at last. ”The few locks which are left you are gray.a hearty old man: Now tell me the reason. Father William. And tears take sunshine from thine eyes! Life is but thought: so think I will That Youth and I are house-mates still.Ere I was old? Ah.” 386 . this altered size: But Springtide blossoms on thy lips. woful Ere. Dewdrops are the gems of morning. ”I remembered that youth would fly fast. Father William. I’ll think it but a fond conceit It cannot be that Thou art gone! Thy vesper-bell hath not yet tolled: And thou wert aye a masker bold! What strange disguise hast now put on To make believe that thou art gone? I see these locks in silvery slips. Yet hath outstayed his welcome while. And yet you lament not the days that are gone: Now tell me the reason. Youth’s no longer here! O Youth! for years so many and sweet. Which tells me. That may not rudely be dismissed. This drooping gait.” the young man cried. ”And pleasures with youth pass away. life’s a warning That only serves to make us grieve When we are old: That only serves to make us grieve With oft and tedious taking-leave. Samuel Taylor Coleridge [1772-1834] THE OLD MAN’S COMFORTS And How He Gained Them ”You are old. I pray.” ”In the days of my youth. You are hale. ’Tis known that Thou and I were one.

The few late flowers have moisture in the eye. In the days of my youth.” Robert Southey [1774-1843] TO AGE Welcome. and love to converse upon death: Now tell me the reason. I shall not see again: Rather what lies before my feet My notice shall engage.” Father William replied.”In the days of my youth.” the young man cried. so am I. Father William. ”And life must be hastening away. But thou at length hast made me sage.” ”You are old.” ”I am cheerful. Thanks for expelling Fear and Hope. He who hath braved Youth’s dizzy heat Dreads not the frost of Age. the other vain. That I never might grieve for the past. Too little they from me. Little I know from other men. old friend! These many years Have we lived door by door: The Fates have laid aside their shears Perhaps for some few more. I was indocile at an age When better boys were taught. One’s scourge.” Father William replied. But thou hast pointed well the pen That writes these lines to thee. 387 . ”I remembered that youth could not last. I thought of the future. I remembered my God. whatever I did. You are cheerful. And He hath not forgotten my age. One vile. Walter Savage Landor [1775-1864] LATE LEAVES The leaves are falling. the other’s telescope. If I am sage in aught. young man. ”Let the cause thy attention engage. I pray.

nor hear Adieu. when from you One more will fall: when. Ere passion yet disorders. And years like passing ages. Let him. And spring and summer both are past. Why. many parti-colored years. are to come. now heaven is overcast. or even unjoyous. bird The whole wood through. carried home. lingering like a river smooth Along its grassy borders. Winter may come: he brings but nigher His circle (yearly narrowing) to the fire Where old friends meet. Why seem your courses quicker? When joys have lost their bloom and breath. that measure life to man. And life itself is vapid. more brief appear Our life’s succeeding stages: A day to childhood seems a year. But as the careworn cheek grows wan. Walter Savage Landor [1775-1864] YEARS Years.So have I too. And sorrow’s shafts fly thicker. Feel we its tide more rapid? 388 . And all things sweet. Some have crept on. as we reach the Falls of Death. The gladsome current of our youth. Years not so varied. not so many. Years. Walter Savage Landor [1775-1864] THE RIVER OF LIFE The more we live. I see it not. Scarcely on any bough is heard Joyous. Ye Stars. and some have flown Since first before me fell those tears I never could see fall alone. Steals.

I waked to sleep no more. though sweet. Might meet ingratitude and wrong! I could not help but kindly view The world that I was passing through. How little did I once believe That friendly tones could e’er deceive! That kindness. A thriftless prodigal of smiles and tears. I’ve learned sad lessons from the years. and waking. in the days of early youth. When one by one our friends have gone And left our bosoms bleeding? Heaven gives our years of fading strength Indemnifying fleetness. is only sleep. Thomas Campbell [1777-1844] ”LONG TIME A CHILD” Long time a child. Hartley Coleridge [1796-1849] THE WORLD I AM PASSING THROUGH Few. Trusted like me in love and truth. And though I’ve learned some souls are base. For God made me to kindly view The world that I was passing through. I would not. though I be old: Time is my debtor for my years untold. therefore. and I knew no fears. hate the race. No hope I needed. with all arrears Of duty on my back.It may be strange . And those of youth. Proportioned to their sweetness. And still I am a child. Nor child. I find my head is gray. was I. But slowly. But sleep. nor sage. and with many tears. and forbearance long. a seeming length. For I have lost the race I never ran: A rathe December blights my lagging May. at once o’ertaking The vanguard of my age. For yet I lived like one not born to die. and still a child. nor man. 389 . I still would bless my fellow men. when years Had painted manhood on my check.yet who would change Time’s course to slower speeding. Nor youth.

Contract thy firmament To compass of a tent. May they themselves be spared the pain Of losing power to trust again! God help us all to kindly view The world that we are passing through! Lydia Maria Child [1802-1880] TERMINUS It is time to be old. God help me still to kindly view The world that I am passing through! Through weary conflicts I have passed. And trust in Him who rules above. And feel my journey nearly done. There’s not enough for this and that. at every stroke. Who sets to seas a shore.And trust them. Whose universal law is love. And struggled into rest at last. Fancy departs: no more invent. May earth be veiled in genial light. To take in sail: The god of bounds. And her last smile to me seem bright! Help me till then to kindly view The world that I am passing through! And all who tempt a trusting heart From faith and hope to drift apart. Economize the failing river. 390 . Such rest as when the rack has broke A joint. When I approach the setting sun. Make thy option which of two. And said: ”No more! No farther shoot Thy broad ambitious branches. or nerve. The wish survives to kindly view The world that I am passing through. From all that fate has brought to me I strive to learn humility. Thus only can I kindly view The world that I am passing through. Came to me in his fatal rounds. though deceived again. and thy root.

transcends them all!” Not for such hopes and fears Annulling youth’s brief years. Do I remonstrate: folly wide the mark! Rather I prize the doubt 391 . But left a legacy of ebbing veins. It yearned. nor Mars. Obey the voice at eve obeyed at prime: ”Lowly faithful. Bad husbands of their fires. for which the first was made: Our times are in his hand Who saith ”A whole I planned. I trim myself to the storm of time. thy sires. halt and numb.” Ralph Waldo Emerson [1803-1882] RABBI BEN EZRA Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be. Mine be some figured flame which blends. Which lily leave and then as best recall?” Not that. The port.” As the bird trims her to the gale. Youth sighed.Not the less revere the Giver. Amid the Muses. trust God: see all. A little while Still plan and smile. nor be afraid!” Not that. when they gave thee breath. And every wave is charmed. Timely wise accept the terms. Curse. Youth shows but half. banish fear. Soften the fall with wary foot. Who. . admiring stars. Right onward drive unharmed. The last of life.fault of novel germs. if thou wilt. left thee deaf and dumb. Leave the many and hold the few. is near. And. ”Which rose make ours. Mature the unfallen fruit. amassing flowers. Amid the Gladiators. Inconstant heat and nerveless reins. ”Nor Jove. Failed to bequeath The needful sinew stark as once. I man the rudder. reef the sail. well worth the cruise. The Baresark marrow to thy bones.

effect and not receive! A spark disturbs our clod. untroubled by a spark.a paradox Which comforts while it mocks. to solely seek and find and feast: Such feasting ended. Finished and finite clods. comforts me: A brute I might have been. ears took in their dole. perfection every turn: Eyes. I. Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail: What I aspired to be. and hold cheap the strain. How far can that project thy soul on its lone way? Yet gifts should prove their use: I own the Past profuse Of power each side. welcome each rebuff That turns earth’s smoothness rough. Then. And was not. who saw power. see now Love perfect too: Perfect I call thy plan: Thanks that I was a man! 392 . then As sure an end to men. never grudge the throe! For thence. nor account the pang. Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand but go! Be our joys three-parts pain! Strive. Brain treasured up the whole: Should not the heart beat once ”How good to live and learn”? Not once beat ”Praise be thine! I see the whole design. propose this test Thy body at its best. Were man but formed to feed On joy. . What is he but a brute Whose flesh has soul to suit. I must believe. dare. but would not sink i’ the scale. than of his tribes that take. Irks care the crop-full bird? Frets doubt the maw-crammed beast? Rejoice we are allied To that which doth provide And not partake. Nearer we hold of God Who gives. Whose spirit works lest arms and legs want play? To man.Low kinds exist without. Learn. Poor vaunt of life indeed.

