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Lullaby-Land: Songs of Childhood

<hr class="full" /> <table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="" style="border: 2px black solid;margin:auto auto;max-width:50%; padding:1%;"> <tr><td> Contents. (In certain versions of this etext [in certain browsers] clicking on the image will bring up a larger version.) (etext transcriber's note) </td></tr> </table> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/cover.jpg" width-obs="328" height-obs="500" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {1}  <div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_001_sml.jpg" width-obs="85" height-obs="140" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {2} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_002_sml.jpg" width-obs="196" height-obs="252" alt="Image unavailable: BOOKS ILLUSTRATED BY CHARLES ROBINSON. LULLABY-LAND BY EUGENE FIELD A CHILD’S GARDEN OF VERSES. BY R. L. STEVENSON. “Mr. Robinson’s drawings have an imaginative quality as rare as it is pleasurable to discover, a quality that children themselves are very quick to recognize, and that when set before them in appropriate, graphic form, is one of the most important of all aids to their intellectual development.”—Boston Beacon." /></div> {3} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_003_sml.jpg" alt="Image unavailable: LULLABY-LAND. Songs of Childhood. by EUGENE FIELD. Selected by KENNETH GRAHAME, and illustrated by CHARLES ROBINSON. 1904 NEW YORK CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS LONDON JOHN LANE" /></div> {4} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_004_sml.jpg" width-obs="64" height-obs="90" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> <div class="blockquot">COPYRIGHT, 1892 AND 1897, BY JULIA SUTHERLAND FIELD. 1892, BY MARY FRENCH FIELD. 1893 AND 1894, BY EUGENE FIELD. </div> {5} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_005_sml.jpg" width-obs="108" height-obs="193" alt="Image unavailable: Lullaby-land." /></div> {6} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_006_sml.jpg" width-obs="308" height-obs="580" alt="Image unavailable: LULLABY-LAND." /></div> {7} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_007_sml.jpg" width-obs="322" height-obs="323" alt="Preface." /> </h2> There is a sort of a garden—or rather an estate, of park and fallow and waste—nay, perhaps we may call it a kingdom, albeit a noman’s-land and an everyman’s land—which lies so close to the frontier of our work-a-day world that a step will take us therein. Indeed,{8} some will have it that we are there all the time, that it is the real fourth dimension, and that at any moment—if we did but know the trick—we might find ourselves trotting along its pleasant alleys, without once quitting our arm-chair. Nonsense-Land is one of the names painted up on the board at the frontier-station; and there the custom-house officers are very strict. You may take as much tobacco as you please, any quantity of spirits, and fripperies of every sort, new and old; but all common-sense, all logic, all serious argument, must strictly be declared, and is promptly confiscated. Once safely across the border, it is with no surprise at all that you greet the Lead Soldier strutting somewhat stiffly to meet you, the Dog with eyes as big as mill-wheels following affably at his heel; on the banks of the streams little Johnny-head-in-air is perpetually being hauled out of the water; while the plaintive voice of the Gryphon is borne inland from the margin of the sea. Most people, at one time or another, have travelled in this delectable country, if only in young and irresponsible days. Certain unfortunates, unequipped by nature for a voyage{9} in such latitudes, have never visited it at all, and assuredly never will. A happy few never quit it entirely at any time. Domiciled in that pleasant atmosphere, they peep into the world of facts but fitfully, at moments; and decline to sacrifice their high privilege of citizenship at any summons to a low conformity. Of this fortunate band was Eugene Field. He knew the country thoroughly, its highways and its byways alike. Its language was the one he was fondest of talking; and he always refused to emigrate and to settle down anywhere else. As soon as he set himself to narrate the goings-on there, those of us who had been tourists in bygone days, but had lost our return-tickets, pricked up our ears, and listened, and remembered, and knew. The Dinkey-Bird, we recollected at once, had been singing, the day we left, in the amfalula-tree; and there, of course, he must have been singing ever since, only we had forgotten the way to listen. Eugene Field gently reminded us, and the Dinkey-Bird was vocal once more, to be silent never again. Shut-Eye Train had been starting every night with the utmost punctuality; it was{10} we who had long ago lost our way to the booking-office (I really do not know the American for booking-office). Now we can hurry up the platform whenever we please, and hear the doors slam and the whistle toot as we sink back on those first-class cushions! And the Chocolate Cat,—why, of course the cats were all chocolate then! And how pleasantly brittle their tails were, and how swiftly, though culled and sucked each day, they sprouted afresh! It is an engaging theory, that we are all of us just as well informed as the great philosophers, poets, wits, who are getting all the glory; only unfortunately our memories are not equally good—we forget, we forget so terribly! Those belauded gentlemen, termed by our fathers “makers”—creators, to wit—they are only reminders after all: flappers, Gulliver would have called them. The parched peas in their gaily-painted bladders rattle with reminiscences as they flap us on the ears; and at once we recall what we are rightly abashed beyond measure to have for one instant forgotten. At any rate, it is only when the writer comes along who strikes a new clear note, who does a{11} thing both true and fresh, that we say to ourselves, not only “How I wish I had done that myself!”—but also “And I would have done it, too—if only I had remembered it in time!” Perhaps this is one of the tests of originality. Of course I am touching upon but one side of Eugene Field the writer. An American of Americans, much of his verse was devoted to the celebration of what we may call the minor joys which go to make social happiness in the life he lived with so frank and rounded a completion—a celebration which appealed to his countrymen no less keenly, that the joys were of a sort which, perhaps from some false sense of what makes fitness in subject, had hitherto lacked their poet—on that side at least. This, of course, was the fault of the poets. And though I spoke just now of minor joys, there are really no such things as minor joys—or minor thrushes and blackbirds. Fortunately this other aspect does not need to be considered here. I say fortunately, because it is not given to a writer to know more than one Land—to know it intimately, that is to say, so as to dare to write about it. This is the Law{12} and the Prophets. Even that most native utterance, which sings of “the clink of the ice in the pitcher that the boy brings up the hall,” appeals to us but faintly, at second-hand. That pitcher does not clink in England. In this spheral existence all straight lines, sufficiently prolonged, prove to be circles: and a line of thought is no exception. We are back at the point we started from—the consideration of Eugene Field as a citizen; of a sort of a cloud-country, to start with; and later, of a land more elemental. In either capacity we find the same note, of the joy of life. We find the same honest resolve, to accept the rules and to play out the game accordingly; the same conviction, that the game is in itself a good one, well worth the playing. And so, with no misgiving, he takes his America with just the same heartiness as his Nonsense-land. The little boy who should by rights have been lost in the forest, by the white pebbles he had warily dropped found his way back safely to sunlight and to home; and to keep in touch with earth is at least to ensure progression in{13} temperate and sweet-breathed atmosphere, as well as in a certain zone, and that no narrow one, of appreciation; the appreciation of our fellows, the world over; those who, whatever their hemisphere, daily find themselves pricked by a common sun, with the same stimulus for every cuticle, towards pleasures surprisingly similar. KENNETH GRAHAME. <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_013_sml.jpg" width-obs="92" height-obs="121" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {14} <div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_014_sml.jpg" width-obs="55" height-obs="98" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {15} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_015_sml.jpg" width-obs="338" height-obs="465" alt="Image unavailable: CONTENTS." /> </h2> <table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary=""> <tr><td valign="top">The Rock-a-By Lady</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">Page 21</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Garden and Cradle </td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">29</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">The Night Wind{16}</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">35</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">The Dinkey-Bird</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">44</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">So, so, Rock-a-by so!