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THE POSY RING
_The Posy Ring
is a companion volume to
Golden Numbers
A Book of Verse for Youth
Edited by
Kate Douglas Wiggin and
Nora Archibald Smith_
THE POSY RING
A BOOK OF VERSE FOR CHILDREN
CHOSEN AND CLASSIFIED BY
Kate Douglas Wiggin
AND
Nora Archibald Smith
[Illustration]
_"A box of jewels, shop of rarities,
A ring whose posy was 'My pleasure'"_
GEORGE HERBERT
MCCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO.
NEW YORK
MCMVI
_Copyright, 1903, by_
McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO.
Published, February, 1903, N
Fifth Impression.
A NOTE
[Illustration]
_THANKS are due to the following publishers for permission to reprint
poems on which they hold copyright:_
_Charles Scribner's Sons, for permission to use the following poems
by Robert Louis Stevenson: "Windy Nights," "Where Go the Boats?" "The
Little Land," "The Land of Story Books" and "Bed Time"; for the
following poems by Mary Mapes Dodge: "Nearly Ready," "Now the Noisy
Winds are Still," "Snowflakes," "Birdies with Broken Wings," and "Night
and Day"; for the following poems by Eugene Field: "Wynken, Blynken, and
Nod," and "Nightfall in Dordrecht"; for "Rockaby, Lullaby," by J. G.
Holland; and for "One, Two, Three," by H. C. Bunner. G. P. Putnam's
Sons, for permission to use "High and Low," by Dora Goodale. D. Appleton
& Son, publishers of Bryant's Complete Poetical Works, for permission to
reprint "Robert of Lincoln," by W. C. Bryant. E. P. Dutton & Co., for
permission to reprint "The Birds in Spring," by Thomas Nashe. A. C.
McClurg & Co., for permission to reprint "Baby Seed Song" and "Bird's
Song in Spring," by E. Nesbit. The Century Company, for permission to
reprint the "Seal Lullaby," by Rudyard Kipling. The "Independent," for
permission to reprint "Baby Corn," Anon. Dana, Estes & Co., for
permission to reprint "The Blue Jay," by Susan Hartley Swett. Small,
Maynard & Co., for permission to reprint the following poems by John B.
Tabb: "The Fern Song," "A Bunch of Roses," "The Child at Bethlehem."
George Routledge & Sons, for permission to reprint the following poems
by W. B. Rands: "The Child's World," "The Wonderful World," "Love and
the Child," "Dolladine," "Dressing the Doll," "The Pedlar's Caravan,"
and "Little Christel"; also for "Little White Lily" and "What Would You
See?" by George Macdonald, and "The Wind," by L. E. Landon. Houghton,
Mifflin & Co., for the right to reprint the following poems: "Marjorie's
Almanac," by T. B. Aldrich; "Dandelion," by Helen Grey Cone; "The
Fairies' Shopping" and "The Christmas Silence," by Margaret Deland; "The
Titmouse" and "Fable," by Ralph Waldo Emerson; "Hiawatha's Chickens" and
"Hiawatha's Brothers," by Henry W. Longfellow; "The Fountain," by James
Russell Lowell; "The Rivulet," by Lucy Larcom; "The Coming of Spring,"
by Nora Perry; "May," "The Waterfall," "Clouds," and "Bells of
Christmas," by Frank Dempster Sherman; "What the Winds Bring" and "The
Singer," by E. C. Stedman; "Spring," "Wild Geese," "Chanticleer," and
"Little Gustava," by Celia Thaxter. Little, Brown & Co., for the right
to reprint "September," by Helen Hunt Jackson; "When the Leaves Come
Down," by Susan Coolidge; and "Summer Days," "A Year's Windfalls," "The
Flower Folk," "There's Nothing Like the Rose," "Milking Time," "A
Chill," and "A Birthday Gift," by Christina G. Rossetti. St. Nicholas,
for permission to reprint "The Little Elf," by John Kendrick Bangs. The
Macmillan Company, for permission to reprint "O Lady Moon," by Christina
G. Rossetti. Frederick Warne & Co., for permission to reprint "By Cool
Siloam's Shady Rill," by Reginald Heber. Cassell & Co., Ltd., for
permission to reprint "The Last Voyage of the Fairies," by W. H.
Davenport Adams._
[Illustration]
PUBLIC NOTICE.--_This is to state,
That these are the specimens left at the gate
Of Pinafore Palace, exact to date,
In the hands of the porter, Curlypate,
Who sits in his plush on a chair of state,
By somebody who is a candidate
For the office of Lilliput Laureate._
_William Brighty Rands._
CONTENTS
[Illustration]
Page
LILLIPUT NOTICE. By _William Brighty Rands_ ix
A YEAR'S WINDFALLS
Marjorie's Almanac. By _Thomas Bailey Aldrich_ 3
In February. By _John Addington Symonds_ 5
March. By _William Wordsworth_ 6
Nearly Ready. By _Mary Mapes Dodge_ 7
Spring Song. By _George Eliot_ 7
In April. By _Elizabeth Akers_ 8
Spring. By _Celia Thaxter_ 9
The Voice of Spring. By _Mary Howitt_ 10
The Coming of Spring. By _Nora Perry_ 11
May. By _Frank Dempster Sherman_ 13
Spring and Summer. By "_A._" 14
Summer Days. By _Christina G. Rossetti_ 15
September. By _H. H._ 16
How the Leaves Came Down. By _Susan Coolidge_ 17
Winter Night. By _Mary F. Butts_ 19
A Year's Windfalls. By _Christina G. Rossetti_ 20
THE CHILD'S WORLD
The Wonderful World. By _William Brighty Rands_ 27
A Day. By _Emily Dickinson_ 28
Good-Morning. By _Robert Browning_ 29
What the Winds Bring. By _Edmund Clarence Stedman_ 29
Lady Moon. By _Lord Houghton_ 30
O Lady Moon. By _Christina G. Rossetti_ 31
Windy Nights. By _Robert Louis Stevenson_ 31
Wild Winds. By _Mary F. Butts_ 32
Now the Noisy Winds are Still. By _Mary Mapes Dodge_ 33
The Wind. _Letitia E. Landon_ 33
The Fountain. By _James Russell Lowell_ 34