I trust what thou shalt do!” For pleasant is this flesh. compare. ”All good things Are ours. when evening shuts. pronounce at last. ”This rage was right i’ the main. Let us cry. What weapons to select. nor soul helps flesh more. I shall try My gain or loss thereby. being old. Let me discern. remake.”Add this to the rest.” So. For note. Life’s struggle having so far reached its term: Thence shall I pass. complete. approved A man.” 393 . in its rose-mesh Pulled ever to the earth. what survives is gold: And I shall weigh the same. That acquiescence vain: The Future I may face now I have proved the Past. . still yearns for rest: Would we some prize might hold To match those manifold Possessions of the brute. all lay in dispute. now. calls the glory from the gray: A whisper from the west Shoots . made head. Our soul. ”Spite of this flesh to-day I strove. . what armor to indue. Though lifted o’er its strife. And I shall thereupon Take rest. still within this life.Maker. than flesh helps soul!” Therefore I summon age To grant youth’s heritage. Youth ended. gained ground upon the whole!” As the bird wings and sings. for aye removed From the developed brute. Leave the fire ashes. ere I be gone Once more on my adventure brave and new: Fearless and unperplexed. Take it and try its worth: here dies another day. I shall know. A certain moment cuts The deed off. as we did best! Let us not always say. Give life its praise or blame: Young. When I wage battle next. a God though in the germ.gain most.

my soul disdained. through acts uncouth. who shall arbitrate? Ten men love what I hate.For more is not reserved To man. from level stand. tricks of the tool’s true play. Toward making. Things done.” must sentence pass. Shun what I follow. Announced to each his station in the Past! Was I. They this thing. age. work enough to watch The Master work. Subject to no dispute From fools that crowded youth. The low world laid its hand. the world’s coarse thumb And finger failed to plumb. who in ears and eyes Match me: we all surmise. as thou callest thy hand thine own. All instincts immature. the world arraigned. O’er which. nor let thee feel alone. That weighed not as his work. exempt From strife. All purposes unsure. So passed in making up the main account. Thou waitedest age: wait death nor be afraid! Enough now. youth Should strive. and catch Hints of the proper craft. than tempt Further. if the Right And Good and Infinite Be named here. Were they. should know. better. could value in a trice: But all. slight what I receive. Found straightway to its mind. that took the eye and had the price. for once and all. Be there. than repose on aught found made: So. Severed great minds from small. and I that: whom shall my soul believe? Not on the vulgar mass Called ”work. Right? Let age speak the truth and give us peace at last! Now. with soul just nerved To act to-morrow what he learns to-day: Here. yet swelled the man’s amount: 394 . Ten. With knowledge absolute. As it was better.

note that Potter’s wheel. who mouldest men. sufficiently impressed. Thou. lamp’s flash and trumpet’s peal. Bound dizzily. obey the sterner stress? Look not thou down but up! To uses of a cup. whose wheel the pitcher shaped. He fixed thee ’mid this dance Of plastic circumstance. what needest thou with earth’s wheel? But I need. What though the earlier grooves Which ran the laughing loves Around thy base. Earth the wheel of life With shapes and colors rife.Thoughts hardly to be packed Into a narrow act. Try thee and turn thee forth. Lasts ever. Scull-things in order grim Grow out. in graver mood. Ay. now as then. That metaphor! and feel Why time spins fast. And since. When the wine makes its round. no longer pause and press? What though. thou. . I was worth to God.mistake my end. ”Since life fleets. but thy soul and God stand sure: What entered into thee. Thee. This Present. men ignored in me. All. the Past gone. heaven’s consummate cup. not even while the whirl was worst. seize to-day?” Fool! All that is. is. The festal board. take and use thy work: 395 . The new wine’s foaming flow. Fancies that broke through language and escaped. and shall be: Time’s wheel runs back or stops: Potter and clay endure. All I could never be. This. past recall. to slake thy thirst: So. The Master’s lips a-glow! Thou. at all. Did I . God. to whom fools propound. That was. all is change. why passive lies our clay. about thy rim. forsooth. would fain arrest: Machinery just meant To give thy soul its bent.

but His who grants them or denies them. What strain o’ the stuff. and take your place there. although it hath bereft us Of that which made our childhood sweeter still. Sad are our hopes for they were sweet in sowing. And all the trees are green. for onward it is flowing. Then hey for boot and horse. And all the wheels run down: Creep home. lad. what warpings past the aim! My times be in thy hand! Perfect the cup as planned! Let age approve of youth. for they were sweet in blowing. when we learn to prize them Not for their sake. for it hath left us A nearer Good to cure an older Ill: And sweet are all things. And all the trees are brown. lad. lad. lad. and death complete the same! Robert Browning [1812-1889] HUMAN LIFE Sad is our youth. Crumbling away beneath our very feet. for it is ever going. their dying breath is sweet: And sweet is youth. And every dog his day. Aubrey Thomas de Vere [1814-1902] YOUNG AND OLD From ”The Water Babies” When all the world is young. have overtopped the wheat. And still. Sad are our joys. Sad is our life. When all the world is old. Young blood must have its course. Charles Kingsley [1819-1875] 396 . O still. In current unperceived because so fleet. But tares. And sweet our life’s decline.Amend what flaws may lurk. And every lass a queen. And every goose a swan. And all the sport is stale. self-sown. lad. lad. The spent and maimed among: God grant you find one face there You loved when all was young. And round the world away.

And the year in the sheaf .so they come and they go On the River’s breast with its ebb and flow. There are broken vows and pieces of rings. How the winters are drifting like flakes of snow! And the summers like buds between. a wonderful stream is the River Time. And a part of an infant’s prayer. There’s a cloudless sky and a tropical clime. There are hands that are waved when the fairy shore By the mirage is lifted in air. And the name of this Isle is the Long Ago. Benjamin Franklin Taylor [1819-1887] GROWING OLD What is it to grow old? Is it to lose the glory of the form. Oh. There are brows of beauty and bosoms of snow They are heaps of dust. And we bury our treasures there. And our eyes are closing in slumber awhile. As it flows through the realm of Tears. There’s a harp unswept and a lute without strings. And the Junes with the roses are staying. There are fragments of song that nobody sings.THE ISLE OF THE LONG AGO Oh. And a voice as sweet as a vesper chime. 397 . And we sometimes hear through the turbulent roar Sweet voices we heard in the days gone before. And the garments that she used to wear. And when evening comes with its beautiful smile. As they glide in the shadow and sheen. There’s a magical Isle up the River Time Where the softest of airs are playing. When the wind down the River is fair. May that ”Greenwood” of soul be in sight. but we loved them so! There are trinkets and tresses of hair. remembered for aye be the blessed Isle All the day of our life till night. And a broader sweep and a surge sublime As it blends with the ocean of Years. With a faultless rhythm and a musical rhyme.

The clocks are chiming in my heart! 398 . every function less exact.last stage of all When we are frozen up within. and more. what we feel. Matthew Arnold [1822-1888] PAST The clocks are chiming in my heart Their cobweb chime. Deep in our hidden heart Festers the dull remembrance of a change. and feel the fulness of the past. month To month with weary pain. ’tis not what in youth we dreamed ’twould be! ’Tis not to have our life Mellowed and softened as with sunset glow. The years that are no more. with rapt prophetic eyes. But no emotion . And feel but half.The lustre of the eye? Is it for beauty to forego her wealth? . immured In the hot prison of the present. It is! .none. Old murmurings of days that die. but not Ah. but our strength . and feebly. To hear the world applaud the hollow ghost Which blessed the living man. A golden day’s decline. It is to suffer this. It is to spend long days And not once feel that we were ever young. The sob of things a-drifting by. It is to add.Yes. and quite The phantom of ourselves. but not this alone. ’Tis not to see the world As from a height.decay? Is it to feel each limb Grow stiffer. Each nerve more loosely strung? Yes. And weep. Is it to feel our strength Not our bloom only. this. And heart profoundly stirred.

The while my mother hummed an ancient song. and gone out! John Galsworthy [1867-1933] TWILIGHT When I was young the twilight seemed too long.and yet . A. The good of both I will combine.I’ll bless This twain that gives me happiness! 399 . clamored for the light. And thrice more happy are the happy days That live divinely in the lingering rays.forsooth. Mary F. How often on the western window-seat I leaned my book against the misty pane And spelled the last enchanting lines again. and wan Those ashy fires. in wine: And then . Robinson [1857YOUTH AND AGE Youth hath many charms. since I love them both.The stars have twinkled. In women. The stars have twinkled. and vague alarms. and gone out Fair candles blown! The hot desires burn low. And look for Age.and then . that flamed anon. rebellious. By contrast make it bright: And yet . I will look for Youth. Even its doubts. And thus I know that I am growing old. But now I love the soft approach of night. Hath many joys. and much delight. Or sighed a little and said: ”The hour is sweet!” When I. O granaries of Age! O manifold And royal harvest of the common years! There are in all thy treasure-house no ways But lead by soft descent and gradual slope To memories more exquisite than hope. And now with folded hands I sit and dream While all too fleet the hours of twilight seem. I love Age as well as Youth! Well. Thine is the Iris born of olden tears.

Feeble of foot and rheumatic of shoulder. Hated the foe with a playing at hate! Follow up! Follow up! Forty years on. Then. Strife without anger. Days of fresh air. Loved the ally with the heart of a brother. rushes and rallies. Shorter in wind. Fights for the fearless. and rescued. in the rain and the sun. you will say. Auguring triumph. it may be. when afar and asunder Parted are those who are singing today. and won. and goals for the eager. What will it help you that once you were strong? God gives us bases to guard or beleaguer. Follow up! Follow up! Routs and discomfitures. and in memory long. not a feverish minute Strained the weak heart. How we rejoiced as we struggled and panted Hardly believable forty years on! How we discoursed of them. Never the battle raged hottest. Follow up! Follow up! Follow up! Follow up! Till the field ring again and again. and the wavering knee. but in it Neither the last nor the faintest were we! Follow up! Follow up! O the great days. and art without malice. growing older and older. there will often come o’er you Glimpses of notes like the catch of a song Visions of boyhood shall float them before you. 400 .George Arnold [1834-1865] FORTY YEARS ON Forty years on. or balancing fate. With the tramp of the twenty-two men. whether earnest or fun. Games to play out. How will it seem to you forty years on? Then. one with another. Echoes of dreamland shall bear them along. Bases attempted. and forgetfully wonder What you were like in your work and your play. in the distance enchanted. When you look back.