</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">47</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">The Duel</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">53</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Good-Children Street</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">59</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">The Bottle Tree</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">65</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Lady Button-Eyes</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">71</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">The Ride to Bumpville</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">79</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Shuffle-Shoon and Amber-Locks</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">85</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">The Shut-Eye Train</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">91</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Little-Oh-Dear</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">99</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">The Fly-Away Horse</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">105</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">“Fiddle-Dee-Dee”</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">113</td></tr> <tr><td> </td></tr> <tr><td colspan="2" class="c"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_016_sml.jpg" width-obs="333" height-obs="71" alt="Image unavailable: From “With Trumpet and Drum.”" /> </td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">The Sugar-Plum Tree</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">Page 123</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Krinken</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">131</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Pittypat and Tippytoe</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">137</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Little Blue Pigeon</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">145</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Teeny-Weeny{17}</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">151</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Buttercup, Poppy, Forget-me-not</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">159</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Wynken, Blynken, and Nod</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">165</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Little Mistress Sans-Merci</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">173</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Hi-Spy</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">179</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Little Boy Blue</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">183</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Heigho, my Dearie</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">189</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Fairy and Child</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">195</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Child and Mother</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">201</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Ganderfeather’s Gift</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">207</td></tr> <tr><td> </td></tr> <tr><td colspan="2" class="c"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_017a_sml.jpg" width-obs="333" height-obs="33" alt="Image unavailable: From “The Second Book of Verse.”" /> </td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Telling the Bees</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">Page 217</td></tr> <tr><td> </td></tr> <tr><td colspan="2" class="c"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_017b_sml.jpg" width-obs="327" height-obs="29" alt="Image unavailable: From “The Lonesome little Shoe.” in “The Holy Cross and Other Tales.”" /> in “The Holy Cross and Other Tales. </td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Contentment </td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">Page 225</td></tr> </table> {18} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_018_sml.jpg" width-obs="116" height-obs="235" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {19} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_019_sml.jpg" width-obs="200" height-obs="582" alt="Image unavailable: POEMS FROM “LOVE SONGS OF CHILDHOOD.”" /></div> {20} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_020_sml.jpg" width-obs="44" height-obs="125" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {21} <div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_021a_sml.jpg" width-obs="88" height-obs="173" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_021b_sml.jpg" width-obs="202" height-obs="159" alt="Image unavailable: The Rock-a-by Lady." /> </h2> {22} <div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_022_sml.jpg" width-obs="76" height-obs="105" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {23} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_023_sml.jpg" width-obs="339" height-obs="482" alt="Image unavailable: THE ROCK-A-BY LADY" /> </h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> THE Rock-a-By Lady from Hushaby street Comes stealing; comes creeping; The poppies they hang from her head to her feet,{24} And each hath a dream that is tiny and fleet— She bringeth her poppies to you, my sweet, When she findeth you sleeping! </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_024a_sml.jpg" width-obs="219" height-obs="137" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_024b_sml.jpg" width-obs="126" height-obs="273" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> There is one little dream of a beautiful drum— “Rub-a-dub!” it goeth; There is one little dream of a big sugar-plum, </div> </div></div> {25} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_025_sml.jpg" width-obs="336" height-obs="419" alt="Image unavailable: “THERE IS ONE LITTLE DREAM OF A BEAUTIFUL DRUM”—" /> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> “THERE IS ONE LITTLE DREAM OF A BEAUTIFUL DRUM”—</div> </div></div> </div> {26} <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> And lo! thick and fast the other dreams come Of popguns that bang, and tin tops that hum, And a trumpet that bloweth! </div> <div class="stanza"> And dollies peep out of those wee little dreams With laughter and singing; And boats go a-floating on silvery streams, And the stars peek-a-boo with their own misty gleams, </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_026_sml.jpg" width-obs="301" height-obs="305" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {27} <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> And up, up, and up, where the Mother Moon beams, The fairies go winging! </div> <div class="stanza"> Would you dream all these dreams that are tiny and fleet? They’ll come to you sleeping; So shut the two eyes that are weary, my sweet, For the Rock-a-By Lady from Hushaby street, With poppies that hang from her head to her feet, Comes stealing; comes creeping. </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_027_sml.jpg" width-obs="134" height-obs="157" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {28} <div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_028_sml.jpg" width-obs="33" height-obs="114" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {29} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_029_sml.jpg" width-obs="263" height-obs="334" alt="Image unavailable: Garden and Cradle." /> </h2> {30} <div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_030_sml.jpg" width-obs="69" height-obs="90" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {31} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_031_sml.jpg" width-obs="236" height-obs="501" alt="Image unavailable: GARDEN AND CRADLE." /> </h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> WHEN our babe he goeth walking in his garden, Around his tinkling feet the sunbeams play;{32} The posies they are good to him, And bow them as they should to him, As fareth he upon his kingly way; And birdlings of the wood to him Make music, gentle music, all the day, When our babe he goeth walking in his garden. </div> <div class="stanza"> When our babe he goeth swinging in his cradle, Then the night it looketh ever sweetly down; The little stars are kind to him, The moon she hath a mind to him And layeth on his head a golden crown; And singeth then the wind to him A song, the gentle song of Bethlem-town, When our babe he goeth swinging in his cradle. </div> </div></div> {33} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_033_sml.jpg" width-obs="282" height-obs="576" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {34} <div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_034_sml.jpg" width-obs="99" height-obs="128" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {35} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_035_sml.jpg" width-obs="221" height-obs="411" alt="Image unavailable: The Night Wind." /> </h2> {36} <div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_036_sml.jpg" width-obs="50" height-obs="94" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {37} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_037_sml.jpg" width-obs="260" height-obs="375" alt="Image