The Waterfall. By _Frank Dempster Sherman_ 35
The Voice of the Grass. By _Sarah Roberts Boyle_ 36
The Wind in a Frolic. By _William Howitt_ 38
Clouds. By _Frank Dempster Sherman_ 40
Signs of Rain. By _Edward Jenner_ 41
A Sudden Shower. By _James Whitcomb Riley_ 43
Strange Lands. By _Laurence Alma Tadema_ 44
Guessing Song. By _Henry Johnstone_ 45
The Rivulet. By _Lucy Larcom_ 46
Jack Frost. By _Hannah F. Gould_ 47
Snowflakes. By _Mary Mapes Dodge_ 49
The Water! The Water. By _William Motherwell_ 49
HIAWATHA'S CHICKENS
The Swallows. By _Edwin Arnold_ 53
The Swallow's Nest. By _Edwin Arnold_ 53
The Birds in Spring. By _Thomas Nashe_ 54
Robin Redbreast. By _William Allingham_ 54
The Lark and the Rook. _Unknown_ 56
The Snowbird. By _Hezekiah Butterworth_ 57
Who Stole the Bird's Nest? By _Lydia Maria Child_ 59
Answer to a Child's Question. By _Samuel Taylor Coleridge_ 62
The Burial of the Linnet. By _Juliana H. Ewing_ 63
The Titmouse. By _Ralph Waldo Emerson_ 64
Birds in Summer. By _Mary Howitt_ 65
An Epitaph on a Robin Redbreast. By _Samuel Rogers_ 67
The Bluebird. By _Emily Huntington Miller_ 68
Song. By _John Keats_ 69
What Does Little Birdie Say? By _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ 69
The Owl. By _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ 70
Wild Geese. By _Celia Thaxter_ 71
Chanticleer. By _Celia Thaxter_ 72
The Singer. By _Edmund Clarence Stedman_ 73
The Blue Jay. By _Susan Hartley Swett_ 74
Robert of Lincoln. By _William Cullen Bryant_ 75
White Butterflies. By _Algernon C. Swinburne_ 78
The Ant and the Cricket. _Unknown_ 78
THE FLOWER FOLK
Little White Lily. By _George Macdonald_ 83
Violets. By _Dinah Maria Mulock_ 85
Young Dandelion. By _Dinah Maria Mulock_ 86
Baby Seed Song. By _E. Nesbit_ 88
A Violet Bank. By _William Shakespeare_ 88
There's Nothing Like the Rose. By _Christina G. Rossetti_ 89
Snowdrops. By _Laurence Alma Tadema_ 89
Fern Song. By _John B. Tabb_ 90
The Violet. By _Jane Taylor_ 90
Daffy-Down-Dilly. By _Anna B. Warner_ 91
Baby Corn. _Unknown_ 93
A Child's Fancy. By "_A._" 95
Little Dandelion. By _Helen B. Bostwick_ 97
Dandelions. By _Helen Gray Cone_ 98
The Flax Flower. By _Mary Howitt_ 99
Dear Little Violets. By _John Moultrie_ 101
Bird's Song in Spring. By _E. Nesbit_ 102
The Tree. By _Bjoernstjerne Bjoernson_ 102
The Daisy's Song. By _John Keats_ 103
Song. By _Thomas Love Peacock_ 104
For Good Luck. By _Juliana Horatia Ewing_ 105
HIAWATHA'S BROTHERS
My Pony. By "_A._" 109
On a Spaniel, Called Beau, Killing a Young Bird.
By _William Cowper_ 111
Beau's Reply. By _William Cowper_ 112
Seal Lullaby. By _Rudyard Kipling_ 113
Milking Time. By _Christina G. Rossetti_ 113
Thank You, Pretty Cow. By _Jane Taylor_ 114
The Boy and the Sheep. By _Ann Taylor_ 114
Lambs in the Meadow. By _Laurence Alma Tadema_ 115
The Pet Lamb. By _William Wordsworth_ 116
The Kitten, and Falling Leaves. By _William Wordsworth_ 121
OTHER LITTLE CHILDREN
Where Go the Boats? By _Robert Louis Stevenson_ 125
Cleanliness. By _Charles and Mary Lamb_ 126
Wishing. By _William Allingham_ 127
The Boy. By _William Allingham_ 128
Infant Joy. By _William Blake_ 129
A Blessing for the Blessed. By _Laurence Alma Tadema_ 129
Piping Down the Valleys Wild. By _William Blake_ 131
A Sleeping Child. By _Arthur Hugh Clough_ 132
Birdies with Broken Wings. By _Mary Mapes Dodge_ 133
Seven Times One. By _Jean Ingelow_ 133
I Remember, I Remember. By _Thomas Hood_ 135
Good-Night and Good-Morning. By _Lord Houghton_ 136
Little Children. By _Mary Howitt_ 137
The Angel's Whisper. By _Samuel Lover_ 139
Little Garaine. By _Sir Gilbert Parker_ 140
A Letter. By _Matthew Prior_ 141
Love and the Child. By _William Brighty Rands_ 142
Polly. By _William Brighty Rands_ 143
A Chill. By _Christina G. Rossetti_ 144
A Child's Laughter. By _Algernon C. Swinburne_ 145
The World's Music. By _Gabriel Setoun_ 146
The Little Land. By _Robert Louis Stevenson_ 148
In a Garden. By _Algernon C. Swinburne_ 151
Little Gustava. By _Celia Thaxter_ 152
A Bunch of Roses. By _John B. Tabb_ 155
The Child at Bethlehem. By _John B. Tabb_ 155
After the Storm. By _W. M. Thackeray_ 156
Lucy Gray. By _William Wordsworth_ 156
Deaf and Dumb. By "_A_." 159
The Blind Boy. By _Colley Cibber_ 160
PLAY-TIME
A Boy's Song. By _James Hogg_ 165
The Lost Doll. By _Charles Kingsley_ 166
Dolladine. By _William Brighty Rands_ 167
Dressing the Doll. By _William Brighty Rands_ 167
The Pedlar's Caravan. By _William Brighty Rands_ 170
A Sea-Song from the Shore. _James Whitcomb Riley_ 171
The Land of Story-Books. By _Robert Louis Stevenson_ 172
The City Child. By _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ 173
Going into Breeches. By _Charles and Mary Lamb_ 174
Hunting Song. By _Samuel Taylor Coleridge_ 176
Hie Away. By _Sir Walter Scott_ 176
STORY TIME
The Fairy Folk. By _Robert Bird_ 181
A Fairy in Armor. By _Joseph Rodman Drake_ 183
The Last Voyage of the Fairies. By _W. H. Davenport Adams_ 184
A New Fern. By "_A_." 186
The Child and the Fairies. By "_A_." 187
The Little Elf. By _John Kendrick Bangs_ 188
"One, Two, Three." By _Henry C. Bunner_ 188
What May Happen to a Thimble. By "_B_." 190
Discontent. By _Sarah Orne Jewett_ 193
The Nightingale and the Glowworm. By _William Cowper_ 195
Thanksgiving Day. By _Lydia Maria Child_ 196