Your locks were curling gold. a friend. Ghosts go along with us until the end. What need to chain the hours. Time stays. We pass. le temps s’en va. Time stays . when my voice was strong. this. and think we see The earth’s fixed surface flee: Alas. we go. Or else.Twenty. were this not so. Time goes.we go! Once in the days of old. and thirty. We’ve reached the silver age. you say? . the dregs remain. Bitter as wormwood and as salt as pain. and forty years on! Follow up! Follow up! Edward Ernest Bowen [1836-1901] DREGS The fire is out. ma dame! Las! le temps non: mais nous nous en allons!” Time goes. I filled the woods with song 401 . With pale. Now.ah no! Ours is the eyes’ deceit Of men whose flying feet Lead through some landscape low. in the self-same stage.ah no! Once. (This is the end of every song man sings!) The golden wine is drunk. And mine had shamed the crow. For Youth were always ours? Time goes. indifferent eyes. And health and hope have gone the way of love Into the drear oblivion of lost things. we sit and wait For the dropped curtain and the closing gate: This is the end of all the songs man sings. and spent the warmth thereof. you say? Ah no! Alas. Ernest Dowson [1867-1900] THE PARADOX OF TIME A Variation On Ronsard ”Le temps s’en va. you say? . This was a mistress. perhaps.

Where are our old desires? Ah. Where are your roses fled? Alas. Chaffinch and lark and linnet. Let us fold hands.we go! Austin Dobson [1840-1921] AGE Snow and stars. Everything is grim and cold! Strange and drear the sound of mirth is Life and I are old! William Winter [1836-1917] OMNIA SOMNIA Dawn drives the dreams away. When suddenly the birds sang all together. Alas.we go! See. even in the dream. you say? .ah no! How far. Once. But their silver song. Blackbird and thrush and plaintive willow-wren. cold the earth is. that sang. all were calling. The past behind our feet Lies in the even-glow! Now. Time stays . on the forward way. ah never. where those vanished fires? Time goes. and pray. What backward Fate delays The hopes we used to know. O sweet. in what traversed ways. My bird. I dreamed I wandered on a bare hillside. and yet the birds were singing. is dead. Still it was Winter. in a tide of pale and sunless weather. 402 . Never now is sung! Cold the stars are. There was no leaf nor bud nor young grass springing. how far. A golden web of music held me then. the same as ever In the days when I was young. yet some abide. Time stays.To praise your ”rose” and ”snow”. . The skies shone cold above the frost-bound stream: It was not Spring.

And Love. serene. falling. never do the birds of April sing More sweet than in that dream I still remember: Perchance the heart may keep its songs of Spring Even through the wintry dream of life’s December. ye are young. though autumn gave but harvest slight. 403 . And the song has been sung And the story been told.Innumerable voices. Is growing for you. Hands clasping. Your locks are as brown As the mavis in May. But now. Your hearts are as warm As the sunshine to-day. that blast How many blossoms promising and dear! And of his summer. Weathered the perils of his spring. Timothy Cole [1852-1931] AN OLD MAN’S SONG Ye are young. grateful is be to the powers above For winter’s sunshine. like fire through the ripening corn. like a flower. Blight all with mocking death and leave distraught Loved ones to mourn the ruined waste forlorn. But mine white and cold As the snow on the brae. Through silvered days of vistas gold and green Contentedly he glides away. Hearts beating so true. with dread passions fraught That oft. I am old. While Fame like a star In the midnight afar Is flashing for you. and the lengthened night By hearth-side genial with the warmth of love. rising. O. lips meeting. Rosamund Marriott Watson [1863-1911] THE YEAR’S END Full happy is the man who comes at last Into the safe completion of his year. I am old. Oh.

have you done something wrong in heaven That God has hidden your face? I hope if you have. The lambs play always. But for me the Gone-by. so old. Yea. you will soon be forgiven. Or how bravely we do. Death cometh at last. My birthday lessons are done. The meadow is empty. You moon. The end is the same. And shine again in your place. You are nothing now but a bow. You’ve powdered your legs with gold! O brave marsh marybuds. They are only one times one. Where two twin turtle-doves dwell? 404 . There’s no rain left in heaven. I am waiting to die. You were bright! ah. Give me your money to hold! O columbine. rich and yellow.For you the To-come. open your folded wrapper. Richard Le Gallienne [1866SONGS OF SEVEN Seven Times One. . they know no better. O moon! in the night I have seen you sailing And shining so round and low.EXULTATION There’s no dew left on the daisies and clover. And naught but a socket The face of the sky. No flower groweth high. I am old. I’ve said my ”seven times” over and over. You are panting to live. Seven times one are seven. I can write a letter. O velvet bee. bright! but your light is failing. you’re a dusty fellow. Be we traitor or true: And after the bloom And the passion is past. how so we dream.

Nor long summer bide so late. . ring. Made his heart yearn again. and slept till the sunshiny weather: Oh! children take long to grow. as he sits on the tree. Yet birds’ clearest carol by fall or by swelling No magical sense conveys. turn again. She was idle. they are yet to be. The bells cannot ring it. come over to me. I am seven times one to-day. but long years. For all the lessons are said. ring out your changes. . For some things are ill to wait. No listening. I will not steal them away. the book may close over. I wish and I wish that the spring would go faster.O cuckoopint. And mine. Poor bells! I forgive you. musing so wearily All by himself on a stone. your good days are over. I am old! you may trust me. no longing shall aught. I wait for the day when dear hearts shall discover. How many soever they be. And bells have forgotten their old art of telling The fortune of future days ”Turn again. And let the brown meadow-lark’s note as he ranges Come over. aught discover: You leave the story to me. 405 .the birds cannot sing it. oh. bring it! Such as I wish it to be. linnet. While dear hands are laid on my head. Seven Times Two. The foxglove shoots out of the green matted heather Preparing her hoods of snow. linnet. And I could grow on like the foxglove and aster. ”The child is a woman.” I wait for my story.” once they rang cheerily. toll me the purple clapper That hangs in your clear green bell! And show me your nest with the young ones in it. While a boy listened alone.ROMANCE You bells in the steeple. Not one.

loved them full fain. A cluster of stars hangs like fruit in the tree. ”You night-moths that hover. Hush. and yet. Seven Times Four. For the time runs to waste. and through the white clover. my one lover. it waits thee to-night. And cross quickly to me. But I’ll love him more.MATERNITY Heigh-ho! daisies and buttercups! Fair yellow daffodils. dark was the garden. Then all the sweet speech I had fashioned took flight. You glowworms. Eager to gather them all. shine out.” By the sycamore passed he. I saw not the gate. he comes. Sing. Sing them a song of the pretty hedge-sparrow. more Than e’er wife loved before. The fall of the water comes sweeter. hush! O sweet nightingale. . And my love lieth deep. ”Too deep for swift telling. make haste. . nightingale. ”Heart. and here’s mother’s own lasses. my one lover. thou art wide though the house be but narrow. For my love he is late! ”The skies in the darkness stoop nearer and nearer. where honey brims over From sycamore blossoms.” Sing once. stately and tall! When the wind wakes how they rock in the grasses. and what dost thou see? Let the star-clusters grow. and the pathway discover To him that comes darkling along the rough steep.LOVE I leaned out of window. or settle or sleep. 406 . Be the days dark or bright. I smelt the white clover. comes clearer: To what art thou listening. Heigh-ho! daisies and buttercups. and sing it again. wait Till I listen and hear If a step draweth near. my sailor. I’ve conned thee an answer. Dark. if there be footsteps. That loved her brown little ones. Ah. And dance with the cuckoo-buds slender and small! Here’s two bonny boys. Mother shall thread them a daisy chain. ”Now. Let the sweet waters flow.Seven Times Three.

though fathers sleep With a stone at foot and at head: O sleepless God. to meet thee. How bitter it is to part! Oh. what anear but golden brooms. that an echo might wake And waft one note of thy psalm to me Ere my heart-strings break! I should know it how faint soe’er.WIDOWHOOD I sleep and rest. my heart! No more to hear. what afar but the fine glooms On the rare blue hills! I shall not die. no more to see! Oh. Oh. A ship sails afar over warm ocean waters. they bend and they bow. O bonny brown sons. And with angel voices blent. Comfort is not there. And fresh hearts unconscious of sorrow and thrall! Send down on their pleasure smiles passing its measure. Oh. forever keep. And haply one musing doth stand at her prow. ”Let me bleed! O let me alone. Maybe he thinks of you now. my love. God that is over us all! Seven Times Five. I could be content! 407 . stately and tall! A sunshiny world full of laughter and leisure. But a waste of reedy rills! Oh. once more! O my heart. but live forlore.Heigh-ho! daisies and buttercups! Sweet wagging cowslips. my heart makes moan Before I am well awake. and O sweet little daughters. Since I must not break!” For children wake. Heigh-ho! daisies and buttercups! Fair yellow daffodils. once to feel thy spirit anear. Keep both living and dead! I lift mine eyes. and what to see But a world happy and fair! I have not wished it to mourn with me. .