unavailable: THE NIGHT WIND" /> </h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> HAVE you ever heard the wind go “Yooooo”? ’Tis a pitiful sound to hear! It seems to chill you through and through With a strange and speechless fear. ’Tis the voice of the night that broods outside When folks should be asleep,{38} And many and many’s the time I’ve cried To the darkness brooding far and wide Over the land and the deep: “Whom do you want, O lonely night, That you wail the long hours through?” And the night would say in its ghostly way: “Yoooooooo! Yoooooooo! Yoooooooo!” </div> <div class="stanza"> My mother told me long ago (When I was a little tad) That when the night went wailing so, Somebody had been bad; And then, when I was snug in bed, Whither I had been sent, With the blankets pulled up round my head. I’d think of what my mother’d said, And wonder what boy she meant! And “Who’s been bad to-day?” I’d ask Of the wind that hoarsely blew, And the voice would say in its meaningful way: “Yoooooooo! Yoooooooo! Yoooooooo!” </div> </div></div> {39} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_039_sml.jpg" width-obs="266" height-obs="580" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {40} <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"></div> <div class="stanza"> That this was true I must allow— You’ll not believe it, though! Yes, though I’m quite a model now, I was not always so. And if you doubt what things I say, Suppose you make the test; Suppose, when you’ve been bad some day And up to bed are sent away From mother and the rest— Suppose you ask, “Who has been bad?” And then you’ll hear what’s true; For the wind will moan in its ruefulest tone: “Yoooooooo! Yoooooooo! Yoooooooo!” </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_040_sml.jpg" width-obs="64" height-obs="156" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {41} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_041_sml.jpg" width-obs="209" height-obs="258" alt="Image unavailable: The Dinkey Bird." /> </h2> {42} <div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_042_sml.jpg" width-obs="39" height-obs="108" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {43} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_043_sml.jpg" width-obs="297" height-obs="531" alt="Image unavailable: THE DINKEY BIRD." /> </h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> IN an ocean, ’way out yonder (As all sapient people know),{44} Is the land of Wonder-Wander, Whither children love to go; It’s their playing, romping, swinging, That give great joy to me While the Dinkey-Bird goes singing In the amfalula tree! </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_044_sml.jpg" width-obs="206" height-obs="109" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> There the gum-drops grow like cherries, And taffy’s thick as peas— Caramels you pick like berries When, and where, and how you please; Big red sugar-plums are clinging To the cliffs beside that sea Where the Dinkey-Bird is singing In the amfalula tree.{45} </div> <div class="stanza"> So when children shout and scamper And make merry all the day, When there’s naught to put a damper To the ardor of their play; When I hear their laughter ringing, Then I’m sure as sure can be That the Dinkey-Bird is singing In the amfalula tree. </div> <div class="stanza"> For the Dinkey-Bird’s bravuras And staccatos are so sweet— His roulades, appoggiaturas, And robustos so complete, That the youth of every nation— Be they near or far away— Have especial delectation In that gladsome roundelay. </div> <div class="stanza"> Their eyes grow bright and brighter, Their lungs begin to crow, Their hearts get light and lighter, And their cheeks are all aglow; For an echo cometh bringing The news to all and me, That the Dinkey-Bird is singing In the amfalula tree.{46} </div> <div class="stanza"> I’m sure you like to go there To see your feathered friend— And so many goodies grow there You would like to comprehend! Speed, little dreams, your winging To that land across the sea Where the Dinkey-Bird is singing In the amfalula tree! </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_046_sml.jpg" width-obs="172" height-obs="298" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {47} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_047_sml.jpg" width-obs="211" height-obs="287" alt="Image unavailable: So, so, Rock-a-by so!" /> </h2> {48} <div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_048_sml.jpg" width-obs="75" height-obs="122" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {49} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_049_sml.jpg" width-obs="" height-obs="" alt="Image unavailable: SO, SO, ROCK-A-BY, SO!" /> </h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> SO, so, rock-a-by so! Off to the garden where dreamikins grow; And here is a kiss on your winkyblink eyes, And here is a kiss on your dimpledown cheek{50} And here is a kiss for the treasure that lies In the beautiful garden way up in the skies Which you seek. Now mind these three kisses wherever you go— So, so, rock-a-by so! </div> <div class="stanza"> There’s one little fumfay who lives there, I know, For he dances all night where the dreamikins grow; I send him this kiss on your droopydrop eyes, I send him this kiss on your rosy-red cheek. And here is a kiss for the dream that shall rise When the fumfay shall dance in those far-away skies Which you seek. Be sure that you pay those three kisses you owe— So, so, rock-a-by so! </div> <div class="stanza"> And, by-low, as you rock-a-by go, Don’t forget mother who loveth you so! And here is her kiss on your weepydeep eyes, And here is her kiss on your peachypink cheek, </div> </div></div> {51} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_051_sml.jpg" width-obs="308" height-obs="473" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {52} <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> And here is her kiss for the dreamland that lies Like a babe on the breast of those far-away skies Which you seek— The blinkywink garden where dreamikins grow— So, so, rock-a-by so! </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_052_sml.jpg" width-obs="267" height-obs="186" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {53} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_053_sml.jpg" width-obs="182" height-obs="190" alt="Image unavailable: The Duel." /> </h2> {54} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_054_sml.jpg" width-obs="83" height-obs="112" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {55} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_055_sml.jpg" width-obs="336" height-obs="304" alt="Image unavailable: THE DUEL." /> </h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> THE gingham dog and the calico cat Side by side on the table sat; ’Twas half-past twelve, and (what do you think!) Nor one nor t’other had slept a wink!{56} The old Dutch clock and the Chinese plate Appeared to know as sure as fate There was going to be a terrible spat. (I wasn’t there; I simply state What was told me by the Chinese plate!) </div> <div class="stanza"> The gingham dog went “bow-wow-wow!” And the calico cat replied “mee-ow!” The air was littered, an hour or so, With bits of gingham and calico, While the old Dutch clock in the chimney place Up with its hands before its face, For it always dreaded a family row! (Now mind: I’m only telling you What the old Dutch clock declares is true!) </div> <div class="stanza"> The Chinese plate looked very blue, And wailed, “Oh, dear! what shall we do?” But the gingham dog and the calico cat Wallowed this way and tumbled that, 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!) </div> </div></div> {57} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_057_sml.jpg" width-obs="372" height-obs="542" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {58} <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"></div> <div class="stanza"> Next morning, 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! 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, And that is how I came to know.) </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_058_sml.jpg" width-obs="144" height-obs="211" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {59} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_059_sml.jpg" width-obs="209" height-obs="304" alt="Image unavailable: Good Children Street." /> </h2> {60} <div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_060_sml.jpg" width-obs="82" height-obs="111" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {61} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_061b_sml.jpg" width-obs="176" height-obs="81" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> <div class="poetry"> <div class="figleft1" style="width: 159px;"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_061a_sml.jpg" width-obs="159" height-obs="528" alt="Image unavailable: GOOD-CHILDREN STREET." /></div> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> THERE’s a dear little home in Good-Children street— My heart turneth fondly to-day Where tinkle of tongues and patter of feet Make sweetest of music at play; Where the sunshine of love illumines each face And warms every heart in that old-fashioned place.