With my high-top boots and rain-coat on,
Through every puddle and runlet and pool
I find on the road to school."
Clara Doty Bates.
_Rain_[3]
The rain is raining all around,
It falls on field and tree,
It rains on the umbrellas here,
And on the ships at sea.
Robert Louis Stevenson.
[Footnote 3: _From "Poems and Ballads," copyright, 1895, 1896, by.
Chas. Scribner's Sons._]
_Rain in Spring_
So soft and gentle falls the rain,
You cannot hear it on the pane;
For if it came in pelting showers,
'Twould hurt the budding leaves and flowers.
Gabriel Setoun.
_Sun and Rain_
If all were rain and never sun,
No bow could span the hill;
If all were sun and never rain,
There'd be no rainbow still.
Christina G. Rossetti.
_Bees_
Bees don't care about the snow;
I can tell you why that's so:
Once I caught a little bee
Who was much too warm for me.
Frank Dempster Sherman.
_Annie's Garden_
In little Annie's garden
Grew all sorts of posies;
There were pinks, and mignonette,
And tulips, and roses.
Sweet peas, and morning glories,
A bed of violets blue,
And marigolds, and asters,
In Annie's garden grew.
There the bees went for honey,
And the humming-birds too;
And there the pretty butterflies
And the lady-birds flew.
And there among her flowers,
Every bright and pleasant day,
In her own pretty garden
Little Annie went to play.
Eliza Lee Follen.
_The Daisy_
I'm a pretty little thing,
Always coming with the spring;
In the meadows green I'm found,
Peeping just above the ground;
And my stalk is covered flat
With a white and yellow hat.
Little lady, when you pass
Lightly o'er the tender grass,
Skip about, but do not tread
On my meek and lowly head;
For I always seem to say,
Surely winter's gone away.
Unknown.
_Pussy Willow_
Pussy Willow wakened
From her Winter nap,
For the frolic Spring Breeze
On her door would tap.
"It is chilly weather
Though the sun feels good;
I will wrap up warmly;
Wear my furry hood."
Mistress Pussy Willow
Opened wide her door;
Never had the sunshine
Seemed so bright before.
Never had the brooklet
Seemed so full of cheer;
"Good morning, Pussy Willow,
Welcome to you, dear!"
Never guest was quainter:--
Pussy came to town
In a hood of silver gray
And a coat of brown.
Happy little children
Cried with laugh and shout,
"Spring is coming, coming,
Pussy Willow's out."
Kate L. Brown.
_Spring Questions_
How do the pussy-willows grow?
How do the meadow violets blow?
How do the brooklet's waters flow?
Gold-Locks wants to know.
Long and gray,
The willows sway,
And the catkins come the first spring day.
Plenty of them
On every stem,
All dressed in fur,
As if they were
Prepared to keep the cold away.
The violets, too,
In bonnets blue,
And little crooked necks askew,
Stand, sweet and small,
Where the grass is tall,
Content to spy
But a bit of sky,
Nor ever to know the world at all.
The waters run
In shade and sun,
And laugh because the winter's done.
Now swift, now slow,
The pace they go,
Shining between
Their banks of green,
Whither, they neither care nor know.
Clara Doty Bates.
_Snowdrops_
Great King Sun is out in the cold,
His babies are sleeping, he misses the fun;
So he knocks at their door with fingers of gold:
"Time to get up," says Great King Sun.
Though the garden beds are sprinkled with snow,
It's time to get up in the earth below.
Who wakes first? A pale little maid,
All in her nightgown opens the door,
Peering round as if half afraid
Before she steps out on the wintry floor.
All in their nightgowns, snowdrops stand,
White little waifs in a lonely land.
Great King Sun with a smile looks down,--
"Where are your sisters? I want them, too!"
Each baby is hurrying into her gown,
Purple and saffron, orange and blue,
Great King Sun gives a louder call,--
"Good morning, Papa!" cry the babies all.
W. Graham Robertson.
_A Mystery_
Flowers from clods of clay and mud!
Flowers so bright, and grass so green!
Tell me, blade, and leaf, and bud,
How it is you're all so clean.