to rear. as soon as shed.” O fond. . . My soul put by her fears. ”Mother. To love. To hear. to heed. to wed. to wed. Seven Times Seven. Drawn up like morning dews. and blind! God guards in happier spheres. To bear. O fool. To hear. O fond.LONGING FOR HOME A song of a boat: There was once a boat on a billow: Lightly she rocked to her port remote.GIVING IN MARRIAGE To bear.Or once between the gates of gold. to nurse. This while thou didst I smiled. that he.thee sitting to behold On the hills of God! Seven Times Six. to rear. Fair lot that maidens choose. and blind! To God I gave with tears. She doth in naught accuse. and then to lose: To see my bright ones disappear. O fool.and then to lose. to nurse. to rear. to heed. Will let no longer smart. But once. to heed. Her lot to bear. To watch. give ME thy child. That man will guard where he did bind Is hope for unknown years. But when a man like grace would find. 408 . To hear. While an entering angel trod. Thy face no more she views. To watch and then to lose: This have I done when God drew near Among his own to choose. Thy mother’s lot. And the foam was white in her wake like snow. Thy mother’s tenderest words are said. And with thy lord depart In tears. to nurse. my dear. . For now it was not God who said. to wed. .

For it is not long: You shall never light in a summer quest The bushes among Shall never light on a prouder sitter. And I think he sailed to the heavenly shore. She faded out on the moonlit foam. And bent like a wand of willow. That wind-like did come and go. Long I looked out for the lad she bore. And . I pray you hear my song of a nest. I shaded mine eyes one day when a boat Went curtsying over the billow. I had a nestful once of my own. On the open desolate sea. one after one they flew away Far up to the heavenly blue. In river or port. And I stayed behind in the dear-loved home. I marked her course till a dancing mote. happy I! Right dearly I loved them. Soft and warm and full to the brim Vetches leaned over it purple. A fairer nestful. Ah. nor ever know A softer sound than their tender twitter. And my thoughts all day were about the boat. I pray you what is the nest to me. With buttercup buds to follow. I pray you hear my song of a boat For it is but short: My boat you shall find none fairer afloat.I wish I was going too. My empty nest? And what is the shore where I stood to see My boat sail down to the west? 409 . For he came not back to me Ah me! A song of a nest: There was once a nest in a hollow: Down in the mosses and knot-grass pressed.And her frail mast bowed when the breeze would blow. the upper day. happy. And my dreams upon the pillow. To the better country. but when they were grown They spread out their wings to fly Oh. and dim.

Can I call that home where I anchor yet. When yet I had not walked above A mile or two from my first Love. to fill it. Had they been swallows only. But it will not be long Before their wild confusion Fall wavering down to cover The poet and his song. Woe’s me. Though my good man has sailed? Can I call that home where my nest was set. Or taught my soul to fancy aught But a white. sweet delusion. Without the passion stronger That skyward longs and sings. James Russell Lowell [1819-1891] LOOKING BACKWARD THE RETREAT Happy those early days. Now all its hope hath failed? Nay. I shall be lonely When I can feel no longer The impatience of their wings! A moment. Instead of lark or linnet. but the port where my sailor went. Shall whirl dead leaves and snow. And when the last shall go. I cannot still it. when I Shined in my Angel-infancy! Before I understood this place Appointed for my second race. Like birds the brown leaves hover. And the land where my nestlings be: There is the home where my thoughts are sent The only home for me Ah me! Jean Ingelow [1820-1897] AUSPEX My heart. Nest that had song-birds in it. celestial thought. The dreary days. 410 .

Henry Vaughan [1622-1695] A SUPERSCRIPTION Look in my face. When on some gilded cloud or flower My gazing soul would dwell an hour. how still I am! But should there dart One moment through thy soul the soft surprise Of that winged Peace which lulls the breath of sighs. Mark me. And. From whence the enlightened spirit sees That shady City of Palm-trees. And tread again that ancient track! That I might once more reach that plain Where first I left my glorious train. Then shalt thou see me smile. Farewell. Unto thine ear I hold the dead-sea shell Cast up thy Life’s foam-fretted feet between. return. Of ultimate things unuttered the frail screen. In that state I came. But ah! my soul with too much stay Is drunk. And in those weaker glories spy Some shadows of eternity. Dante Gabriel Rossetti [1828-1882] THE CHILD IN THE GARDEN When to the garden of untroubled thought 411 . Or had the black art to dispense A several sin to every sense. Too-late.And looking back. Unto thine eyes the glass where that is seen Which had Life’s form and Love’s. when this dust falls to the urn. But I by backward steps would move. my name is Might-have-been. and staggers in the way! Some men a forward motion love. I am also called No-more. and turn apart Thy visage to mine ambush at thy heart Sleepless with cold commemorative eyes. Could see a glimpse of His bright face. Before I taught my tongue to wound My Conscience with a sinful sound. but by my spell Is now a shaken shadow intolerable. at that short space. But felt through all this fleshly dress Bright shoots of everlastingness. O how I long to travel back.

I am the little child you used to be. And wished again to enter. Night shadows o’er the scene. yet to my heart most dear.” he said. That Eden lost unknown and found unsought. I wonder if he hopes to see The man I might have been. wild ways with stainless bloom inwrought. Thomas S.” Henry Van Dyke [1852-1933] CASTLES IN THE AIR My thoughts by night are often filled With visions false as fair: For in the Past alone I build My castles in the air. And yet he smiles so wistfully Once he has crept within. And bowers of innocence with beauty fraught. 412 . Jr. I dwell not now on what may be. and saw the open door. and do you know If they come back at fall o’ dew. and explore The sweet. Jones. Who held his hands to me and softly smiled With eyes that knew no shade of sin or fear. It seemed some purer voice must speak before I dared to tread that garden loved of yore. ”and play awhile with me. Then just within the gate I saw a child. The little ghosts of long ago. [1882-1932] THE LITTLE GHOSTS Where are they gone. A little lad just back from play The lad I used to be. But still my fancy wanders free Through that which might have been. ”Come in.I came of late. Thomas Love Peacock [1785-1866] SOMETIMES Across the fields of yesterday He sometimes comes to me. A stranger-child.

Meet a little maiden Long time lost to me? She is gay and gladsome. Naught of doubt or blight. children. Jones. And. though at my will 413 . The years that lie between us Hide her from me still. call her as I will. into Time’s shadow Out of Youth’s sunshine. Like little children dying young Do they come back to you? Thomas S. Silent and dim and mystic still. That other Me of mine.That long ago were you? And all the songs that ne’er were sung. And her name is Grace. Naught she knows of sorrow. Long time since I lost her. [1882-1932] MY OTHER ME Children. And all the dreams that ne’er came true. Now the darkness keeps her. And a heart as sunny. I am dull and pain-worn. Mocking my power. And lonely as can be Oh. Jr. It steals through that weird nether-world. In walks by land or sea. Heaven is just above her All her thoughts are white. if you meet her. floats as I float. do you ever. Has a laughing face. Send back my other Me! Grace Denio Litchfield [1849A SHADOW BOAT Under my keel another boat Sails as I sail. She crossed.

Give me the lad that’s gone! Sing me a song of a lad that is gone. Say. Yet half I dread. Or calm it lies. give me the soul.The foam before its prow is curled. Whose deathless eyes once fixed on mine Would draw me downward through the brine! Arlo Bates [1850-1918] A LAD THAT IS GONE Sing me a song of a lad that is gone. lest I with ruth Some ghost of my dead past divine. islands and seas. could that lad be I? Merry of soul he sailed on a day Over the sea to Skye. Say. with canvas furled. All that was me is gone. could that lad be I? Merry of soul he sailed on a day Over the sea to Skye. Some gracious shape of my lost youth. Mountains of rain and sun. All that was good. all that was fair. Glory of youth glowed in his soul: Where is that glory now? Sing me a song of a lad that is gone. Robert Louis Stevenson [1850-1894] CARCASSONNE 414 . Billow and breeze. Mull was astern. could that lad be I? Merry of soul he sailed on a day Over the sea to Skye. Give me again all that was there. Rum on the port. Say. Vainly I peer. Eigg on the starboard bow. and fain would see What phantom in that boat may be. Give me the sun that shone! Give me the eyes.