A Thanksgiving Fable. By _Oliver Herford_ 197
The Magpie's Nest. By _Charles and Mary Lamb_ 198
The Owl and the Pussy-Cat. By _Edward Lear_ 201
A Lobster Quadrille. By _Lewis Carroll_ 202
The Fairies' Shopping. By _Margaret Deland_ 204
Fable. By _Ralph Waldo Emerson_ 206
A Midsummer Song. By _Richard Watson Gilder_ 207
The Fairies of the Caldon-Low. By _Mary Howitt_ 209
The Elf and the Dormouse. By _Oliver Herford_ 213
Meg Merrilies. By _John Keats_ 214
Romance. By _Gabriel Setoun_ 215
The Cow-Boy's Song. By _Anna M. Wells_ 217
BED TIME
Auld Daddy Darkness. By _James Ferguson_ 221
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod. By _Eugene Field_ 222
Rockaby, Lullaby. By _Josiah Gilbert Holland_ 224
Sleep, My Treasure. By _E. Nesbit_ 225
Lullaby of an Infant Chief. By _Sir Walter Scott_ 226
Sweet and Low. By _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ 227
Old Gaelic Lullaby. _Unknown_ 228
The Sandman. By _Margaret Vandegrift_ 228
The Cottager to Her Infant. By _Dorothy Wordsworth_ 230
A Charm to Call Sleep. By _Henry Johnstone_ 231
Night. By _Mary F. Butts_ 232
Bed-Time. By _Lord Rosslyn_ 232
Nightfall in Dordrecht. By _Eugene Field_ 233
FOR SUNDAY'S CHILD
All Things Bright and Beautiful. By _Cecil F. Alexander_ 237
The Still Small Voice. By _Alexander Smart_ 238
The Camel's Nose. By _Lydia H. Sigourney_ 240
A Child's Grace. By _Robert Burns_ 241
A Child's Thought of God. By _Elizabeth B. Browning_ 241
The Lamb. By _William Blake_ 242
Night and Day. By _Mary Mapes Dodge_ 243
High and Low. By _Dora Read Goodale_ 244
By Cool Siloam's Shady Rill. By _Reginald Heber_ 244
Sheep and Lambs. By _Katharine Tynan Hinkson_ 245
To His Saviour, a Child; A Present by a Child.
By _Robert Herrick_ 246
What Would You See? By _George Macdonald_ 247
Corn-Fields. By _Mary Howitt_ 248
Little Christel. By _William Brighty Rands_ 250
A Child's Prayer. By _M. Betham Edwards_ 252
BELLS OF CHRISTMAS
The Adoration of the Wise Men. By _Cecil F. Alexander_ 257
Cradle Hymn. By _Isaac Watts_ 258
The Christmas Silence. By _Margaret Deland_ 260
An Offertory. By _Mary Mapes Dodge_ 261
Christmas Song. By _Lydia Avery Coonley Ward_ 261
A Visit from St. Nicholas. By _Clement C. Moore_ 262
The Christmas Trees. By _Mary F. Butts_ 265
A Birthday Gift. By _Christina G. Rossetti_ 267
A Christmas Lullaby. By _John Addington Symonds_ 267
I Saw Three Ships. _Old Carol_ 268
Santa Claus. _Unknown_ 269
Neighbors of the Christ Night. By _Nora Archibald Smith_ 271
Cradle Hymn. By _Martin Luther_ 272
The Christmas Holly. By _Eliza Cook_ 273
LILLIPUT NOTICE. By _William Brighty Rands_ 274
THE POSY RING
I
A YEAR'S WINDFALLS
_Who comes dancing over the snow,
His soft little feet all bare and rosy?
Open the door, though the wild winds blow,
Take the child in and make him cosy.
Take him in and hold him dear,
He is the wonderful glad New Year._
_Dinah M. Mulock._
A YEAR'S WINDFALLS
_Marjorie's Almanac_
Robins in the tree-top,
Blossoms in the grass,
Green things a-growing
Everywhere you pass;
Sudden little breezes,
Showers of silver dew,
Black bough and bent twig
Budding out anew;
Pine-tree and willow-tree,
Fringed elm and larch,--
Don't you think that May-time's
Pleasanter than March?
Apples in the orchard
Mellowing one by one;
Strawberries upturning
Soft cheeks to the sun;
Roses faint with sweetness,
Lilies fair of face,
Drowsy scents and murmurs
Haunting every place;
Lengths of golden sunshine,
Moonlight bright as day,--
Don't you think that summer's
Pleasanter than May?
Roger in the corn-patch
Whistling negro songs;
Pussy by the hearth-side
Romping with the tongs;
Chestnuts in the ashes
Bursting through the rind;
Red leaf and gold leaf
Rustling down the wind;
Mother "doin' peaches"
All the afternoon,--
Don't you think that autumn's
Pleasanter than June?
Little fairy snow-flakes
Dancing in the flue;
Old Mr. Santa Claus,
What is keeping you?
Twilight and firelight
Shadows come and go;
Merry chime of sleigh-bells
Tinkling through the snow;
Mother knitting stockings
(Pussy's got the ball),--
Don't you think that winter's
Pleasanter than all?
Thomas Bailey Aldrich.
_In February_
The birds have been singing to-day,
And saying: "The spring is near!
The sun is as warm as in May,
And the deep blue heavens are clear."
The little bird on the boughs
Of the sombre snow-laden pine
Thinks: "Where shall I build me my house,
And how shall I make it fine?
"For the season of snow is past;
The mild south wind is on high;
And the scent of the spring is cast
From his wing as he hurries by."
The little birds twitter and cheep
To their loves on the leafless larch;
But seven feet deep the snow-wreaths sleep,
And the year hath not worn to March.
John Addington Symonds.
_March_
The cock is crowing,
The stream is flowing,
The small birds twitter,
The lake doth glitter,
The green field sleeps in the sun;
The oldest and youngest
Are at work with the strongest;
The cattle are grazing,
Their heads never raising;
There are forty feeding like one.
Like an army defeated
The snow hath retreated,
And now doth fare ill
On the top of the bare hill;
The ploughboy is whooping--anon--anon!
There's joy on the mountains;
There's life in the fountains;
Small clouds are sailing,
Blue sky prevailing;
The rain is over and gone.