{62} </div> <div class="stanza"> For dear little children go romping about With dollies and tin tops and drums, And, my! how they frolic and scamper and shout Till bedtime too speedily comes! </div> <ANTIMG src="images/i_062_sml.jpg" width-obs="149" height-obs="402" alt="[Image unavailable]" /> {63} <div class="stanza"> Oh, days they are golden and days they are fleet With little folk living in Good-Children street. </div> <div class="stanza"> See, here comes an army with guns painted red, And swords, caps, and plumes of all sorts; The captain rides gaily and proudly ahead On a stick-horse that prances and snorts! Oh, legions of soldiers you’re certain to meet— Nice make-believe soldiers—in Good-Children street. </div> <div class="stanza"> And yonder Odette wheels her dolly about— Poor dolly! I’m sure she is ill, For one of her blue china eyes has dropped out And her voice is asthmatic’ly shrill. Then, too, I observe she is minus her feet, Which causes much sorrow in Good-Children street. </div> <div class="stanza"> ’Tis so the dear children go romping about With dollies and banners and drums, And I venture to say they are sadly put out{64} When an end to their jubilee comes: Oh, days they are golden and days they are fleet With little folk living in Good-Children street! </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_064_sml.jpg" width-obs="91" height-obs="155" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {65} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_065_sml.jpg" width-obs="207" height-obs="254" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_066_sml.jpg" width-obs="66" height-obs="102" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_067_sml.jpg" width-obs="339" height-obs="263" alt="Image unavailable: The Bottle Tree." /> </h2> {66} {67} <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> A BOTTLE TREE bloometh in Winkyway land— Heigh-ho for a bottle, I say! A snug little berth in that ship I demand That rocketh the Bottle-Tree babies away Where the Bottle Tree bloometh by night and by day And reacheth its fruit to each wee, dimpled hand;{68} You take of that fruit as much as you list, For colic’s a nuisance that doesn’t exist! </div> <ANTIMG src="images/i_068_sml.jpg" width-obs="297" height-obs="399" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /> <div class="stanza"> So cuddle me close, and cuddle me fast, And cuddle me snug in my cradle away,{69} For I hunger and thirst for that precious repast— Heigh-ho for a bottle, I say! </div> <ANTIMG src="images/i_069_sml.jpg" width-obs="339" height-obs="390" alt="Image unavailable: THE BOTTLE TREE." /> <div class="stanza"> The Bottle Tree bloometh by night and by day! Heigh-ho for Winkyway land!{70} And Bottle-Tree fruit (as I’ve heard people say) Makes bellies of Bottle-Tree babies expand— And that is a trick I would fain understand! Heigh-ho for a bottle to-day! And heigh-ho for a bottle to-night— A bottle of milk that is creamy and white! So cuddle me close, and cuddle me fast, And cuddle me snug in my cradle away, For I hunger and thirst for that precious repast— Heigh-ho for a bottle, I say! </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_070_sml.jpg" width-obs="203" height-obs="90" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {71} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_071_sml.jpg" width-obs="264" height-obs="384" alt="Image unavailable: Lady Button-Eyes." /> </h2> {72} <div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_072_sml.jpg" width-obs="60" height-obs="115" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {73} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_073_sml.jpg" width-obs="213" height-obs="554" alt="Image unavailable: LADY BUTTON-EYES" /> </h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> WHEN the busy day is done, And my weary little one{74} Rocketh gently to and fro; When the night winds softly blow, And the crickets in the glen Chirp and chirp and chirp again; When upon the haunted green Fairies dance around their queen— Then from yonder misty skies Cometh Lady Button-Eyes </div> <div class="stanza"> Through the murk and mist and gloam To our quiet, cozy home, Where to singing, sweet and low, Rocks a cradle to and fro; Where the clock’s dull monotone Telleth of the day that’s done; Where the moonbeams hover o’er Playthings sleeping on the floor— Where my weary wee one lies Cometh Lady Button-Eyes. </div> <div class="stanza"> Cometh like a fleeting ghost From some distant eerie coast; Never footfall can you hear As that spirit fareth near— </div> </div></div> {75} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_075_sml.jpg" width-obs="195" height-obs="528" alt="Image unavailable: “THEN FROM YONDER MISTY SKIES COMETH LADY BUTTON-EYES”" /></div> {76} <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Never whisper, never word From that shadow-queen is heard. In ethereal raiment dight, From the realm of fay and sprite In the depth of yonder skies Cometh Lady Button-Eyes. </div> <div class="stanza"> Layeth she her hands upon My dear weary little one, And those white hands overspread Like a veil the curly head, Seem to fondle and caress Every little silken tress; Then she smooths the eyelids down Over those two eyes of brown— In such soothing, tender wise Cometh Lady Button-Eyes. </div> <div class="stanza"> Dearest, feel upon your brow That caressing magic now; For the crickets in the glen Chirp and chirp and chirp again, While upon the haunted green Fairies dance around their queen,{77} And the moonbeams hover o’er Playthings sleeping on the floor— Hush, my sweet! from yonder skies Cometh Lady Button-Eyes! </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_077_sml.jpg" width-obs="204" height-obs="105" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {78} <div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_078_sml.jpg" width-obs="57" height-obs="65" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {79} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_079_sml.jpg" width-obs="203" height-obs="257" alt="Image unavailable: The Ride to Bumpville." /> </h2> {80} <div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_080_sml.jpg" width-obs="91" height-obs="100" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {81} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_081_sml.jpg" width-obs="332" height-obs="431" alt="Image unavailable: THE RIDE TO BUMPVILLE." /> </h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> PLAY that my knee was a calico mare Saddled and bridled for Bumpville; Leap to the back of this steed if you dare, And gallop away to Bumpville!{82} I hope you’ll be sure to sit fast in your seat, For this calico mare is prodigiously fleet, And many adventures you’re likely to meet As you journey along to Bumpville. </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_082_sml.jpg" width-obs="236" height-obs="157" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> This calico mare both gallops and trots While whisking you off to Bumpville; She paces, she shies, and she stumbles, in spots, In the tortuous road to Bumpville; And sometimes this strangely mercurial steed Will suddenly stop and refuse to proceed, Which, all will admit, is vexatious indeed, When one is en route to Bumpville!{83} </div> <div class="stanza"> She’s scared of the cars when the engine goes “Toot!” Down by the crossing at Bumpville; You’d better look out for that treacherous brute Bearing you off to Bumpville! With a snort she rears up on her hindermost heels, And executes jigs and Virginia reels— Words fail to explain how embarrassed one feels Dancing so wildly to Bumpville! </div> <div class="stanza"> It’s bumpytybump and it’s jiggityjog, Journeying on to Bumpville; It’s over the hilltop and down through the bog You ride on your way to Bumpville; It’s rattletybang over boulder and stump, There are rivers to ford, there are fences to jump, And the corduroy road it goes bumpytybump, Mile after mile to Bumpville! </div> <div class="stanza"> Perhaps you’ll observe it’s no easy thing Making the journey to Bumpville, So I think, on the whole, it were prudent to bring An end to this ride to Bumpville;{84} For, though she has uttered no protest or plaint, The calico mare must be blowing and faint— What’s more to the point, I’m blowed if I ain’t! So play we have got to Bumpville! </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_084_sml.jpg" width-obs="211" height-obs="121" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {85} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_085_sml.jpg" width-obs="199" height-obs="177" alt="Image unavailable: Shuffle-Shoon and Amber-Locks" /> </h2> {86} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_086_sml.jpg" width-obs="48" height-obs="87" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {87} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_087_sml.jpg" width-obs="352" height-obs="175" alt="Image unavailable: SHUFFLE-SHOON AND AMBER-LOCKS" /> </h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> SHUFFLE-SHOON and Amber-Locks Sit together, building blocks; Shuffle-Shoon is old and grey, Amber-Locks a little child, But together at their play Age and Youth are reconciled, And with sympathetic glee Build their castles fair to see.