If my fingers touch these sods,
See, they're streaked with sticky earth;
Yet you spring from clayey clods,
Pure, and fresh, and fair from birth.
Do you wash yourselves at night,
In a bath of diamond dew,
That you look so fresh and bright
When the morning dawns on you?
God, perhaps, sends summer showers,
When the grass grows grey for rain,
To wash the faces of His flowers,
And bid His fields be green again.
Tell me, blade, and leaf, and bud;
Flowers so fair, and grass so green,
Growing out of clay and mud,
How it is you're all so clean.
Gabriel Setoun.
_Meadow Talk_
"Don't pick all the flowers!" cried Daisy one day
To a rosy-cheeked boy who was passing her way;
"If you take every one, you will very soon see
That when next summer comes, not a bud will there be!"
"Quite true!" said the Clover,
"And over and over
I've sung that same song
To whoe'er came along."
Quoth the Buttercup, "I
Have not been at all shy
In impressing that rule
On each child of the school."
"I've touched the same subject,"
Said Timothy Grass.
"'Leave just a few flowers!'
I beg, as they pass."
Sighed a shy little Fern,
From her home in the shade,
"About pulling up roots,
What a protest I've made!"
"The children are heedless!"
The Gentian declared,
"When my blossom-time comes,
Not a bud will be spared."
"Take courage, sweet neighbor!"
The Violet said;
And raised in entreaty
Her delicate head.
"The children are thoughtless,
I own, in my turn;
But if we _all_ teach them,
They cannot but learn."
"The lesson," said the Alders,
"Is a simple one, indeed,
_Where no root is, blooms no flower,_
_Where no flower is, no seed."_
"'Tis very well said!" chirped the Robin,
From the elm tree fluttering down;
"If you'll write on your leaves such a lesson,
I'll distribute them over the town."
"Oh, write it, dear Alders!" the Innocents cried,
Their pretty eyes tearfully blue;
"You are older than we are; you're strong and you're wise--
There's none but would listen to you!"
But, ah! the Alders could not write;
And though the Robin knew
The art as well as any bird--
Or so he said--he flew
Straight up the hill and far away,
Remarking as he went,
He had a business errand
And was not on pleasure bent.
Did the children learn the lesson,
Though 'twas never written down?
We shall know when, gay and blithesome,
Lady Summer comes to town.
Nora Archibald Smith.
_Twenty Froggies_
Twenty froggies went to school
Down beside a rushy pool.
Twenty little coats of green,
Twenty vests all white and clean.
"We must be in time," said they,
"First we study, then we play;
That is how we keep the rule,
When we froggies go to school."
Master Bull-frog, brave and stern,
Called his classes in their turn,
Taught them how to nobly strive,
Also how to leap and dive;
Taught them how to dodge a blow,
From the sticks that bad boys throw.
Twenty froggies grew up fast,
Bull-frogs they became at last;
Polished in a high degree,
As each froggie ought to be,
Now they sit on other logs,
Teaching other little frogs.
George Cooper.
_The Snail_
The Snail he lives in his hard round house,
In the orchard, under the tree:
Says he, "I have but a single room;
But it's large enough for me."
The Snail in his little house doth dwell
All the week from end to end,
You're at home, Master Snail; that's all very well,
But you never receive a friend.
Unknown.
_The Worm_
No, little worm, you need not slip
Into your hole, with such a skip;
Drawing the gravel as you glide
On to your smooth and slimy side.
I'm not a crow, poor worm, not I,
Peeping about your holes to spy,
And fly away with you in air,
To give my young ones each a share.
No, and I'm not a rolling-stone,
Creaking along with hollow groan;
Nor am I of the naughty crew,
Who don't care what poor worms go through,
But trample on them as they lie,
Rather than pass them gently by;
Or keep them dangling on a hook,
Choked in a dismal pond or brook,
Till some poor fish comes swimming past,
And finishes their pain at last.
For my part, I could never bear
Your tender flesh to hack and tear,
Forgetting that poor worms endure
As much as I should, to be sure,
If any giant should come and jump
On to my back, and kill me plump,
Or run my heart through with a scythe,
And think it fun to see me writhe!