William Wordsworth.
_Nearly Ready_[A]
In the snowing and the blowing,
In the cruel sleet,
Little flowers begin their growing
Far beneath our feet.
Softly taps the Spring, and cheerly,
"Darlings, are you here?"
Till they answer, "We are nearly,
Nearly ready, dear."
"Where is Winter, with his snowing?
Tell us, Spring," they say.
Then she answers, "He is going,
Going on his way.
Poor old Winter does not love you;
But his time is past;
Soon my birds shall sing above you,--
Set you free at last."
Mary Mapes Dodge.
_Spring Song_
Spring comes hither,
Buds the rose;
Roses wither,
Sweet spring goes.
Summer soars,--
Wide-winged day;
White light pours,
Flies away.
Soft winds blow,
Westward born;
Onward go,
Toward the morn.
George Eliot
FOOTNOTE:
[A] _From "Rhymes and Jingles," by Mary Mapes Dodge. By permission of
Charles Scribner's Sons._
_In April_
The poplar drops beside the way
Its tasselled plumes of silver-gray;
The chestnut pouts its great brown buds
Impatient for the laggard May.
The honeysuckles lace the wall,
The hyacinths grow fair and tall;
And mellow sun and pleasant wind
And odorous bees are over all.
Elizabeth Akers.
_Spring_
The alder by the river
Shakes out her powdery curls;
The willow buds in silver
For little boys and girls.
The little birds fly over,
And oh, how sweet they sing!
To tell the happy children
That once again 'tis spring.
The gay green grass comes creeping
So soft beneath their feet;
The frogs begin to ripple
A music clear and sweet.
And buttercups are coming,
And scarlet columbine;
And in the sunny meadows
The dandelions shine.
And just as many daisies
As their soft hands can hold
The little ones may gather,
All fair in white and gold.
Here blows the warm red clover,
There peeps the violet blue;
O happy little children,
God made them all for you!
Celia Thaxter.
_The Voice of Spring_
I am coming, I am coming!
Hark! the little bee is humming;
See, the lark is soaring high
In the blue and sunny sky;
And the gnats are on the wing,
Wheeling round in airy ring.
See, the yellow catkins cover
All the slender willows over!
And on the banks of mossy green
Star-like primroses are seen;
And, their clustering leaves below,
White and purple violets blow.
Hark! the new-born lambs are bleating,
And the cawing rooks are meeting
In the elms,--a noisy crowd;
All the birds are singing loud;
And the first white butterfly
In the sunshine dances by.
Look around thee, look around!
Flowers in all the fields abound;
Every running stream is bright;
All the orchard trees are white;
And each small and waving shoot
Promises sweet flowers and fruit.
Turn thine eyes to earth and heaven:
God for thee the spring has given,
Taught the birds their melodies,
Clothed the earth, and cleared the skies,
For thy pleasure or thy food:
Pour thy soul in gratitude.
Mary Howitt.
_The Coming of Spring_
There's something in the air
That's new and sweet and rare--
A scent of summer things,
A whir as if of wings.
There's something, too, that's new
In the color of the blue
That's in the morning sky,
Before the sun is high.
And though on plain and hill
'Tis winter, winter still,
There's something seems to say
That winter's had its day.
And all this changing tint,
This whispering stir and hint
Of bud and bloom and wing,
Is the coming of the spring.
And to-morrow or to-day
The brooks will break away
From their icy, frozen sleep,
And run, and laugh, and leap.
And the next thing, in the woods,
The catkins in their hoods
Of fur and silk will stand,
A sturdy little band.
And the tassels soft and fine
Of the hazel will entwine,
And the elder branches show
Their buds against the snow.
So, silently but swift,
Above the wintry drift,
The long days gain and gain,
Until on hill and plain,--
Once more, and yet once more,
Returning as before,
We see the bloom of birth
Make young again the earth.
Nora Perry.
_May_
May shall make the world anew;
Golden sun and silver dew,
Money minted in the sky,
Shall the earth's new garments buy.
May shall make the orchards bloom;
And the blossoms' fine perfume
Shall set all the honey-bees
Murmuring among the trees.
May shall make the bud appear
Like a jewel, crystal clear,
'Mid the leaves upon the limb
Where the robin lilts his hymn.
May shall make the wild flowers tell
Where the shining snowflakes fell;
Just as though each snow-flake's heart,
By some secret, magic art,
Were transmuted to a flower
In the sunlight and the shower.
Is there such another, pray,
Wonder-making month as May?
Frank Dempster Sherman.
_Spring and Summer_
Spring is growing up,
Is not it a pity?
She was such a little thing,
And so very pretty!
Summer is extremely grand,
We must pay her duty,
(But it is to little Spring
That she owes her beauty!)
All the buds are blown,
Trees are dark and shady,
(It was Spring who dress'd them, though,
Such a little lady!)
And the birds sing loud and sweet
Their enchanting hist'ries,
(It was Spring who taught them, though,
Such a singing mistress!)
From the glowing sky
Summer shines above us;
Spring was such a little dear,
But will Summer love us?
She is very beautiful,
With her grown-up blisses,
Summer we must bow before;
Spring we coaxed with kisses!
Spring is growing up,
Leaving us so lonely,
In the place of little Spring
We have Summer only!
Summer with her lofty airs,
And her stately faces,
In the place of little Spring,
With her childish graces!
"A."
_Summer Days_
Winter is cold-hearted;
Spring is yea and nay;
Autumn is a weathercock,
Blown every way:
Summer days for me,
When every leaf is on its tree,
When Robin's not a beggar,
And Jenny Wren's a bride,
And larks hang, singing, singing, singing,
Over the wheat-fields wide,
And anchored lilies ride,
And the pendulum spider
Swings from side to side,
And blue-black beetles transact business,
And gnats fly in a host,
And furry caterpillars hasten
That no time be lost,
And moths grow fat and thrive,
And ladybirds arrive.
Before green apples blush,
Before green nuts embrown,
Why, one day in the country
Is worth a month in town--
Is worth a day and a year
Of the dusty, musty, lag-last fashion
That days drone elsewhere.
Christina G. Rossetti.
_September_
The goldenrod is yellow,
The corn is turning brown,
The trees in apple orchards
With fruit are bending down;
The gentian's bluest fringes
Are curling in the sun;
In dusty pods the milkweed
Its hidden silk has spun;
The sedges flaunt their harvest
In every meadow nook,
And asters by the brookside
Make asters in the brook;
From dewy lanes at morning
The grapes' sweet odors rise;
At noon the roads all flutter
With yellow butterflies--
By all these lovely tokens
September days are here,
With summer's best of weather
And autumn's best of cheer.