One gazes there on castle walls As grand as those of Babylon. In shining robes and garments fair The people walk upon their way.have not seen Carcassonne!” So crooned. weak. In all that time of hopes and fears. He tells us in his homily Ambition ruins all mankind. Had but the vintage plenteous grown But. It lies beyond the mountains blue. One something sees beyond his reach From childhood to his journey’s end. Have travelled even to Narbonne. ”Thy pardon. And yet to reach it one must still Five long and weary leagues pursue. Ah. double-bent with age. to return. And I . My prayer would else fulfilment know Never have I seen Carcassonne! ”You see the city from the hill. I’ve labored all my life in vain. close by Limoux. ah! the grape withheld its store. While still the autumn sweetly shone. I shall not look on Carcassonne! ”They tell me every day is there Not more or less than Sunday gay. I beseech. my friend. me! I might have died content When I had looked on Carcassonne. My wife. ”Rise up. Aignan.” said I. I’ve sixty years. A bishop and two generals! What joy to dwell in Carcassonne! ”The vicar’s right: he says that we Are ever wayward. Father. I see full well that here below Bliss unalloyed there is for none. A peasant. ”with you I’ll go upon this pilgrimage. Yet could I there two days have spent. In this my prayer if I offend.” We left. as many more. one day. I’ve failed my dearest wish to gain. next morning. and blind. 415 . My grandchild has seen Perpignan.”I’m growing old. his abode. our little boy. And.

crawling Along the sky-line. Happy Childhood. never. hesitant. returned. where the home-lights were receding. Though I chased the jack-o’-lanterns of so many maddened years. And rested on the mother-breast. as the summer night was falling. And I. The road to home was hidden fast. Seemed to hear your dear voice calling Through the meadows. in disaster. can tread no other way Until at death’s dim crossroads I watch. on the rack Of Age. the crawling 416 . and frightful shadows. though I trod strange paths unheeding. when I was little.But (Heaven forgive him!) half-way on The old man died upon the road.? ] CHILDHOOD Old Sorrow I shall meet again. Though I never looked behind me. Among the purple upland fields I lost my barefoot way. Dear Childhood. He never gazed on Carcassonne.but never. Flung my tired arms around you. should sadden even thee. Now on life’s last Summertime the long last dusk is falling. Down the days from that day. calling And I followed and I found you. Though I never looked enough ahead to ken the Inn of Fears. That your ear was strained to hear me. And Joy. And then I seemed to hear you In the twilight. Thompson from the French of Gustave Nadaud [1820. I should run to you the faster And be sure that I was dearer for your sacrifice of tears. John Banister Tabb [1845-1909] THE WASTREL Once. lest the sight of me. That your love would need no pleading To forgive me. swallowed up the last kind light of day. calling. who trod one way so long. Still I knew your heart was near me. shall we twain See each other’s face forever! And yet I would not call thee back. Translated by John R. and be near you. but was pleading Of its self that. tired out from play. perchance . Thine old companion.

And round about the doors of it Hang garlands that forever last.calling . though at last we see That what was could not always be.I know you’ll find me: I shall hear you. But. Mother. My schoolday hills and dales among. It girds our loins and steels our hands In duller days and smaller lands To recollect the country where The world was wide and life was fair. That gathered once are always sweet.Night-passages that maze me with the ultimate dismay. To make my soul a home. Then when Death and Doubt shall blind me Even then . Now love and woe both run so deep I have not any time to weep. Robinson [1857- 417 . And I know your love will answer: ”Here’s my laddie home from play!” Reginald Wright Kauffman [1877TROIA FUIT The world was wide when I was young. oh. No matter.find you Though the grave-clothes swathe and bind you. Mary F. And wept those fine-imagined woes That youth at nineteen thinks it knows. A girdle ’round the narrow sphere In which I labor now and here! Life’s face was fair when careless I First loved beneath an April sky.calling: I shall fight and follow . With whipping wing and flying foot. it needs no Puck to put. The roses of the Past! A. Reginald Wright Kauffman [1877TEMPLE GARLANDS There is a temple in my heart Where moth or rust can never come. A temple swept and set apart. calling Hear you calling .

For Time long past. I remember The house where I was born. red and white. I remember The roses. I remember. I remember Where I was used to swing. till at last Beauty is like remembrance. But now. was it sadness or delight. That Time long past. The violets. Each day a shadow onward cast Which made us wish it yet might last. A love so sweet it could not last. I often wish the night Had borne my breath away. I REMEMBER” I remember. Was Time long past. My spirit flew in feathers then 418 . There is regret. He never came a wink too soon Nor brought too long a day. The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn. cast From Time long past. A hope which is now forever past. and the lily-cups Those flowers made of light! The lilacs where the robin built. The tree is living yet! I remember. A tone which is now forever fled. ’Tis like a child’s beloved corse A father watches. There were sweet dreams in the night Of Time long past: And. almost remorse. And where my brother set The laburnum on his birthday.TIME LONG PAST Like the ghost of a dear friend dead Is Time long past. Percy Bysshe Shelley [1792-1822] ”I REMEMBER. And though the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing.

And islands that were the Hesperides Of all my boyish dreams. And the thoughts of youth. And the fort upon the hill. I remember The fir-trees dark and high. I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky: It was a childish ignorance. And the burden of that old song. And Spanish sailors with bearded lips. long thoughts.” I remember the black wharves and the slips. long thoughts. long thoughts. Thomas Hood [1799-1845] MY LOST YOUTH Often I think of the beautiful town That is seated by the sea. And the sea-tides tossing free. And my youth comes back to me.” I remember the bulwarks by the shore. And the thoughts of youth are long. And the beauty and mystery of the ships. are long. The sheen of the far-surrounding seas. But now ’tis little joy To know I’m farther off from Heaven Than when I was a boy. It murmurs and whispers still: ”A boy’s will is the wind’s will. And the voice of that wayward song Is singing and saying still: ”A boy’s will is the wind’s will. The summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow.That is so heavy now. with its hollow roar. I remember. in sudden gleams. And the magic of the sea. 419 . And the thoughts of youth are long. And catch. And a verse of a Lapland song Is haunting my memory still: ”A boy’s will is the wind’s will.” I can see the shadowy lines of its trees. Often in thought go up and down The pleasant streets of that dear old town. The sunrise gun.

” I remember the gleams and glooms that dart Across the school-boy’s brain. long thoughts. There are dreams that cannot die. And the voice of that fitful song Sings on. And the thoughts of youth are long. 420 . And the thoughts of youth are long. And a mist before the eye. And the thoughts of youth are long. and is never still: ”A boy’s will is the wind’s will. long thoughts” Strange to me are the forms I meet When I visit the dear old town. How it thundered o’er the tide! And the dead captains. And the music of that old song Throbs in my memory still: ”A boy’s will is the wind’s will. There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak. And the thoughts of youth are long. The shadows of Deering’s Woods. But the native air is pure and sweet.The drum-beat repeated o’er and o’er. And the verse of that sweet old song. and in part Are longings wild and vain. long thoughts. The song and the silence in the heart. And the thoughts of youth are long.” There are things of which I may not speak. It flutters and murmurs still: ”A boy’s will is the wind’s will. And the bugle wild and shrill. That in part are prophecies. And bring a pallor into the cheek. And the sound of that mournful song Goes through me with a thrill: ”A boy’s will is the wind’s will. long thoughts. And the words of that fatal song Come over me like a chill: ”A boy’s will is the wind’s will.” I remember the sea-fight far away. long thoughts. o’erlooking the tranquil bay Where they in battle died. as of doves In quiet neighborhoods. as they lay In their graves. And the friendships old and the early loves Come back with a Sabbath sound.” I can see the breezy dome of groves.

And the strange and beautiful song. With lustre caught from eyes I knew Whose orbs were each a star. 421 . And never shall I find the light Of days forever flown! Edmund Clarence Stedman [1833-1908] LANGSYNE. long thoughts. As they balance up and down. when life was bonnie. And with joy that is almost pain My heart goes back to wander there.too wildly bright No more eclipse thine own. those orbs . Are sighing and whispering still: ”A boy’s will is the wind’s will.” And Deering’s Woods are fresh and fair. Star of the western sky! Thou beamest from afar. And among the dreams of the days that were I find my lost youth again. Langsyne. WHEN LIFE WAS BONNIE” Langsyne. And the thoughts of youth are long. Though snaws cam’ happin’ doon. But in thy song I only hear The echo of a tone That fell divinely on my ear In days forever flown.” Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [1807-1882] ”VOICE OF THE WESTERN WIND” Voice of the western wind! Thou singest from afar. oh. And the thoughts of youth are long. But. Are singing the beautiful song. when life was bonnie. An’ hung its heid wi’ dew. An’ a’ the skies were blue. Rich with the music of a land Where all my memories are. The groves are repeating it still: ”A boy’s will is the wind’s will. When ilka thocht took blossom. long thoughts.And the trees that o’ershadow each well-known street. When winter wasna winter.