O no, I'm only looking about,
To see you wriggle in and out,
And drawing together your slimy rings,
Instead of feet, like other things:
So, little worm, don't slide and slip
Into your hole, with such a skip.
Ann Taylor.
_The City Mouse and the Garden Mouse_
The city mouse lives in a house;--
The garden mouse lives in a bower,
He's friendly with the frogs and toads,
And sees the pretty plants in flower.
The city mouse eats bread and cheese;--
The garden mouse eats what he can;
We will not grudge him seeds and stocks,
Poor little timid furry man.
Christina G. Rossetti.
_The Robin to His Mate_
Said Robin to his pretty mate,
"Bring here a little hay;
Lay here a stick and there a straw,
And bring a little clay.
"And we will build a little nest,
Wherein you soon shall lay
Your little eggs, so smooth, so blue;
Come, let us work away.
"And you shall keep them very warm;
And only think, my dear,
'Twill not be long before we see
Four little robins here.
"They'll open wide their yellow mouths,
And we will feed them well;
For we shall love the little dears,
Oh, more than I can tell!
"And while the sun is shining warm
Up in the summer sky,
I'll sit and sing to them and you,
Up in the branches high.
"And all night long, my love, you'll sit
Upon the pretty nest,
And keep the little robins warm
Beneath your downy breast."
Mrs. Carter.
_The Brown Thrush_
There's a merry brown thrush sitting up in the tree.
He's singing to me! He's singing to me!
And what does he say, little girl, little boy?
"Oh, the world's running over with joy!
Don't you hear? Don't you see?
Hush! Look! In my tree,
I'm as happy as happy can be!"
And the brown thrush keeps singing, "A nest do you see
And five eggs, hid by me in the juniper tree?
Don't meddle! Don't touch! little girl, little boy,
Or the world will lose some of its joy!
Now I'm glad! now I'm free!
And I always shall be,
If you never bring sorrow to me."
So the merry brown thrush sings away in the tree,
To you and to me, to you and to me;
And he sings all the day, little girl, little boy,
"Oh, the world's running over with joy!
But long it won't be,
Don't you know? Don't you see?
Unless we're as good as can be."
Lucy Larcom.
_The Little Doves_
High on the top of an old pine-tree,
Broods a mother dove with her young ones three;
Warm over them is her soft downy breast,
And they sing so sweetly in their nest:
"Coo," say the little ones, "Coo," says she,
All in their nest in the old pine-tree.
Soundly they sleep through the moonshiny night,
Each young one covered and tucked in tight;
Morn wakes them up with the first blush of light,
And they sing to each other with all their might:
"Coo," say the little ones, "Coo," says she,
All in their nest in the old pine-tree.
When in the nest they are all left alone,
While their mother dear for their food has flown,
Quiet and gentle they all remain,
Till their mother they see come home again:
Then "Coo," say the little ones, "Coo," says she,
All in their nest in the old pine-tree.
When they are fed by their tender mother,
One never will push nor crowd another:
Each opens widely his own little bill,
And he patiently waits, and gets his fill:
Then "Coo," say the little ones, "Coo," says she,
All in their nest in the old pine-tree.
Wisely the mother begins, by and by,
To make her young ones learn to fly;
Just for a little way over the brink,
Then back to the nest as quick as a wink:
And "Coo," say the little ones, "Coo," says she,
All in their nest in the old pine-tree.
Fast grow the young ones, day and night,
Till their wings are plumed for a longer flight;
Till unto them at the last draws nigh
The time when they all must say good-by:
Then "Coo," say the little ones, "Coo," says she,
And away they fly from the old pine-tree.
Unknown.
_The Other Side of the Sky_
A pool in a garden green,
And the sky hung over all;
Down to the water we lean--
What if I let you fall?
A little splash and a cry,
A little gap in the blue,
And you'd fall right into the sky--
Into the sky--and through.
What do you think they'd think?
How do you think they'd greet
A little wet baby in pink
Tumbling down at their feet?
I wonder if they'd be shy,
Those folk of the Far Away:
On the other side of the Sky,
Do you think you'd be asked to stay?