{88} </div> <div class="stanza"> “When I grow to be a man” (So the wee one’s prattle ran), “I shall build a castle so— With a gateway broad and grand; Here a pretty vine shall grow, There a soldier guard shall stand; And the tower shall be so high, Folks will wonder, by-and-by!” </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_088_sml.jpg" width-obs="219" height-obs="215" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {89} <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Shuffle-Shoon quoth: “Yes, I know; Thus I builded long ago! Here a gate and there a wall, Here a window, there a door; Here a steeple wondrous tall Riseth ever more and more! But the years have levelled low What I builded long ago!” </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_089_sml.jpg" width-obs="178" height-obs="203" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {90} <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"></div> <div class="stanza"> So they gossip at their play, Heedless of the fleeting day; One speaks of the Long Ago Where his dead hopes buried lie; One with chubby cheeks aglow Prattleth of the By-and-By; Side by side, they build their blocks— Shuffle-Shoon and Amber-Locks. </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_090_sml.jpg" width-obs="88" height-obs="182" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {91} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_091_sml.jpg" width-obs="341" height-obs="349" alt="Image unavailable: The Shut-Eye Train." /> </h2> {92} <div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_092_sml.jpg" width-obs="100" height-obs="136" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {93} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_093_sml.jpg" width-obs="353" height-obs="497" alt="Image unavailable: THE SHUT-EYE TRAIN." /> </h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> COME, my little one, with me! There are wondrous sights to see{94} As the evening shadows fall; In your pretty cap and gown, Don’t detain The Shut-Eye train— “Ting-a-ling!” the bell it goeth, “Toot-toot!” the whistle bloweth, And we hear the warning call: “All aboard for Shut-Eye Town!” </div> <div class="stanza"> Over hill and over plain Soon will speed the Shut-Eye train! Through the blue where bloom the stars And the Mother Moon looks down We’ll away To land of Fay— Oh, the sights that we shall see there! Come, my little one, with me there— ’Tis a goodly train of cars— All aboard for Shut-Eye Town! </div> <div class="stanza"> Swifter than a wild bird’s flight, Through the realms of fleecy light We shall speed and speed away! Let the Night in envy frown—{95} What care we How wroth she be! To the Balow-land above us, To the Balow-folk who love us, Let us hasten while we may— All aboard for Shut-Eye Town! </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_095_sml.jpg" width-obs="194" height-obs="339" alt="Image unavailable: “TO THE BALOW-FOLK WHO LOVE US”" /> “TO THE BALOW-FOLK WHO LOVE US”</div> {96} <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Shut-Eye Town is passing fair— Golden dreams await us there; We shall dream those dreams, my dear, Till the Mother Moon goes down— See unfold Delights untold! And in those mysterious places We shall see beloved faces{97} <ANTIMG src="images/i_096_sml.jpg" width-obs="147" height-obs="354" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /> And beloved voices hear In the grace of Shut-Eye Town. </div> <div class="stanza"> Heavy are your eyes, my sweet, Weary are your little feet— Nestle closer up to me In your pretty cap and gown; Don’t detain The Shut-Eye train! “Ting-a-ling!” the bell it goeth, “Toot-toot!” the whistle bloweth; Oh, the sights that we shall see! All aboard for Shut-Eye Town! </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_097_sml.jpg" width-obs="150" height-obs="209" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {98}  <div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_098_sml.jpg" width-obs="70" height-obs="88" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {99} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_099_sml.jpg" width-obs="210" height-obs="332" alt="Image unavailable: Little Oh-Dear." /> </h2> {100} <div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_100_sml.jpg" width-obs="82" height-obs="74" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {101} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_101_sml.jpg" width-obs="236" height-obs="461" alt="Image unavailable: LITTLE-OH-DEAR" /> </h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> SEE, what a wonderful garden is here, Planted and trimmed for my Little-Oh-Dear!{102} Posies so gaudy and grass of such brown— Search ye the country and hunt ye the town And never ye’ll meet with a garden so queer As this one I’ve made for my Little-Oh-Dear! </div> <div class="stanza"> Marigolds white and buttercups blue, Lilies all dabbled with honey and dew, The cactus that trails over trellis and wall, Roses and pansies and violets—all Make proper obeisance and reverent cheer When into her garden steps Little-Oh-Dear! </div> <div class="stanza"> And up at the top of that lavender-tree A silver-bird singeth as only can she; For, ever and only, she singeth the song “I love you—I love you!” the happy day long;— Then the echo—the echo that smiteth me here! “I love you, I love you,” my Little-Oh-Dear! </div> <div class="stanza"> The garden may wither, the silver-bird fly— But what careth my little precious, or I? </div> </div></div> {103} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_103_sml.jpg" width-obs="198" height-obs="479" alt="Image unavailable: “A SILVER-BIRD SINGETH AS ONLY CAN SHE”" /> <div class="poetry"><div class="poem"> “A SILVER-BIRD SINGETH   AS ONLY CAN SHE”</div> </div></div> {104} <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> From her pathway of flowers that in spring-time upstart She walketh the tenderer way in my heart; And, oh, it is always the summer-time here With that song of “I love you,” my Little-Oh-Dear! </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_104_sml.jpg" width-obs="61" height-obs="117" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {105} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_105_sml.jpg" width-obs="215" height-obs="408" alt="Image unavailable: The Fly-Away Horse." /> </h2> {106} <div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_106_sml.jpg" width-obs="62" height-obs="95" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {107} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_107_sml.jpg" width-obs="317" height-obs="357" alt="Image unavailable: THE FLY-AWAY HORSE." /> </h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> OH, a wonderful horse is the Fly-Away Horse— Perhaps you have seen him before; Perhaps, while you slept, his shadow has swept Through the moonlight that floats on the floor.{108} </div> <div class="stanza"> For it’s only at night, when the stars twinkle bright, That the Fly-Away Horse, with a neigh And a pull at his rein and a toss of his mane, Is up on his heels and away! The Moon in the sky, As he gallopeth by, Cries: “Oh! what a marvellous sight!” And the Stars in dismay Hide their faces away In the lap of old Grandmother Night. </div> <div class="stanza"> It is yonder, out yonder, the Fly-Away Horse Speedeth ever and ever away— Over meadows and lanes, over mountains and plains, Over streamlets that sing at their play; And over the sea like a ghost sweepeth he, While the ships they go sailing below, And he speedeth so fast that the men at the mast Adjudge him some portent of woe. “What ho there!” they cry, As he flourishes by </div> </div></div> {109} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_109_sml.jpg" width-obs="297" height-obs="455" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> “THE MOON IN THE SKY, AS HE GALLOPETH BY, CRIES: ‘OH! WHAT A MARVELLOUS SIGHT!’” </div> </div></div> </div> {110} <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> With a whisk of his beautiful tail; And the fish in the sea Are as scared as can be, From the nautilus up to the whale! </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_110_sml.jpg" width-obs="227" height-obs="124" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> And the Fly-Away Horse seeks those far-away lands You little folk dream of at night— Where candy-trees grow, and honey-brooks flow, And corn-fields with popcorn are white; And the beasts in the wood are ever so good To children who visit them there— What glory astride of a lion to ride, Or to wrestle around with a bear! The monkeys, they say: “Come on, let us play,”{111} And they frisk in the cocoa-nut trees: While the parrots, that cling To the peanut-vines, sing Or converse with comparative ease! </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_111_sml.jpg" width-obs="218" height-obs="122" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Off! scamper to bed—you shall ride him to-night! For, as soon as you’ve fallen asleep, With a jubilant neigh he shall bear you away Over forest and hillside and deep! But tell us, my dear, all you see and you hear In those beautiful lands over there, Where the Fly-Away Horse wings his far-away course With the wee one consigned to his care. Then grandma will cry In amazement: “Oh, my!”