Langsyne. dear heart. An’ a’ the days were lang. upon the shoogy-shoo. lassie. eyes of Irish blue. For noo. When meadow-larks would singing be in old Glentair. 422 . Wi’ an eerie. alas. Sweet and slow. and some sweet day Its shoogy-shoo will swing us two where sighs will pass away. Love gaed a twalmonth roun’. The leaves were green wi’ simmer. And oh! your eyes are fairy flax! no other eyes so blue. An’ a’ the warld was fair. But listen hoo they rustle. eyes of Irish blue. and mine are wet with dew. swinging low. Langsyne. Sweet and slow. Thinking of the old days upon the shoogy-shoo. All my heart is swinging. Ah well. weary soun’. dear. So nestle close your bonnie head. For oh! your hair is tangled gold above your Irish brow. When we two swung the braes among. Irish eyes are like the flax.Spring gaed a twalmonth roun’. Thinking of the old days upon the shoogy-shoo. and memory. when life was bonnie. Irish eyes are like the flax. All my heart is swinging. dear. swinging low. ’tis winter That gangs a twalmonth roun’. When through them ran the music That comes to us in sang. Alexander Anderson [1845-1909] THE SHOOGY-SHOO I do be thinking. For autumn wasna there. upon the shoogy-shoo. Langsyne. of the old days now. and close your eyes so true. when life was bonnie. swinging here with you. And swing with me. and mine are wet with dew. We never wearied liltin’ The auld love-laden tune. and swing upon the shoogy-shoo. the like of you. Was one sweet lass had eyes of blue and tangled golden hair. She was a wee bit girleen then. the world goes up and down. Come nestle in my arms. when life was bonnie. swinging here with you.

of those who took my floor. Viola Taylor [18 THE ROAD OF REMEMBRANCE The old wind stirs the hawthorn tree.” I’m going softly all my years in wisdom if in pain For. in Babylon. oh. When you were lad and I was maid. of Babylon. The still roofs rise before. I dream a dream of dreams beneath a winter moon. I’m going lonely all my days. in Babylon. in Babylon. But. The pallid loves in Babylon of men who once loved me. unsteady voice. of those who took my word. But. We pluck the thorny bloom. And hunt from room to room. other children crowd the stair. And still I hear in Babylon. oh. Wide open stood the door. The scent of silks in Babylon that floated to a tune. And past the House of Spring. in Babylon. in Babylon. Outside. of Babylon. who was the first to crave The second. The dancing feet in Babylon. oh. in Babylon. The folk go down it unafraid. I’m going silent all my years. in Babylon. fierce. under the hawthorn fair. Now. 423 . Northward the road runs to the sea. the music stirs my blood as once it did before. but garnered in my brain Is that swift wit which used to flash and cut them like a sword And now I hear in exile’s fate is mine. The happy streets in Babylon. in Babylon.Winthrop Packard [1862BABYLON ”We shall meet again in Babylon. I’m sleeping early by a flame as one content and gray. The foolish tongues in Babylon. To sit with mumbling crones and still a heart that cries with youth. The tree is blossoming. that struggled to speak free And now I watch in Babylon. A band of years has flogged me out . to walk in Babylon. when once the dream was truth. I breathe the breath of Babylon.

Out in the quiet road we stand. That. Since restless Fancy. Thomas [1854-1925] IN THE TWILIGHT Men say the sullen instrument. Nor aught shall be refused! Ah. from the Master’s bow. As. In alien pledges spend the heart’s estate. Old summers in its memory glow. Feels music’s soul through every fibre sent.they find the portal long unused. . The old wind blowing up the land. A light when into shadow all else dips. With pangs of joy or woe. unheeding years on years. too. Banished the heart they can no longer fill. Lizette Woodworth Reese [1856-1935] THE TRIUMPH OF FORGOTTEN THINGS There is a pity in forgotten things. spreading swallow wings. it shall refuse them not. They wait . or leaf. Whispers the ravished strings More than he knew or meant. The old loves gather round! When that which lured us once now lureth not. Some tremble at the ear of memoried sound Of mother-song. or beaded dew. 424 . The old thoughts at our heart. Must seek new pleasures still! There is a patience. in things forgot. in the stranger’s land.they seize the slender clew. They bide some blessed moment of quick tears Some moment without date Some gleam on flower. But the tired hands their garnered dross let fall. their native speech Returns to dying lips! Edith M. Shut in from wharf and mart. yes! though we. This is the triumph of the things forgot To hear the tired heart call! And they are with us at Life’s farthest reach. And knocking there.

The roar of the brook in the glen Came dim from the distance blown. As if I had acted or schemed it. could I name it. It hears the April-loosened springs. And mixes with its mood All it dreamed when it stood In the murmurous pine-wood Long ago! The magical moonlight then Steeped every bough and cone. have I seen All I feel. In the wonderful wood. A something so shy. have we not had seasons That only said. With delight as it stood. But made us all feeling and voice? When we went with the winds in their blowing. A something too vague. When Nature and we were peers. Long ago! O my life. That makes the ghost seem nigh me Of a splendor that came and went. Long ago! 425 . As if I had lived it or dreamed it. all I know? Doth my heart overween? Or could it have been Long ago? Sometimes a breath floats by me. The wind through its glooms sang low. An odor from Dreamland sent. For others to know. I know not In what diviner sphere. And it swayed to and fro. Live and rejoice? That asked not for causes and reasons.The secrets of the wind it sings. Like music heard once by an ear That cannot forget or reclaim it. it would shame it To make it a show. And we seemed to share in the flowing Of the inexhaustible years? Have we not from the earth drawn juices Too fine for earth’s sordid uses? Have I heard. Of memories that stay not and go not. Of a life lived somewhere.

Naught else is worth the having. And memory for the evening gray And solitary dove. In springtime ere the bloom was old: The crimson wine was poor and cold By her mouth’s richer red. Could I but speak it and show it. Hope. Long ago! James Russell Lowell [1819-1891] AN IMMORALITY Sing we for love and idleness. 426 . Could I be both maiden and lover. and love for day. once again. How soft the words.And yet. Such as it had In the ages glad. ”A cup for memory!” Cold cup that one must drain alone: While autumn winds are up and moan Across the barren sea. The world should once more have a poet. Moon and tide. bee and clover. This pleasure more sharp than pain. memory. There is naught else in living. and all the while Her blush was rippling with a smile Like summer after snow. And I would rather have my sweet. Than do high deeds in Hungary To pass all men’s believing. As I seem to have been. Though I have been in many a land. Though rose-leaves die of grieving. Ezra Pound [1885THREE SEASONS ”A cup for hope!” she said. This life that stirs in my brain. love: Hope for fair morn. could I live it over. ”A cup for love!” how low. That baffles and lures me so.

In my days of childhood. in my joyful schooldays.Christina Georgina Rossetti [1830-1894] THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES I have had playmates. I loved a Love once. The words of love then spoken. fairest among women: Closed are her doors on me. I have a friend. all are departed. the old familiar faces. a kinder friend has no man: Like an ingrate. And some are taken from me. Left him. Charles Lamb [1775-1834] THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS Oft in the stilly night. the tears. Ghost-like. and some they have left me. the old familiar faces. Of boyhood’s years. I left my friend abruptly. I have been laughing. Seeking to find the old familiar faces. The cheerful hearts now broken! Thus in the stilly night. I have had companions. Sad Memory brings the light 427 . sitting late. thou more than a brother. Why wert not thou born in my father’s dwelling? So might we talk of the old familiar faces How some they have died. all are gone. Ere Slumber’s chain hath bound me. Fond memory brings the light Of other days around me: The smiles. Drinking late. the old familiar faces. Ere Slumber’s chain hath bound me. I must not see her. all are gone. I have been carousing. Now dimmed and gone. All. all are gone. All. All. the old familiar faces. All. all are gone. Earth seemed a desert I was bound to traverse. to muse on the old familiar faces. I paced round the haunts of my childhood. The eyes that shone. with my bosom cronies. Friend of my bosom.

Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me. So sad. Deep as first love. Ah. sad and strange as in dark summer dawns The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds To dying ears. Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge. the days that are no more! Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892] THE PET NAME 428 . so strange.Of other days around me. IDLE TEARS” From ”The Princess” Tears. so linked together. the days that are no more. Thomas Moore [1779-1852] ”TEARS. Dear as remembered kisses after death. O Death in Life. I’ve seen around me fall. And thinking of the days that are no more. Whose lights are fled. and wild with all regret. When I remember all The friends. I feel like one Who treads alone Some banquet-hall deserted. Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail. And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned On lips that are for others. Whose garlands dead. so fresh. In looking on the happy Autumn-fields. the days that are no more. when unto dying eyes The casement slowly grows a glimmering square. And all but he departed! Thus in the stilly night. That brings our friends up from the underworld. Tears from the depth of some divine despair Rise in the heart and gather to the eyes. Ere Slumber’s chain hath bound me. So sad. I know not what they mean. Like leaves in wintry weather. deep as love. idle tears.

”Orinda” unto song. a little name. Will ne’er be graved for sight or tread.”. This name. it will be read Upon the leaves of none. It never dedicate did move As ”Sacharissa” unto love. No shade was on us then. And through the word our laugh did run As part thereof: the mirth being done. But gathereth the winter snows. Is there a leaf. Perhaps your smile may win: Nay. . save one Of chestnuts from the hill. When names acquired baptismally Were hard to utter. And afterward. But time incrusteth round With sad associate thoughts the same? And so to me my very name Assumes a mournful sound. that greenly grows Where summer meadows bloom. whoever chance to call.” .Miss Milford’s ”Dramatic Scenes” I have a name. Unhonored by ancestral claim. If lasting till they come? Is there a word. And changeth to the hue of those. My brother gave that name to me When we were children twain. or jest. Across my funeral-stone. or game. . Though I write books. It never did to pages wove For gay romance belong. as to see That life had any pain. 429 . do not smile! mine eyelids fall Over mine eyes and feel withal The sudden tears within. Uncadenced for the ear. when I am dead. Unsanctified by prayer and psalm The solemn font anear. the name Which from their lips seemed a caress.