H. H.
_How the Leaves Came Down_
I'll tell you how the leaves came down.
The great Tree to his children said,
"You're getting sleepy, Yellow and Brown,
Yes, very sleepy, little Red;
It is quite time you went to bed."
"Ah!" begged each silly, pouting leaf,
"Let us a little longer stay;
Dear Father Tree, behold our grief,
'Tis such a very pleasant day
We do not want to go away."
So, just for one more merry day
To the great Tree the leaflets clung,
Frolicked and danced and had their way,
Upon the autumn breezes swung,
Whispering all their sports among,
"Perhaps the great Tree will forget
And let us stay until the spring,
If we all beg and coax and fret."
But the great Tree did no such thing;
He smiled to hear their whispering.
"Come, children all, to bed," he cried;
And ere the leaves could urge their prayer
He shook his head, and far and wide,
Fluttering and rustling everywhere,
Down sped the leaflets through the air.
I saw them; on the ground they lay,
Golden and red, a huddled swarm,
Waiting till one from far away,
White bed-clothes heaped upon her arm,
Should come to wrap them safe and warm.
The great bare Tree looked down and smiled.
"Good-night, dear little leaves," he said;
And from below each sleepy child
Replied "Good-night," and murmured,
"It is _so_ nice to go to bed."
Susan Coolidge.
_Winter Night_
Blow, wind, blow!
Drift the flying snow!
Send it twirling, whirling overhead!
There's a bedroom in a tree
Where, snug as snug can be,
The squirrel nests in his cosey bed.
Shriek, wind, shriek!
Make the branches creak!
Battle with the boughs till break o' day!
In a snow-cave warm and tight,
Through the icy winter night
The rabbit sleeps the peaceful hours away.
Call, wind, call,
In entry and in hall,
Straight from off the mountain white and wild!
Soft purrs the pussy-cat
On her little fluffy mat,
And beside her nestles close her furry child.
Scold, wind, scold,
So bitter and so bold!
Shake the windows with your tap, tap, tap!
With half-shut, dreamy eyes
The drowsy baby lies
Cuddled closely in his mother's lap.
Mary F. Butts.
A Year's Windfalls
On the wind of January
Down flits the snow,
Travelling from the frozen North
As cold as it can blow.
Poor robin redbreast,
Look where he comes;
Let him in to feel your fire,
And toss him of your crumbs.
On the wind in February
Snowflakes float still,
Half inclined to turn to rain,
Nipping, dripping, chill.
Then the thaws swell the streams,
And swollen rivers swell the sea:--
If the winter ever ends
How pleasant it will be.
In the wind of windy March
The catkins drop down,
Curly, caterpillar-like,
Curious green and brown.
With concourse of nest-building birds
And leaf-buds by the way,
We begin to think of flowers
And life and nuts some day.
With the gusts of April
Rich fruit-tree blossoms fall,
On the hedged-in orchard-green,
From the southern wall.
Apple-trees and pear-trees
Shed petals white or pink,
Plum-trees and peach-trees;
While sharp showers sink and sink.
Little brings the May breeze
Beside pure scent of flowers,
While all things wax and nothing wanes
In lengthening daylight hours.
Across the hyacinth beds
The wind lags warm and sweet,
Across the hawthorn tops,
Across the blades of wheat.
In the wind of sunny June
Thrives the red rose crop,
Every day fresh blossoms blow
While the first leaves drop;
White rose and yellow rose
And moss rose choice to find,
And the cottage cabbage-rose
Not one whit behind.
On the blast of scorched July
Drives the pelting hail,
From thunderous lightning-clouds, that blot
Blue heaven grown lurid-pale.
Weedy waves are tossed ashore,
Sea-things strange to sight
Gasp upon the barren shore
And fade away in light.
In the parching August wind
Corn-fields bow the head,
Sheltered in round valley depths,
On low hills outspread.
Early leaves drop loitering down
Weightless on the breeze,
First fruits of the year's decay
From the withering trees.
In brisk wind of September
The heavy-headed fruits
Shake upon their bending boughs
And drop from the shoots;
Some glow golden in the sun,
Some show green and streaked,
Some set forth a purple bloom,
Some blush rosy-cheeked.
In strong blast of October
At the equinox,
Stirred up in his hollow bed
Broad ocean rocks;
Plunge the ships on his bosom,
Leaps and plunges the foam,
It's oh! for mothers' sons at sea,
That they were safe at home.
In slack wind of November
The fog forms and shifts;
All the world comes out again
When the fog lifts.
Loosened from their sapless twigs
Leaves drop with every gust;
Drifting, rustling, out of sight
In the damp or dust.
Last of all, December,
The year's sands nearly run,
Speeds on the shortest day,
Curtails the sun;
With its bleak raw wind
Lays the last leaves low,
Brings back the nightly frosts,
Brings back the snow.
Christina G. Rossetti.
II
THE CHILD'S WORLD
_Great, wide, beautiful, wonderful World,
With the wonderful water round you curled,
And the wonderful grass upon your breast,
World, you are beautifully drest._
_William Brighty Rands._
THE CHILD'S WORLD
_The Wonderful World_
Great, wide, beautiful, wonderful World,
With the wonderful water round you curled,
And the wonderful grass upon your breast,
World, you are beautifully drest.
The wonderful air is over me,
And the wonderful wind is shaking the tree--
It walks on the water, and whirls the mills,
And talks to itself on the top of the hills.
You friendly Earth, how far do you go,
With the wheat-fields that nod and the rivers that flow,
With cities and gardens, and cliffs and isles,
And people upon you for thousands of miles?
Ah! you are so great, and I am so small,
I hardly can think of you, World, at all;
And yet, when I said my prayers to-day,
My mother kissed me, and said, quite gay,
"If the wonderful World is great to you,
And great to father and mother, too,
You are more than the Earth, though you are such a dot!
You can love and think, and the Earth cannot!"
William Brighty Rands.
_A Day_
I'll tell you how the sun rose,
A ribbon at a time.
The steeples swam in amethyst,
The news like squirrels ran.
The hills untied their bonnets,
The bobolinks begun.
Then I said softly to myself,
"That must have been the sun!"
* * * * *
But how he set, I know not.
There seemed a purple stile
Which little yellow boys and girls
Were climbing all the while
Till when they reached the other side,
A dominie in gray
Put gently up the evening bars,
And led the flock away.
Emily Dickinson.