I think they would say--"No, no"
(Peeping down through a crack),
"For they seem to want her below,
And so we must send her back."
W. Graham Robertson.
_The Happy World_
The bee is a rover;
The brown bee is gay;
To feed on the clover,
He passes this way.
Brown bee, humming over,
What is it you say?
"The world is so happy--so happy to-day!"
The martens have nested
All under the eaves;
The field-mice have jested
And played in the sheaves;
We have played, too, and rested,
And none of us grieves,
All over the wide world, who is it that grieves?
William Brighty Rands.
_Come, Little Leaves_
"Come, little leaves," said the wind one day.
"Come over the meadows with me and play;
Put on your dresses of red and gold,
For summer is gone and the days grow cold."
Soon as the leaves heard the wind's loud call,
Down they came fluttering, one and all;
Over the brown fields they danced and flew,
Singing the sweet little song they knew.
"Cricket, good-by, we've been friends so long,
Little brook, sing us your farewell song;
Say you are sorry to see us go;
All, you will miss us, right well we know.
"Dear little lambs in your fleecy fold,
Mother will keep you from harm and cold;
Fondly we watched you in vale and glade,
Say, will you dream of our loving shade?"
Dancing and whirling, the little leaves went,
Winter had called them, and they were content;
Soon, fast asleep in their earthy beds,
The snow laid a coverlid over their heads.
George Cooper.
_Little Jack Frost_
Little Jack Frost went up the hill,
Watching the stars and the moon so still,
Watching the stars and the moon so bright,
And laughing aloud with all his might.
Little Jack Frost ran down the hill,
Late in the night when the winds were still,
Late in the fall when the leaves fell down,
Red and yellow and faded brown.
Little Jack Frost walked through the trees,
"Ah," sighed the flowers, "we freeze, we freeze."
"Ah," sighed the grasses, "we die, we die."
Said Little Jack Frost, "Good-by, Good-by."
Little Jack Frost tripped 'round and 'round,
Spreading white snow on the frozen ground,
Nipping the breezes, icing the streams,
Chilling the warmth of the sun's bright beams.
But when Dame Nature brought back the spring,
Brought back the birds to chirp and sing,
Melted the snow and warmed the sky,
Little Jack Frost went pouting by.
The flowers opened their eyes of blue,
Green buds peeped out and grasses grew;
It was so warm and scorched him so,
Little Jack Frost was glad to go.
Unknown.
_The Snow-Bird's Song_.
The ground was all covered with snow one day,
And two little sisters were busy at play,
When a snow-bird was sitting close by on a tree,
And merrily singing his chick-a-de-dee,
Chick-a-de-dee, chick-a-de-dee,
And merrily singing his chick-a-de-dee.
He had not been singing that tune very long
Ere Emily heard him, so loud was his song;
"Oh, sister, look out of the window," said she;
"Here's a dear little bird singing chick-a-de-dee,
Chick-a-de-dee, etc.
"Oh, mother, do get him some stockings and shoes,
And a nice little frock, and a hat, if he choose;
I wish he'd come into the parlor and see
How warm we would make him, poor chick-a-de-dee,
Chick-a-de-dee," etc.
"There is One, my dear child, though I cannot tell who,
Has clothed me already, and warm enough too.
Good-morning! Oh, who are as happy as we?"
And away he went singing his chick-a-de-dee.
Chick-a-de-dee, etc.
F. C. Woodworth.
_Snow_
O come to the garden, dear brother, and see,
What mischief was done in the night;
The snow has quite covered the nice apple-tree,
And the bushes are sprinkled with white.
The spring in the grove is beginning to freeze,
The pond is hard frozen all o'er;
Long icicles hang in bright rows from the trees,
And drop in odd shapes from the door.
The old mossy thatch, and the meadows so green,
Are covered all over with white;
The snowdrop and crocus no more can be seen,
The thick snow has covered them quite.
And see the poor birds how they fly to and fro,
They're come for their breakfast again;
But the little worms all are hid under the snow,
They hop about chirping in vain.
Then open the window, I'll throw them some bread,
I've some of my breakfast to spare:
I wish they would come to my hand to be fed,
But they're all flown away, I declare.