Are either more or less than men Not such am I. And voices which. The bird and wind that did repeat Around. Sweet memories left behind. I hear the birthday’s noisy bliss My sisters’ woodland glee. My name to me a sadness wears: No murmurs cross my mind Now God be thanked for these thick tears.He calls me by it still. To some I nevermore can say An answer till God wipes away In heaven these drops of weeping. Wherein I knew not things that be 430 . And e’en that mortal grief shall prove The immortality of love. Earth saddens. Elizabeth Barrett Browning [1806-1861] THREESCORE AND TEN Who reach their threescore years and ten. aye Their tenderest tones were keeping. without a sigh. life to me Has been a strange. Which show. And heighten it with Heaven. to name me. our human cheer. never shall remove Affections purely given. As I have mine. The talk upon the willow seat. do not smile! I hear in it What none of you can hear. he cared to kiss The poet at his knee. I am not of them. Nay. of those departed years. My father’s praise I did not miss When stooping down. Now God be thanked for years enwrought With love which softens yet: Now God be thanked for every thought Which is so tender it has caught Earth’s guerdon of regret. bewildering dream.

but never found. Only the love that young hearts know. To have a place in the high choir Of poets. Threescore and ten! Richard Henry Stoddard [1825-1903] RAIN ON THE ROOF When the humid shadows hover Over all the starry spheres. and deserve the same What more could mortal man desire Than poet’s fame? I sought it long. the young. I hoped. and now I care not. 431 . through gathering tears.From things that seem. And the melancholy darkness Gently weeps in rainy tears. And so I sung. they drowned My simple song. Back on my past. one by one The wise. Once more I cast my eyes. The choir so full was and so strong The jubilant voices there. Men would not hear me then. the fair. And had one gift. Went down dark pathways. it was not much at best. I accept my fate. And I go on! And bad or good. The old allotted years of men I have endured as best I could. I thought. the great. they left me there. when I was young The impulse and the power to sing. The dear unrest. and see Bright shapes that in my better years Surrounded me! They left me here. But I went on. I knew one thing. When white hairs thatch the furrowed brow Crowns come too late! The best of life went long ago From me.

And I mind not. As I listen to the patter Of the rain upon the roof. musing on her. subduing strain Which is played upon the shingles By the patter of the rain. And my heart’s quick pulses vibrate To the patter of the rain. And a thousand dreamy fancies Into busy being start. in years agone. Art hath naught of tone or cadence That can work with such a spell In the soul’s mysterious fountains. As that melody of nature. And a thousand recollections Weave their air-threads into woof. With their praise or mild reproof. To regard the darling dreamers Ere she left them till the dawn. Then my little seraph sister. And another comes. And to listen to the patter Of the soft rain overhead! Every tinkle on the shingles Has an echo in the heart. Whence the tears of rapture well. As I list to this refrain Which is played upon the shingles By the patter of the rain. Now in memory comes my mother.What a bliss to press the pillow Of a cottage-chamber bed. That subdued. And I feel her fond look on me. 432 . With her wings and waving hair. As she used. And her star-eyed cherub brother A serene angelic pair Glide around my wakeful pillow. That her heart was all untrue: I remember but to love her With a passion kin to pain. to thrill me With her eyes’ delicious blue. As I listen to the murmur Of the soft rain on the roof.

in my snug little fire-lit chamber. weary. yet I linger (Thus passion errs). Sit I alone: And. Nothing has changed since her spirit departed. in this room Save I. Here. who. Still in my visions a golden-haired glory Flits to and fro. Years have rolled by. Melted away. 433 . in my snug little fire-lit chamber. sooner or later. Whose ruddy blaze Flashed o’er the floor where the fairy feet pattered In other days! Then. Thus to sit here.but the embers are scattered. but yet Not till my heart and its feelings grow colder. Loud ’gainst the window the winter rain dashes. I remember Days long agone. Dreary and cold. Over the floor the red fire-light flashes Just as of old. as I gaze in the coals. I wonder? Everything dies! Time and death.Coates Kinney [1826-1904] ALONE BY THE HEARTH Here. Foolishly kissing the ring on my finger Once it was hers. Just as of old . So. Sit in the gloom. and half broken-hearted. her dear voice. Saddening it is when the night has descended. She whom I loved . long ago. like a silver chime ringing. Can I forget. must sunder Holiest ties. Now hushed for aye! Why should love bring naught but sorrow. Pensively musing on episodes ended Many a year.but ’tis just the old story: Dead. I am wiser and older Wiser. Often these walls have re-echoed her singing. ’Tis but a wraith of love.

Sit I alone. ”If I but touch thy silvered hair. And be a . And. reeling dream Of life all love and fame! My listening angel heard the prayer. Than reign.precious . too! ”And is there nothing yet unsaid. While the swift seasons hurry back To find the wished-for day?” ”Ah. And. 434 .wife!” The angel took a sapphire pen And wrote in rainbow dew.” ”Why. calmly smiling. Before the change appears? Remember. ”But is there nothing in thy track To bid thee fondly stay. truest soul of womankind! Without thee what were life? One bliss I cannot leave behind: I’ll take .” for memory would recall My fond paternal joys. And dash its trophies down! One moment let my life-blood stream From boyhood’s fount of flame! Give me one giddy. a gray-beard king. Off with the spoils of wrinkled age! Away with Learning’s crown! Tear out life’s Wisdom-written page. said. The man would be a boy again. all their gifts have fled With those dissolving years. I remember Days long agone! George Arnold [1834-1865] THE OLD MAN DREAMS Oh for one hour of youthful joy! Give back my twentieth spring! I’d rather laugh. a bright-haired boy. Thy hasty wish hath sped. as I gaze in the coals. yes.

The man would be a boy again. With a wild mistress. Now by the bed her petticoat glides down. a stanch friend or two. when my friends and I Made happy music with our songs and cheers. too!” And so I laughed. And distant cannon opened on our ears: We rise. in my youth.we join in the triumphant strain. And when did woman look the worse in none? I have heard since who paid for many a gown. first of all. when morning broke. Rich in the glory of my rising sun. And see my little Jessy.let him know’t who will There was my bed . Where. A shout of triumph mounted up thus high. And wrote my dream. 435 . To please the gray-haired boys. this will never do. curtain-wise.” The smiling angel dropped his pen. .and .girl .my . . ye dreams of love and fun. Come to mine laughter woke The household with its noise. ’tis a garret . Yes. ”Why. and all its cares. In the brave days when I was twenty-one. And a light heart still breaking into song: Making a mock of life. In the brave days when I was twenty-one. My table there . In the brave days when I was twenty-one. Oliver Wendell Holmes [1809-1894] THE GARRET After Beranger With pensive eyes the little room I view. how roguishly she pins her shawl Across the narrow casement.and I decipher still Half a lame couplet charcoaled on the wall. She comes with pouting lips and sparkling eyes: Behold.boys. that Time hath swept with him away. I weathered it so long.”I could not bear to leave them all I’ll take . Lightly I vaulted up four pair of stairs. Ye joys. For you I pawned my watch how many a day. One jolly evening. And be a father.full hard it was and small.

my trusty fiere. All that I have to live I’d gladly change For one such month as I have wasted here To draw long dreams of beauty. But seas between us braid hae roared Sin’ auld lang syne. And drink all life’s quintessence in an hour. And gie’s a hand o’ thine. For auld lang syne. Give me the days when I was twenty-one! William Makepeace Thackeray [1811-1863] AULD LANG SYNE Should auld acquaintance be forgot. From founts of hope that never will outrun. We twa hae paidl’t i’ the burn. And days o’ lang syne? For auld lang syne. Frae mornin’ sun till dine. and power. far off. In the brave days when I was twenty-one. But we’ve wandered monie a weary fit Sin’ auld lang syne. And here’s a hand.the place is sad and strange How far. We twa hae rin about the braes. these happy times appear. And surely ye’ll be your pint-stowp. my dear. love. We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet For auld lang syne. And we’ll tak a right guid willie-waught For auld lang syne.Napoleon conquers . And surely I’ll be mine. And we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet For auld lang syne! Robert Burns [1759-1796] 436 . And pu’d the gowans fine.Austerlitz is won Tyrants shall never tread us down again. And never brought to min’ ? Should auld acquaintance be forgot. Let us begone .