{112} And she’ll think it could never be so; And only we two Shall know it is true— You and I, little precious! shall know! </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_112_sml.jpg" width-obs="53" height-obs="105" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {113} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_113_sml.jpg" width-obs="207" height-obs="203" alt="Image unavailable: Fiddle-Dee-Dee." /> </h2> {114} <div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_114_sml.jpg" width-obs="76" height-obs="118" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {115} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_115_sml.jpg" width-obs="325" height-obs="268" alt="Image unavailable: FIDDLE-DEE-DEE" /> </h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> THERE once was a bird that lived up in a tree, And all he could whistle was “Fiddle-dee-dee”— A very provoking, unmusical song For one to be whistling the summer day long! Yet always contented and busy was he With that vocal recurrence of “Fiddle-dee-dee.” </div> </div></div> {116} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_116_sml.jpg" width-obs="323" height-obs="413" alt="Image unavailable: ‘By our St Didy! the deed must be done’" /></div> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Hard by lived a brave little soldier of four, That weird iteration repented him sore;{117} “I prithee, Dear-Mother-Mine! fetch me my gun, For, by our St. Didy! the deed must be done That shall presently rid all creation and me Of that ominous bird and his ‘Fiddle-dee-dee’!” </div> <div class="stanza"> Then out came Dear-Mother-Mine, bringing her son His awfully truculent little red gun; The stock was of pine and the barrel of tin, The “bang” it came out where the bullet went in— The right kind of weapon I think you’ll agree For slaying all fowl that go “Fiddle-dee-dee”! </div> <div class="stanza"> The brave little soldier quoth never a word, But he up and he drew a straight bead on that bird; And, while that vain creature provokingly sang, The gun it went off with a terrible bang!{118} Then loud laughed the youth—“By my Bottle,” cried he, “I’ve put a quietus on ‘Fiddle-dee-dee’!” </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_118_sml.jpg" width-obs="243" height-obs="417" alt="Image unavailable: ‘The “bang” it came out where the bullet went in-’" /></div> {119} <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Out came then Dear-Mother-Mine, saying: “My son,{120} <ANTIMG src="images/i_119_sml.jpg" width-obs="254" height-obs="422" alt="Image unavailable: ‘“By my Bottle” cried he,’" /> Right well have you wrought with your little red gun! Hereafter no evil at all need I fear, With such a brave soldier as You-My-Love here!” She kissed the dear boy. [The bird in the tree Continued to whistle his “Fiddle-dee-dee”!] </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_120_sml.jpg" width-obs="45" height-obs="118" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {121} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_121_sml.jpg" width-obs="198" height-obs="551" alt="Image unavailable: POEMS FROM “WITH TRUMPET AND DRUM.”" /> </h2> {122} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_122_sml.jpg" width-obs="84" height-obs="108" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {123} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_123_sml.jpg" width-obs="195" height-obs="106" alt="Image unavailable: The Sugar Plum Tree." /> </h2> {124} <div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_124_sml.jpg" width-obs="60" height-obs="121" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {125} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_125_sml.jpg" width-obs="239" height-obs="432" alt="Image unavailable: THE SUGAR-PLUM TREE." /> </h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> HAVE you ever heard of the Sugar-Plum Tree? ’Tis a marvel of great renown! </div> </div></div> {126} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_126_sml.jpg" width-obs="216" height-obs="483" alt="Image unavailable: When you’ve got to the tree," /></div> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> It blooms on the shore of the Lollipop sea In the garden of Shut-Eye Town;{127} </div> <ANTIMG src="images/i_127_sml.jpg" width-obs="209" height-obs="285" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /> <div class="stanza"> The fruit that it bears is so wondrously sweet (As those who have tasted it say) </div> <div class="stanza"> That good little children have only to eat Of that fruit to be happy next day. {128} When you’ve got to the tree, you would have a hard time To capture the fruit which I sing; 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 a gingerbread dog prowls below— And this is the way you contrive to get at Those sugar-plums tempting you so: </div> <div class="stanza"> 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 chocolate cat goes cavorting around From this leafy limb unto that, And the sugar-plums tumble, of course, to the ground— Hurrah for that chocolate cat! </div> <div class="stanza"> There are marshmallows, gumdrops, and peppermint canes, With stripings of scarlet or gold, And you carry away of the treasure that rains As much as your apron can hold! </div> </div></div> {129} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_129_sml.jpg" width-obs="198" height-obs="513" alt="Image unavailable: “AS MUCH AS YOUR APRON CAN HOLD!”" /> “AS MUCH AS YOUR APRON CAN HOLD!”</div> {130} <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> So come, little child, cuddle closer to me In your dainty white nightcap and gown, And I’ll rock you away to that Sugar-Plum Tree In the garden of Shut-Eye Town. </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_130_sml.jpg" width-obs="128" height-obs="262" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {131} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_131_sml.jpg" width-obs="174" height-obs="229" alt="Image unavailable: Krinken." /> </h2> {132} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_132_sml.jpg" width-obs="82" height-obs="100" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {133} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_133_sml.jpg" width-obs="191" height-obs="552" alt="Image unavailable: KRINKEN." /> </h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> KRINKEN was a little child,— It was summer when he smiled,{134} Oft the hoary sea and grim Stretched its white arms out to him; Calling, “Sun-child, come to me; Let me warm my heart with thee!” But the child heard not the sea. </div> <div class="stanza"> Krinken on the beach one day Saw a maiden Nis at play; Fair, and very fair, was she, Just a little child was he. “Krinken,” said the maiden Nis, “Let me have a little kiss,— Just a kiss, and go with me To the summer-lands that be Down within the silver sea.” </div> <div class="stanza"> Krinken was a little child, By the maiden Nis beguiled; Down into the calling sea With the maiden Nis went he. </div> <div class="stanza"> But the sea calls out no more, It is winter on the shore,—{135} Winter where that little child Made sweet summer when he smiled; Though ’tis summer on the sea Where with maiden Nis went he,— Summer, summer evermore,— It is winter on the shore, Winter, winter evermore. </div> <div class="stanza"> Of the summer on the deep Come sweet visions in my sleep; His fair face lifts from the sea, His dear voice calls out to me,— These my dreams of summer be. </div> <div class="stanza"> Krinken was a little child, By the maiden Nis beguiled; Oft the hoary sea and grim Reached its longing arms to him, Crying, “Sun-child, come to me; Let me warm my heart with thee!” But the sea calls out no more; It is winter on the shore,— Winter, cold and dark and wild; Krinken was a little child,—{136} It was summer when he smiled; Down he went into the sea, And the winter bides with me. Just a little child was he. </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_136_sml.jpg" width-obs="219" height-obs="279" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {137} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_137_sml.jpg" alt="Image unavailable: Pittypat and Tippytoe." /> </h2> {138} <div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_138_sml.jpg" width-obs="67" height-obs="106" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {139} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_139_sml.jpg" width-obs="311" height-obs="240" alt="Image unavailable: PITTYPAT AND TIPPYTOE." /> </h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> ALL day long they come and go— Pittypat and Tippytoe; Footprints up and down the hall, Playthings scattered on the floor, </div> </div></div> {140} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_140_sml.jpg" width-obs="336" height-obs="491" alt="Image unavailable: ‘Only buttered bread will do,’" /></div> {141} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_141_sml.jpg" width-obs="324" height-obs="483" alt="Image unavailable: ‘Inches thick with sugar too.’" /></div> {142} <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Finger-marks along the wall, Tell-tale smudges on the door— By these presents you shall know Pittypat and Tippytoe. </div> <div class="stanza"> How they riot at their play! And a dozen times a day In they troop, demanding bread— Only buttered bread will do, And the butter must be spread Inches thick with sugar too! And I never can say “No, Pittypat and Tippytoe!” </div> <div class="stanza"> Sometimes there are griefs to soothe, Sometimes ruffled brows to smooth; For (I much regret to say) Tippytoe and Pittypat Sometimes interrupt their play With an internecine spat; Fie, for shame! to quarrel so— Pittypat and Tippytoe!