_Good-Morning_
The year's at the Spring,
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hill-side's dew-pearled;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn;
God's in his heaven--
All's right with the world.
Robert Browning.
_What the Winds Bring_
Which is the Wind that brings the cold?
The North-Wind, Freddy, and all the snow;
And the sheep will scamper into the fold
When the North begins to blow.
Which is the Wind that brings the heat?
The South-Wind, Katy; and corn will grow,
And peaches redden for you to eat,
When the South begins to blow.
Which is the Wind that brings the rain?
The East-Wind, Arty; and farmers know
The cows come shivering up the lane,
When the East begins to blow.
Which is the Wind that brings the flowers?
The West-Wind, Bessy; and soft and low
The birdies sing in the summer hours,
When the West begins to blow.
Edmund Clarence Stedman.
_Lady Moon_
Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving?
"Over the sea."
Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving?
"All that love me."
Are you not tired with rolling, and never
Resting to sleep?
Why look so pale and so sad, as forever
Wishing to weep?
"Ask me not this, little child, if you love me:
You are too bold:
I must obey my dear Father above me,
And do as I'm told."
Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving?
"Over the sea."
Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving?
"All that love me."
Lord Houghton.
_O Lady Moon_[A]
O Lady Moon, your horns point toward the east:
Shine, be increased;
O Lady Moon, your horns point toward the west:
Wane, be at rest.
Christina G. Rossetti.
_Windy Nights_[B]
Whenever the moon and stars are set,
Whenever the wind is high,
All night long in the dark and wet,
A man goes riding by,
Late at night when the fires are out,
Why does he gallop and gallop about?
Whenever the trees are crying aloud,
And ships are tossed at sea,
By, on the highway, low and loud,
By at the gallop goes he.
By at the gallop he goes, and then
By he comes back at the gallop again.
Robert Louis Stevenson.
FOOTNOTE:
[A] _From "Sing-Song," by Christina G. Rossetti. By permission of the
Macmillan Company._
[B] _From "A Child's Garden of Verses," by Robert Louis Stevenson. By
permission of Charles Scribner's Sons._
_Wild Winds_
Oh, oh, how the wild winds blow!
Blow high,
Blow low,
And whirlwinds go,
To chase the little leaves that fly--
Fly low and high,
To hollow and to steep hill-side;
They shiver in the dreary weather,
And creep in little heaps together,
And nestle close and try to hide.
Oh, oh, how the wild winds blow!
Blow low,
Blow high,
And whirlwinds try
To find a crevice--to find a crack,
They whirl to the front; they whirl to the back.
But Tommy and Will and the baby together
Are snug and safe from the wintry weather.
All the winds that blow
Cannot touch a toe--
Cannot twist or twirl
One silken curl.
They may rattle the doors in a noisy pack,
But the blazing fires will drive them back.
Mary F. Butts.
_Now the Noisy Winds Are Still_[A]
Now the noisy winds are still;
April's coming up the hill!
All the spring is in her train,
Led by shining ranks of rain;
Pit, pat, patter, clatter,
Sudden sun, and clatter, patter!--
First the blue, and then the shower;
Bursting bud, and smiling flower;
Brooks set free with tinkling ring;
Birds too full of song to sing;
Crisp old leaves astir with pride,
Where the timid violets hide,--
All things ready with a will,--
April's coming up the hill!
Mary Mapes Dodge.
_The Wind_
The wind has a language, I would I could learn;
Sometimes 'tis soothing, and sometimes 'tis stern;
Sometimes it comes like a low, sweet song,
And all things grow calm, as the sound floats along;
And the forest is lulled by the dreamy strain;
And slumber sinks down on the wandering main;
And its crystal arms are folded in rest,
And the tall ship sleeps on its heaving breast.
Letitia Elizabeth Landon.
FOOTNOTE:
[A] _From "Along the Way," by Mary Mapes Dodge. By permission of Charles
Scribner's Sons._
_The Fountain_
Into the sunshine,
Full of the light,
Leaping and flashing
From morn till night!
Into the moonlight,
Whiter than snow,
Waving so flower-like
When the winds blow!
Into the starlight,
Rushing in spray,
Happy at midnight,
Happy by day;
Ever in motion,
Blithesome and cheery,
Still climbing heavenward,
Never aweary;
Glad of all weathers;
Still seeming best,
Upward or downward;
Motion thy rest;
Full of a nature
Nothing can tame,
Changed every moment,
Ever the same;
Ceaseless aspiring,
Ceaseless content,
Darkness or sunshine
Thy element;
Glorious fountain!
Let my heart be
Fresh, changeful, constant,
Upward like thee!
James Russell Lowell.
_The Waterfall_
_Tinkle, tinkle!_
Listen well!
Like a fairy silver bell
In the distance ringing,
Lightly swinging
In the air;
'Tis the water in the dell
Where the elfin minstrels dwell,
Falling in a rainbow sprinkle,
Dropping stars that brightly twinkle,
Bright and fair,
On the darkling pool below,
Making music so;
'Tis the water elves who play
On their lutes of spray.
_Tinkle, tinkle!_
Like a fairy silver bell;
Like a pebble in a shell;
_Tinkle, tinkle!_
Listen well!
Frank Dempster Sherman.
_The Voice of the Grass_
Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;
By the dusty roadside,
On the sunny hill-side,
Close by the noisy brook,
In every shady nook,
I come creeping, creeping everywhere.
Here I come creeping, smiling everywhere;
All around the open door,
Where sit the aged poor;
Here where the children play,
In the bright and merry May,
I come creeping, creeping everywhere.
Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;
In the noisy city street
My pleasant face you'll meet,
Cheering the sick at heart
Toiling his busy part,--
Silently creeping, creeping everywhere.
Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;
You cannot see me coming,
Nor hear my low sweet humming;
For in the starry night,
And the glad morning light,
I come quietly creeping everywhere.
Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;
More welcome than the flowers
In summer's pleasant hours;
The gentle cow is glad,
And the merry bird not sad,
To see me creeping, creeping everywhere.
* * * * *
Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;
My humble song of praise
Most joyfully I raise
To him at whose command
I beautify the land,
Creeping, silently creeping everywhere.
Sarah Roberts Boyle.
_The Wind in a Frolic_
The wind one morning sprang up from sleep,
Saying, "Now for a frolic! Now for a leap!
Now for a madcap, galloping chase!
I'll make a commotion in every place!"
So it swept with a bustle right through a great town,
Creaking the signs, and scattering down
Shutters, and whisking, with merciless squalls,
Old women's bonnets and gingerbread stalls.