Toil without recompense. Shading my faint eyes away from the light. Weary of sowing for others to reap. flow backward. softly. No love like mother-love ever has shone. Rock me to sleep. turn backward. mother. dear mother. Make me a child again. the years have been long Since I last listened your lullaby song: Sing. O Time. Take them. . Rock me to sleep. . mother. the base. Over my slumbers your loving watch keep. the untrue. just for to-night! Mother. unselfish. our faces between: Yet. Take me again to your heart as of yore. let your brown hair. Long I to-night for your presence again. Mother.rock me to sleep! Come. Rock me to sleep. For with its sunny-edged shadows once more Haply will throng the sweet visions of yore. my heart calls for you! Many a summer the grass has grown green. Let it drop over my forehead to-night. just lighted with gold. Slumber’s soft calms o’er my heavy lids creep. in the days that are flown. Fall on your shoulders again as of old.rock me to sleep! Over my heart. mother. Blossomed and faded. Faithful. Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away. and patient. Rock me to sleep. then. with strong yearning and passionate pain. . Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair.rock me to sleep! Backward. in your flight. like yours: None like a mother can charm away pain From the sick soul and the world-weary brain. Lovingly. . O mother. its bright billows sweep. mother.ROCK ME TO SLEEP Backward. Rock me to sleep. O tide of the years! I am so weary of toil and of tears. mother.rock me to sleep! Mother. Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care. and give me my childhood again! I have grown weary of dust and decay. . tears all in vain. and unto my soul it shall seem 437 . come back from the echoless shore.rock me to sleep! Tired of the hollow. No other worship abides and endures. Come from the silence so long and so deep.

rock me to sleep! Elizabeth Akers [1832-1911] THE BUCKET How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood. mother. with hands that were glowing. The moss-covered bucket which hung in the well. the iron-bound bucket. With your light lashes just sweeping my face. The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. 438 . The brightest that beauty or revelry sips. The bridge. Now darting upward. And now. The moss-covered bucket that hangs in the well! Samuel Woodworth [1785-1842] THE GRAPE-VINE SWING Lithe and long as the serpent train. And sighs for the bucket that hangs in the well The old oaken bucket. and the mill that stood by it. it rose from the well The old oaken bucket. And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell. That moss-covered vessel I hailed as a treasure. now down again. . And every loved spot which my infancy knew! The wide-spreading pond. the deep-tangled wild-wood. I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure. the meadow.Womanhood’s years have been only a dream. And dripping with coolness. As fancy reverts to my father’s plantation. the iron-bound bucket. The tear of regret will intrusively swell. the dairy-house nigh it. Never hereafter to wake or to weep. For often at noon. How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it. the iron-bound bucket. Rock me to sleep. Springing and clinging from tree to tree. with the emblem of truth overflowing. Clasped to your heart in a loving embrace. The moss-covered bucket arose from the well. As poised on the curb it inclined to my lips! Not a full blushing goblet would tempt me to leave it. Then soon. far removed from the loved habitation. when returned from the field. When fond recollection presents them to view! The orchard. The cot of my father. How ardent I seized it. and the rock where the cataract fell. And e’en the rude bucket that hung in the well The old oaken bucket.

The boy leaps wild to thy rude embrace. I think of thee still with a sweet regret. But them days is past and gone. How pleasant was the journey down the old dusty lane. Whare the tracks of our bare feet was all printed so plane 439 . While a maiden sits in thy drooping fold. Though our vessel strains o’er the ocean floods. Never the cougar a wilder spring. And the Northern forest beholds thee not.With a twist and a twirl that are strange to see. Never took serpent a deadlier hold. Yet no foe that we fear to seek. On thy waving train is a playful hold Thou shalt never to lighter grasp persuade. Oh! the old swimmin’-hole! In the happy days of yore. Strangling the oak with the boa’s fold. As the cordage yields to my playful grasp. Oh! it showed me a face in its warm sunny tide That gazed back at me so gay and glorified. And swings and sings in the noonday shade! O giant strange of our Southern woods! I dream of thee still in the well-known spot. Spanning the beach with the condor’s wing. Dost thou spring and cling in our woodlands yet? Does the maiden still swing in thy giant clasp? William Gilmore Simms [1806-1870] THE OLD SWIMMIN’-HOLE Oh! the old swimmin’-hole! whare the crick so still and deep Looked like a baby-river that was laying half asleep. And the gurgle of the worter round the drift jest below Sounded like the laugh of something we onc’t ust to know Before we could remember anything but the eyes Of the angels lookin’ out as we left Paradise. lazy days When the hum-drum of school made so many run-a-ways. and old Time’s tuck his toll From the old man come back to the old swimmin’-hole. Thy bulging arms bear as soft a cheek As ever on lover’s breast found place. It made me love myself as I leaped to caress My shadder smilin’ up at me with sich tenderness. Oh! the old swimmin’-hole! In the long. When I ust to lean above it on the old sickamore. But the merry days of youth is beyond our controle. And it’s hard to part ferever with the old swimmin’-hole.

Tom. Tom. On that same spot. the benches are replaced By new ones. The scenes was all changed. The old schoolhouse is altered some. dear Tom. forty years ago. Its music’s just the same. The grass is just as green. Or a wownded apple-blossom in the breeze’s controle As it cut acrost some orchurd to’rds the old swimmin’-hole. there. Oh! the old swimmin’-hole! When I last saw the place. And dive off in my grave like the old swimmin’-hole. But the grape-vine swing is ruined now. But none were there to greet me. Tom. very like the same our jackknives once defaced. beneath that same old tree. And the sunshine and shadder fell over it all.You could tell by the dent of the heel and the sole They was lots o’ fun on hand at the old swimmin’-hole. Who played with us upon that green some forty years ago. ’twas forty years ago. The boys were playing some old game. And it mottled the worter with amber and gold Tel the glad lilies rocked in the ripples that rolled. which. But the same old bricks are in the wall. And the snake-feeder’s four gauzy wings fluttered by Like the ghost of a daisy dropped out of the sky. The river’s running just as still. Tom. that sheltered you and me. The loser had a task to do. And I stray down the banks whare the trees ust to be But never again will theyr shade shelter me! And I wish in my sorrow I could strip to the soul. 440 . just as we did then. barefooted boys at play Were sporting. But the ”master” sleeps upon the hill. The bridge of the railroad now crosses the spot Whare the old divin’-log lays sunk and fergot. I have forgot the name just now . the bell swings to and fro. ’twas played with knives. coated o’er with snow. the stream appears less wide. like the change in my face. I’ve sat beneath the tree. by throwing so and so. Upon the schoolhouse playground. But the lost joys is past! Let your tears in sorrow roll Like the rain that ust to dapple up the old swimmin’’ve played the same with me. Afforded us a sliding-place some forty years ago. Thare the bulrushes growed. with spirits just as gay. and few were left to know. the willows on its side Are larger than they were. and the cattails so tall. James Whitcomb Riley [1849-1916] FORTY YEARS AGO I’ve wandered to the village. where once we played the beau.

Do you mind of the cabin of logs. you know I cut your name. I visited the old churchyard.” Claimed for A. Ben Bolt.’twas then so high that we could scarcely reach. And. and we are called to go. some sleep beneath the sea. Under the hickory tree. And a quiet which crawls round the walls as you gaze Has followed the olden din. Ben Bolt. Ben Bolt. Which nigh by the doorstep stood? 441 . dear Tom. And none are left of our old class. My lids have long been dry. J. kneeling down to get a drink. And listened to Appleton’s mill. The mill-wheel has fallen to pieces. I hope we’ll meet with those we loved some forty years ago.just forty years ago. close by the spreading beech. Who wept with delight when you gave her a smile. Unknown [Sometimes called ”Twenty Years Ago. but tears came to my eyes. Which stood at the foot of the hill. upon an elm. And trembled with fear at your frown? In the old churchyard in the valley. Tom. Your sweetheart’s just beneath it. I started so. And the button-ball tree with its motley limbs. and you did mine the same. Near by that spring. Sweet Alice whose hair was so Brown. Just as she died.And swung our sweethearts . The spring that bubbled ’neath the hill. The rafters have tumbled in.pretty girls . ’twas dying sure but slow. Tom. Ben Bolt. At the edge of the pathless wood. They have fitted a slab of the granite so gray. Tom. Together we’ve lain in the noonday shade. those early broken ties. In a corner obscure and alone. Gault (1818-1903) by his family] BEN BOLT Don’t you remember sweet Alice. But when our time shall come. To see how sadly I am changed since forty years ago. Is very low . and took some flowers to strow Upon the graves of those we loved some forty years ago. I thought of her I loved so well. some forty years ago. Ben Bolt. Some are in the churchyard laid. excepting you and me. Some heartless wretch has peeled the bark. whose name you cut. And Alice lies under the stone.

To their haven under the hill. break. BREAK” Break. That he sings in his boat on the bay! And the stately ships go on. O. break. But O for the touch of a vanished hand. At the foot of thy crags. break. Thomas Dunn English [1819-1902] ”BREAK. BREAK. O Sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me. Ben Bolt. well for the fisherman’s boy. Ben Bolt. With the master so cruel and grim.The cabin to ruin has gone. Since first we were friends . But I feel in the deeps of my spirit the truth. Twelvemonths twenty have passed. break. Ben Bolt of the salt-sea gale. Ben Bolt. your friendship a truth.yet I hail Your presence a blessing. There never was change in you. They have changed from the old to the new. And the sound of a voice that is still! Break. And don’t you remember the school. There is change in the things I loved. well for the sailor lad. The spring of the brook is dry. Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892] 442 . Ben Bolt. The tree you would seek for in vain. On thy cold gray stones. And where once the lords of the forest waved Are grass and the golden grain. That he shouts with his sister at play! O. Ben Bolt. And the shaded nook in the running brook Where the children went to swim? Grass grows on the master’s grave. And of all the boys who were schoolmates then There are only you and I. O Sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me.

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