Nay, now, pretty birds, don't be frightened, I pray,
You shall not be hurt, I'll engage;
I'm not come to catch you and force you away,
And fasten you up in a cage.
I wish you could know you've no cause for alarm,
From me you have nothing to fear;
Why, my little fingers could do you no harm,
Although you came ever so near.
Jane Taylor.
III
THE PALACE PETS
_The Cow_[4]
The friendly cow all red and white,
I love with all my heart:
She gives me cream with all her might,
To eat with apple-tart.
She wanders lowing here and there,
And yet she cannot stray,
All in the pleasant open air,
The pleasant light of day;
And blown by all the winds that pass
And wet with all the showers,
She walks among the meadow grass
And eats the meadow flowers.
Robert Louis Stevenson.
[Footnote 4: _From "Poems and Ballads," copyright, 1895, 1896, by
Chas. Scribner's Sons._]
_The Good Moolly Cow_
Come! supper is ready;
Come! boys and girls, now,
For here is fresh milk
From the good moolly cow.
Have done with your fife,
And your row de dow dow,
And taste this sweet milk
From the good moolly cow.
Whoever is fretting
Must clear up his brow,
Or he'll have no milk
From the good moolly cow.
And here is Miss Pussy;
She means by _mee-ow_,
Give me, too, some milk
From the good moolly cow.
When children are hungry,
O, who can tell how
They love the fresh milk
From the good moolly cow!
So, when you meet moolly,
Just say, with a bow,
"Thank you for your milk,
Mrs. Good Moolly Cow."
Eliza Lee Follen.
_The Cow_
"Pretty Moo-cow, will you tell
Why you like the fields so well?
You never pluck the daisies white,
Nor look up to the sky so bright;
So tell me, Moo-cow, tell me true,
Are you happy when you moo?"
"I do not pluck the daisies white;
I care not for the sky so bright;
But all day long I lie and eat
Pleasant grass, so fresh and sweet,--
Grass that makes nice milk for you;
So I am happy when I moo."
Mrs. Motherly.
_Bossy and the Daisy_
Right up into Bossy's eyes,
Looked the Daisy, boldly,
But, alas! to his surprise,
Bossy ate him, coldly!
Listen! Daisies in the fields,
Hide away from Bossy!
Daisies make the milk she yields,
And her coat grow glossy.
So, each day, she tries to find
Daisies nodding sweetly,
And although it's most unkind,
Bites their heads off, neatly!
Margaret Deland.
_The Clucking Hen_
"Will you take a walk with me,
My little wife, to-day?
There's barley in the barley-field,
And hay-seed in the hay."
"Thank you," said the clucking hen;
"I've something else to do;
I'm busy sitting on my eggs,
I cannot walk with you."
"Cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck,"
Said the clucking hen;
"My little chicks will soon be hatched,
I'll think about it then."
The clucking hen sat on her nest,
She made it in the hay;
And warm and snug beneath her breast,
A dozen white eggs lay.
Crack, crack, went all the eggs,
Out dropt the chickens small!
"Cluck," said the clucking hen,
"Now I have you all."
"Come along, my little chicks,
I'll take a walk with _you_."
"Hollo!" said the barn-door cock,
"Cock-a-doodle-do!"
Aunt Effie's Rhymes.
_Chickens in Trouble_
"O mother, mother! I'm so cold!"
One little chicken grumbled.
"And, mother!" cried a second chick,
"Against a stone I've stumbled."
"And oh! I am so sleepy now,"
Another chick was moaning;
While chicken fourth of tired wings,
Kept up a constant groaning.
"And, mother! I have such a pain!"
Peeped out the chicken baby;
"That yellow meal did taste so good,
I've eaten too much, may be."
"And there's a black, black cloud up there,"
Cried all in fear and wonder;
"O mother dear, do spread your wings
And let us all creep under."
"There, there, my little dears, come here;
Your cries are quite distressing,"
The mother called, and spread her wings
For comfort and caressing.
And soon beneath her feathers warm,
The little chicks were huddled;
"I know what ailed you all," she said,
"You wanted to be cuddled."