There never was heard a much lustier shout,
As the apples and oranges tumbled about;
And the urchins that stand with their thievish eyes
Forever on watch, ran off with each prize.
Then away to the field it went blustering and humming,
And the cattle all wondered whatever was coming.
It plucked by their tails the grave matronly cows,
And tossed the colts' manes all about their brows,
Till offended at such a familiar salute,
They all turned their backs and stood silently mute.
So on it went capering and playing its pranks;
Whistling with reeds on the broad river-banks;
Puffing the birds as they sat on the spray,
Or the traveller grave on the king's highway.
It was not too nice to bustle the bags
Of the beggar and flutter his dirty rags.
'Twas so bold that it feared not to play its joke
With the doctor's wig and the gentleman's cloak.
Through the forest it roared, and cried gayly, "Now,
You sturdy old oaks, I'll make you bow!"
And it made them bow without more ado,
Or it cracked their branches through and through.
Then it rushed like a monster o'er cottage and farm,
Striking their inmates with sudden alarm;
And they ran out like bees in a midsummer swarm.
There were dames with their kerchiefs tied over their caps,
To see if their poultry were free from mishaps;
The turkeys they gobbled, the geese screamed aloud,
And the hens crept to roost in a terrified crowd;
There was rearing of ladders, and logs laying on,
Where the thatch from the roof threatened soon to be gone.
But the wind had passed on, and had met in a lane
With a schoolboy, who panted and struggled in vain,
For it tossed him, and twirled him, then passed, and he stood
With his hat in a pool and his shoe in the mud.
William Howitt.
_Clouds_
The sky is full of clouds to-day,
And idly to and fro,
Like sheep across the pasture, they
Across the heavens go.
I hear the wind with merry noise--
Around the housetops sweep,
And dream it is the shepherd boys,
They're driving home their sheep.
The clouds move faster now; and see!
The west is red and gold.
Each sheep seems hastening to be
The first within the fold.
I watch them hurry on until
The blue is clear and deep,
And dream that far beyond the hill
The shepherds fold their sheep.
Then in the sky the trembling stars
Like little flowers shine out,
While Night puts up the shadow bars,
And darkness falls about.
I hear the shepherd wind's good-night--
"Good-night and happy sleep!"
And dream that in the east, all white,
Slumber the clouds, the sheep.
Frank Dempster Sherman.
_Signs of Rain_
The hollow winds begin to blow,
The clouds look black, the glass is low,
The soot falls down, the spaniels sleep,
The spiders from their cobwebs peep:
Last night the sun went pale to bed,
The moon in halos hid her head;
The boding shepherd heaves a sigh,
For, see, a rainbow spans the sky:
The walls are damp, the ditches smell,
Closed is the pink-eyed pimpernel.
Hark how the chairs and tables crack!
Old Betty's joints are on the rack;
Loud quack the ducks, the peacocks cry,
The distant hills are seeming nigh.
How restless are the snorting swine;
The busy flies disturb the kine;
Low o'er the grass the swallow wings,
The cricket too, how sharp he sings;
Puss on the hearth, with velvet paws,
Sits wiping o'er her whiskered jaws.
Through the clear stream the fishes rise,
And nimbly catch the incautious flies.
The glow-worms, numerous and bright,
Illumed the dewy dell last night.
At dusk the squalid toad was seen,
Hopping and crawling o'er the green;
The whirling wind the dust obeys,
And in the rapid eddy plays;
The frog has changed his yellow vest,
And in a russet coat is dressed.
Though June, the air is cold and still,
The mellow blackbird's voice is shrill.
My dog, so altered in his taste,
Quits mutton-bones on grass to feast;
And see yon rooks, how odd their flight,
They imitate the gliding kite,
And seem precipitate to fall,
As if they felt the piercing ball.
'Twill surely rain, I see with sorrow,
Our jaunt must be put off to-morrow.
Edward Jenner.
_A Sudden Shower_
Barefooted boys scud up the street,
Or scurry under sheltering sheds;
And school-girl faces, pale and sweet,
Gleam from the shawls about their heads.
Doors bang; and mother-voices call
From alien homes; and rusty gates
Are slammed; and high above it all
The thunder grim reverberates.
And then abrupt,--the rain, the rain!
The earth lies gasping; and the eyes
Behind the streaming window-panes
Smile at the trouble of the skies.
The highway smokes, sharp echoes ring;
The cattle bawl and cow-bells clank;
And into town comes galloping
The farmer's horse, with steaming flank.
The swallow dips beneath the eaves,
And flirts his plumes and folds his wings;
And under the catawba leaves
The caterpillar curls and clings.
The bumble-bee is pelted down
The wet stem of the hollyhock;
And sullenly in spattered brown
The cricket leaps the garden walk.
Within, the baby claps his hands
And crows with rapture strange and vague;
Without, beneath the rosebush stands
A dripping rooster on one leg.
James Whitcomb Riley.
_Strange Lands_
Where do you come from, Mr. Jay?
"From the land of Play, from the land of Play."
And where can that be, Mr. Jay?
"Far away--far away."
Where do you come from, Mrs. Dove?
"From the land of Love, from the land of Love."
And how do you get there, Mrs. Dove?
"Look above--look above."
Where do you come from, Baby Miss?
"From the land of Bliss, from the land of Bliss."
And what is the way there, Baby Miss?
"Mother's kiss--mother's kiss."
Laurence Alma Tadema.
_Guessing Song_
Oh ho! oh ho! Pray, who can I be?
I sweep o'er the land, I scour o'er the sea;
I cuff the tall trees till they bow down their heads,
And I rock the wee birdies asleep in their beds.
Oh ho! oh ho! And who can I be,
That sweep o'er the land and scour o'er the sea?
I rumple the breast of the gray-headed daw,
I tip the rook's tail up and make him cry "caw";
But though I love fun, I'm so big and so strong,
At a puff of my breath the great ships sail along.
Oh ho! oh ho! And who can I be,
That sweep o'er the land and sail o'er the sea?
I swing all the weather-cocks this way and that,
I play hare-and-hounds with a runaway hat;
But however I wander, I never can stray,
For go where I will, I've a free right of way!
Oh ho! oh ho! And who can I be,
That sweep o'er the land and scour o'er the sea?
I skim o'er the heather, I dance up the street,
I've foes that I laugh at, and friends that I greet;
I'm known in the country, I'm named in the town,
For all the world over extends my renown.
Oh ho! oh ho! And who can I be,
That sweep o'er the land and scour o'er the sea?