And as they nestled cosily
And hushed their weak complaining,
She told them that the black, black cloud
Was quite too small for raining.
And one by one they all were soothed,
And out again went straying,
Until five happy little chicks
Were in the farmyard playing.
Emilie Poulsson.
_From the Norwegian._
_The Funniest Thing in the World_[5]
The funniest thing in the world, I know,
Is watchin' the monkeys 'at's in the show!--
Jumpin' an' runnin' an' racin' roun',
'Way up the top o' the pole; nen down!
First they're here, an' nen they're there,
An' ist a'most any an' ever'where!--
Screechin' an' scratchin' wherever they go,
They're the funniest thing in the world, I know!
They're the funniest thing in the world, I think:--
Funny to watch 'em eat an' drink;
Funny to watch 'em a-watchin' us,
An' actin' 'most like grown folks does!--
Funny to watch 'em p'tend to be
Skeerd at their tail 'at they happen to see;--
But the funniest thing in the world they do
Is never to laugh, like me an' you!
James Whitcomb Riley.
[Footnote 5: _From "Rhymes of Childhood," copyright 1902, used by
special permission of the publishers, The Bobbs-Merrill Company._]
_The Orphan's Song_
I had a little bird,
I took it from the nest;
I prest it and blest it,
And nurst it in my breast.
I set it on the ground,
Danced round and round,
And sang about it so cheerly,
With "Hey, my little bird,
And ho! my little bird,
And oh! but I love thee dearly!"
I make a little feast
Of food soft and sweet,
I hold it in my breast,
And coax it to eat;
I pit, and I pat,
I call this and that,
And I sing about so cheerly,
With "Hey, my little bird,
And ho! my little bird,
And ho! but I love thee dearly!"
Sydney Dobell.
_The Darling Birds_
The darling birds are warm;
Yes, feather on feather,
All close together,
The darling birds are warm.
They care not whether
'Tis stormy weather,
For they are safe from harm.
With feather on feather,
Tho' 'tis stormy weather,
The darling birds are warm.
Unknown.
_The Lamb_
Now, Lamb, no longer naughty be,
Be good and homewards come with me,
Or else upon another day
You shall not with the daisies play.
Did we not bring you, for a treat,
In the green grass to frisk your feet?
And when we must go home again
You pull your ribbon and complain.
So, little Lamb, be good once more,
And give your naughty tempers o'er.
Then you again shall dine and sup
On daisy white and buttercup.
Kate Greenaway.
_Four Pets_
Pussy has a whiskered face,
Kitty has such pretty ways,
Doggie scampers when I call,
And has a heart to love us all.
The dog lies in his kennel,
And Puss purrs on the rug,
And baby perches on my knee
For me to love and hug.
Pat the dog and stroke the cat,
Each in its degree;
And cuddle and kiss my baby,
And baby dear kiss me.
Christina G. Rossetti.
_A Puppy's Problem_
When Midget was a puppy,
And to the farm was brought,
She found that there were many things
A puppy must be taught.
Her mother oft had told her
The first thing to be known
Was how to gnaw and bite, and thus
Enjoy a toothsome bone.
So Midget practiced biting
On everything around,
But that was not approved at all,
To her surprise, she found.
The farmer spoke severely,
Till Midget shook with fright;
The children shouted "No, no, no!
Bad Midget! Mustn't bite!"
'Twas just the same with barking;
At first they all said "Hark!"
Whenever Midget tried her voice;
"Good puppy! that's it! Bark!"
But then, as soon as Midget
Could sound a sharp "Bow-wow!"
Alas! the talk was changed to "Hush!
Such noise we can't allow."
Now wasn't that a puzzle?
It seemed a problem dark,
That it was right and wrong to bite
And right and wrong to bark.
A puppy's hardest lesson
Is when to bark and bite;
But Midget learned it, and became
A comfort and delight.
Emilie Poulsson.
_I Like Little Pussy_
I like little Pussy,
Her coat is so warm;
And if I don't hurt her
She'll do me no harm.
So I'll not pull her tail,
Nor drive her away,
But Pussy and I
Very gently will play;
She shall sit by my side,
And I'll give her some food;
And she'll love me because
I am gentle and good.