Henry Johnstone.
_The Rivulet_
Run, little rivulet, run!
Summer is fairly begun.
Bear to the meadow the hymn of the pines,
And the echo that rings where the waterfall shines;
Run, little rivulet, run!
Run, little rivulet, run!
Sing to the fields of the sun
That wavers in emerald, shimmers in gold,
Where you glide from your rocky ravine, crystal-cold;
Run, little rivulet, run!
Run, little rivulet, run!
Sing of the flowers, every one,--
Of the delicate harebell and violet blue;
Of the red mountain rose-bud, all dripping with dew;
Run, little rivulet, run!
Run, little rivulet, run!
Carry the perfume you won
From the lily, that woke when the morning was gray,
To the white waiting moonbeam adrift on the bay;
Run, little rivulet, run!
Run, little rivulet, run!
Stay not till summer is done!
Carry the city the mountain-birds' glee;
Carry the joy of the hills to the sea;
Run, little rivulet, run!
Lucy Larcom.
_Jack Frost_
The Frost looked forth on a still, clear night,
And whispered, "Now, I shall be out of sight;
So, through the valley, and over the height,
In silence I'll take my way.
I will not go on like that blustering train,
The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain,
That make such a bustle and noise in vain;
But I'll be as busy as they!"
So he flew to the mountain, and powdered its crest.
He lit on the trees, and their boughs he dressed
With diamonds and pearls; and over the breast
Of the quivering lake, he spread
A coat of mail, that it need not fear
The glittering point of many a spear
Which he hung on its margin, far and near,
Where a rock could rear its head.
He went to the window of those who slept,
And over each pane like a fairy crept:
Wherever he breathed, wherever he stepped,
By the light of the morn were seen
Most beautiful things!--there were flowers and trees,
There were bevies of birds, and swarms of bees;
There were cities and temples and towers; and these
All pictured in silvery sheen!
But he did one thing that was hardly fair--
He peeped in the cupboard: and finding there
That all had forgotten for him to prepare.
"Now, just to set them a-thinking,
I'll bite this basket of fruit," said he,
"This costly pitcher I'll burst in three!
And the glass of water they've left for me,
Shall 'tchick' to tell them I'm drinking."
Hannah F. Gould.
_Snowflakes_[A]
Whenever a snowflake leaves the sky,
It turns and turns to say "Good-by!
Good-by, dear clouds, so cool and gray!"
Then lightly travels on its way.
And when a snowflake finds a tree,
"Good-day!" it says--"Good-day to thee!
Thou art so bare and lonely, dear,
I'll rest and call my comrades here."
But when a snowflake, brave and meek,
Lights on a rosy maiden's cheek,
It starts--"How warm and soft the day!
'Tis summer!"--and it melts away.
Mary Mapes Dodge.
_The Water! the Water!_
The Water! the Water!
The joyous brook for me,
That tuneth through the quiet night
Its ever-living glee.
The Water! the Water!
That sleepless, merry heart,
Which gurgles on unstintedly,
And loveth to impart,
To all around it, some small measure
Of its own most perfect pleasure.
The Water! the Water!
The gentle stream for me,
That gushes from the old gray stone
Beside the alder-tree.
The Water! the Water!
That ever-bubbling spring
I loved and look'd on while a child,
In deepest wondering,--
And ask'd it whence it came and went,
And when its treasures would be spent.
The Water! the Water!
The merry, wanton brook
That bent itself to pleasure me,
Like mine old shepherd crook.
The Water! the Water!
That sang so sweet at noon,
And sweeter still all night, to win
Smiles from the pale proud moon,
And from the little fairy faces
That gleam in heaven's remotest places.
* * * * *
William Motherwell.
FOOTNOTE:
[A] _From "Along the Way," by permission of Charles Scribner's Sons._
III
HIAWATHA'S CHICKENS
_Then the little Hiawatha
Learned of every bird its language,
Learned their names and all their secrets,
How they built their nests in Summer,
Where they hid themselves in Winter,
Talked with them whene'er he met them,
Called them "Hiawatha's Chickens."_
_Henry Wadsworth Longfellow._
HIAWATHA'S CHICKENS
_The Swallows_
Gallant and gay in their doublets gray,
All at a flash like the darting of flame,
Chattering Arabic, African, Indian--
Certain of springtime, the swallows came!
Doublets of gray silk and surcoats of purple,
And ruffs of russet round each little throat,
Wearing such garb they had crossed the waters,
Mariners sailing with never a boat.
Edwin Arnold.
_The Swallow's Nest_
Day after day her nest she moulded,
Building with magic, love and mud,
A gray cup made by a thousand journeys,
And the tiny beak was trowel and hod.
Edwin Arnold.
_The Birds in Spring_
Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king;
Then blooms each thing, then Maids dance in a ring,
Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing--
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
The Palm and May make country houses gay,
Lambs frisk and play, the Shepherds pipe all day,
And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay--
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
The Fields breathe sweet, the Daisies kiss our feet,
Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit,
In every Street these Tunes our ears do greet--
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
Spring, the sweet Spring!
Thomas Nashe.
_Robin Redbreast_
(A Child's Song)
Good-bye, good-bye to Summer!
For Summer's nearly done;
The garden smiling faintly,
Cool breezes in the sun;
Our Thrushes now are silent,
Our Swallows flown away,--
But Robin's here, in coat of brown,
With ruddy breast-knot gay.
Robin, Robin Redbreast,
O Robin dear!
Robin singing sweetly
In the falling of the year.
Bright yellow, red, and orange,
The leaves come down in hosts;
The trees are Indian Princes,
But soon they'll turn to Ghosts;
The scanty pears and apples
Hang russet on the bough,
It's Autumn, Autumn, Autumn late,
'Twill soon be Winter now.
Robin, Robin Redbreast,
O Robin dear!
And welaway! my Robin,
For pinching times are near.
The fireside for the Cricket,
The wheatstack for the Mouse,
When trembling night-winds whistle
And moan all round the house;
The frosty ways like iron,
The branches plumed with snow,--
Alas! in Winter, dead and dark,
Where can poor Robin go?
Robin, Robin Redbreast,
O Robin dear!
And a crumb of bread for Robin,
His little heart to cheer.
William Allingham.
_The Lark and the Rook_
"Good-night, Sir Rook!" said a little lark.
"The daylight fades; it will soon be dark;
I've bathed my wings in the sun's last ray;
I've sung my hymn to the parting day;
So now I haste to my quiet nook
In yon dewy meadow--good-night, Sir Rook!"