{143} </div> <div class="stanza"> Oh the thousand worrying things Every day recurrent brings! Hands to scrub and hair to brush, Search for playthings gone amiss, Many a wee complaint to hush, Many a little bump to kiss; Life seems one vain, fleeting show To Pittypat and Tippytoe! </div> <div class="stanza"> And when day is at an end, There are little duds to mend: Little frocks are strangely torn, Little shoes great holes reveal, Little hose, but one day worn, Rudely yawn at toe and heel! Who but you could work such woe, Pittypat and Tippytoe! </div> <div class="stanza"> On the floor and down the hall, Rudely smutched upon the wall, There are proofs in every kind Of the havoc they have wrought,{144} And upon my heart you’d find Just such trade-marks, if you sought; Oh, how glad I am ’tis so, Pittypat and Tippytoe! </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_144_sml.jpg" width-obs="131" height-obs="177" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {145} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_145_sml.jpg" width-obs="199" height-obs="127" alt="Image unavailable: Little Blue Pigeon." /> </h2> {146} <div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_146_sml.jpg" width-obs="69" height-obs="69" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {147} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_147_sml.jpg" width-obs="170" height-obs="393" alt="Image unavailable: LITTLE BLUE PIGEON." /> </h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> SLEEP, little pigeon, and fold your wings— Little blue pigeon with velvet eyes;{148} Sleep to the singing of mother-bird swinging— Swinging the nest where her little one lies. </div> <div class="stanza"> Away out yonder I see a star— Silvery star with a tinkling song; To the soft dew falling I hear it calling— Calling and tinkling the night along. </div> <div class="stanza"> In through the window a moonbeam comes— Little gold moonbeam with misty wings; All silently creeping, it asks: “Is he sleeping— Sleeping and dreaming while mother sings?” </div> <div class="stanza"> Up from the sea there floats the sob Of the waves that are breaking upon the shore, As though they were groaning in anguish, and moaning— Bemoaning the ship that shall come no more.{149} </div> <div class="stanza"> But sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings— Little blue pigeon with mournful eyes; Am I not singing?—see, I am swinging— Swinging the nest where my darling lies. </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_149_sml.jpg" width-obs="145" height-obs="140" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {150} <div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_150_sml.jpg" width-obs="66" height-obs="97" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {151} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_151_sml.jpg" width-obs="197" height-obs="129" alt="Image unavailable: Teeny-Weeny." /> </h2> {152} <div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_152_sml.jpg" width-obs="58" height-obs="94" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {153} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_153_sml.jpg" width-obs="314" height-obs="414" alt="Image unavailable: TEENY-WEENY." /> </h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> EVERY evening, after tea, Teeny-Weeny comes to me.{154} And, astride my willing knee, Plies his lash and rides away; Though that palfrey, all too spare, Finds his burden hard to bear, Teeny-Weeny doesn’t care; He commands, and I obey! </div> <div class="stanza"> First it’s trot, and gallop then; Now it’s back to trot again; Teeny-Weeny likes it when He is riding fierce and fast. Then his dark eyes brighter grow And his cheeks are all aglow: “More!” he cries, and never “Whoa!” Till the horse breaks down at last. </div> <div class="stanza"> Oh, the strange and lovely sights Teeny-Weeny sees of nights, As he makes those famous flights On that wondrous horse of his! Oftentimes before he knows, Wearylike his eyelids close,{155} And, still smiling, off he goes Where the land of By-low is. </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_155_sml.jpg" width-obs="239" height-obs="170" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> There he sees the folk of fay Hard at ring-a-rosie play, And he hears those fairies say: “Come, let’s chase him to and fro!” But, with a defiant shout, Teeny puts that host to rout; Of this tale I make no doubt, Every night he tells it so. </div> <div class="stanza"> So I feel a tender pride In my boy who dares to ride{156} That fierce horse of his astride, Off into those misty lands; And as on my breast he lies, Dreaming in that wondrous wise, I caress his folded eyes, Pat his little dimpled hands. </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_156_sml.jpg" width-obs="199" height-obs="164" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> On a time he went away, Just a little while to stay, And I’m not ashamed to say I was very lonely then; Life without him was so sad, You can fancy I was glad{157} And made merry when I had Teeny-Weeny back again! </div> <div class="stanza"> So of evenings, after tea, When he toddles up to me And goes tugging at my knee, You should hear his palfrey neigh! You should see him prance and shy, When, with an exulting cry, Teeny-Weeny, vaulting high, Plies his lash and rides away! </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_157_sml.jpg" width-obs="84" height-obs="206" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {158} <div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_158_sml.jpg" width-obs="67" height-obs="72" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {159} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_159_sml.jpg" width-obs="209" height-obs="203" alt="Image unavailable: Buttercup, Poppy, Forget-me-not." /> </h2> {160} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_160_sml.jpg" width-obs="42" height-obs="111" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {161} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_161_sml.jpg" width-obs="288" height-obs="432" alt="Image unavailable: BUTTERCUP, POPPY, FORGET-ME-NOT." /> </h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> BUTTERCUP, Poppy, Forget-me-not— These three bloomed in a garden spot;{162} And once, all merry with song and play, A little one heard three voices say: “Shine and shadow, summer and spring, O thou child with the tangled hair And laughing eyes! we three shall bring Each an offering passing fair.” The little one did not understand, But they bent and kissed the dimpled hand. </div> <div class="stanza"> Buttercup gamboled all day long, Sharing the little one’s mirth and song; Then, stealing along on misty gleams, Poppy came bearing the sweetest dreams. Playing and dreaming—and that was all Till once a sleeper would not awake; Kissing the little face under the pall, We thought of the words the third flower spake; And we found betimes in a hallowed spot The solace and peace of Forget-me-not. </div> <div class="stanza"> Buttercup shareth the joy of day, Glinting with gold the hours of play; Bringeth the poppy sweet repose, When the hands would fold and the eyes would close;{163} And after it all—the play and the sleep Of a little life—what cometh then? To the hearts that ache and the eyes that weep A new flower bringeth God’s peace again. Each one serveth its tender lot— Buttercup, Poppy, Forget-me-not. </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_163_sml.jpg" width-obs="154" height-obs="290" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {164} <div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_164_sml.jpg" width-obs="85" height-obs="81" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {165} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_165_sml.jpg" width-obs="274" height-obs="169" alt="Image unavailable: Wynken, Blynken, and Nod." /> </h2> {166} <div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_166_sml.jpg" width-obs="72" height-obs="149" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {167} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_167_sml.jpg" width-obs="205" height-obs="261" alt="Image unavailable: WYNKEN, BLYNKEN, AND NOD." /> </h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> WYNKEN, Blynken, and Nod one night Sailed off in a wooden shoe— Sailed on a river of crystal light, Into a sea of dew.{168} </div> <div class="stanza"> “Where are you going, and what do you wish?” The old moon asked the three. “We have come to fish for the herring fish That live in this beautiful sea; Nets of silver and gold have we!” Said Wynken, Blynken, And Nod. </div> <div class="stanza"> The old moon laughed and sang a song, As they rocked in the wooden shoe, And the wind that sped them all night long Ruffled the waves of dew. The little stars were the herring fish That lived in that beautiful sea— “Now cast your nets wherever you wish— Never afeard are we”; So cried the stars to the fishermen three: Wynken, Blynken, And Nod. </div> </div></div> {169} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_169_sml.jpg" width-obs="280" height-obs="588" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {170} <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> All night long their nets they threw To the stars in the twinkling foam— Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe, Bringing the fishermen home; ’Twas all so pretty a sail it seemed As if it could not be, And some folks thought ’twas a dream they’d dreamed Of sailing that beautiful sea— But I shall name you the fishermen three: Wynken, Blynken, And Nod. </div> <div class="stanza"> Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes, And Nod is a little head, And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies Is a wee one’s trundle-bed. So shut your eyes while mother sings Of wonderful sights that be, And you shall see the beautiful things </div> </div></div> {171} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_171_sml.jpg" width-obs="304" height-obs="592" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {172} <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> As you rock in the misty sea, Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three: Wynken, Blynken, And Nod. </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_172_sml.jpg" width-obs="131" height-obs="123" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {173} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_173_sml.jpg" width-obs="254" height-obs="158" alt="Image unavailable: Little Mistress Sans-Merci." /> </h2> {174} <div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_174_sml.jpg" width-obs="46" height-obs="86" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {175} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_175_sml.jpg" width-obs="219" height-obs="456" alt="Image unavailable: LITTLE MISTRESS SANS-MERCI." /> </h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> LITTLE Mistress Sans-Merci Fareth world-wide, fancy free:{176} Trotteth cooing to and fro, And her cooing is command— Never ruled there yet, I trow, Mightier despot in the land. And my heart it lieth where Mistress Sans-Merci doth fare. </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_176_sml.jpg" width-obs="97" height-obs="118" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Little Mistress Sans-Merci— She hath made a slave of me! “Go,” she biddeth, and I go— “Come,” and I am fain to come—{177} Never mercy doth she show, Be she wroth or frolicsome, Yet am I content to be Slave to Mistress Sans-Merci! </div> <div class="stanza"> Little Mistress Sans-Merci Hath become so dear to me That I count as passing sweet All the pain her moods impart, And I bless the little feet That go trampling on my heart: Ah, how lonely life would be But for little Sans-Merci! </div> <div class="stanza"> Little Mistress Sans-Merci, Cuddle close this night to me, And the heart, which all day long Ruthless thou hast trod upon,{178} Shall outpour a soothing song For its best belovèd one— All its tenderness for thee, Little Mistress Sans-Merci! </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_178_sml.jpg" width-obs="92" height-obs="224" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {179} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_179_sml.jpg" width-obs="219" height-obs="136" alt="Image unavailable: Hi-Spy." /> </h2> {180} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_180_sml.jpg" width-obs="163" height-obs="74" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {181} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_181_sml.jpg" width-obs="346" height-obs="133" alt="Image unavailable: HI-SPY." /> </h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> STRANGE that the city thoroughfare, Noisy and bustling all the day, Should with the night renounce its care And lend itself to children’s play! </div> <div class="stanza"> Oh, girls are girls, and boys are boys, And have been so since Abel’s birth, And shall be so till dolls and toys Are with the children swept from earth.{182} </div> <div class="stanza"> The selfsame sport that crowns the day Of many a Syrian shepherd’s son, Beguiles the little lads at play By night in stately Babylon. </div> <div class="stanza"> I hear their voices in the street, Yet ’tis so different now from then! Come, brother! from your winding-sheet, And let us two be boys again! </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_182_sml.jpg" width-obs="83" height-obs="202" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {183} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_183_sml.jpg" width-obs="224" height-obs="381" alt="Image unavailable: Little Boy Blue." /></div> {184} <div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_184_sml.jpg" width-obs="58" height-obs="108" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {185} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_185_sml.jpg" width-obs="302" height-obs="270" alt="Image unavailable: LITTLE BOY BLUE." /> </h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> THE little toy dog is covered with dust, But sturdy and stanch he stands; And the little toy soldier is red with rust, And the musket moulds in his hands.{186} Time was when the little toy dog was new, And the soldier was passing fair; And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue Kissed them and put them there. </div> <div class="stanza"> “Now, don’t you go till I come,” he said, “And don’t you make any noise!” So, toddling off to his trundle-bed, He dreamt of the pretty toys; And, as he was dreaming, an angel song Awakened our Little Boy Blue— Oh! the years are many, the years are long, But the little toy friends are true! </div> <div class="stanza"> Aye, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand, Each in the same old place— Awaiting the touch of a little hand, The smile of a little face; </div> </div></div> {187} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_187_sml.jpg" width-obs="311" height-obs="576" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {188} <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> And they wonder, as waiting the long years through In the dust of that little chair, What has become of our Little Boy Blue, Since he kissed them and put them there. </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_188_sml.jpg" width-obs="81" height-obs="82" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {189} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_189_sml.jpg" width-obs="188" height-obs="168" alt="Image unavailable: Heigho, My Dearie" /> </h2> {190} <div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_190_sml.jpg" width-obs="91" height-obs="106" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {191} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_191_sml.jpg" width-obs="228" height-obs="404" alt="Image unavailable: HEIGHO, MY DEARIE" /> </h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> A MOONBEAM floateth from the skies, Whispering: “Heigho, my dearie;{192} I would spin a web before your eyes— A beautiful web of silver light Wherein is many a wondrous sight Of a radiant garden leagues away, Where the softly tinkling lilies sway And the snow-white lambkins are at play— Heigho, my dearie!” </div> <div class="stanza"> A brownie stealeth from the vine, Singing: “Heigho, my dearie; And will you hear this song of mine— A song of the land of murk and mist Where bideth the bud the dew hath kist? Then let the moonbeam’s web of light Be spun before thee silvery white, And I shall sing the livelong night— Heigho, my dearie!” </div> <div class="stanza"> The night wind speedeth from the sea, Murmuring: “Heigho, my dearie; I bring a mariner’s prayer for thee; So let the moonbeam veil thine eyes, And the brownie sing thee lullabies—{193} But I shall rock thee to and fro, Kissing the brow he loveth so. And the prayer shall guard thy bed, I trow— Heigho, my dearie!” </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_193_sml.jpg" width-obs="94" height-obs="204" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {194} <div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_194_sml.jpg" width-obs="64" height-obs="109" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {195} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_195_sml.jpg" width-obs="231" height-obs="230" alt="Image unavailable: Fairy and Child." /> </h2> {196} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_196_sml.jpg" width-obs="81" height-obs="110" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {197} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_197_sml.jpg" width-obs="264" height-obs="417" alt="Image unavailable: FAIRY AND CHILD." /> </h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> OH, listen, little Dear-My-Soul, To the fairy voices calling,{198} For the moon is high in the misty sky And the honey dew is falling; To the midnight feast in the clover bloom The bluebells are a-ringing, And it’s “Come away to the land of fay” That the katydid is singing. </div> <div class="stanza"> Oh, slumber, little Dear-My-Soul, And hand in hand we’ll wander— Hand in hand to the beautiful land Of Balow, away off yonder; Or we’ll sail along in a lily leaf Into the white moon’s halo— Over a stream of mist and dream Into the land of Balow. </div> <div class="stanza"> Or, you shall have two beautiful wings— Two gossamer wings and airy, And all the while shall the old moon smile And think you a little fairy; </div> </div></div> {199} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_199_sml.jpg" width-obs="303" height-obs="563" alt="Image unavailable: “INTO THE WHITE MOON’S HALO”" /> “INTO THE WHITE MOON’S HALO”</div> {200} <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> And you shall dance in the velvet sky, And the silvery stars shall twinkle And dream sweet dreams as over their beams Your footfalls softly tinkle. </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_200_sml.jpg" width-obs="82" height-obs="108" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {201} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_201_sml.jpg" width-obs="178" height-obs="155" alt="Image unavailable: Child and Mother." /></div> {202} <div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_202_sml.jpg" width-obs="65" height-obs="104" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {203} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_203_sml.jpg" width-obs="268" height-obs="201" alt="Image unavailable: CHILD AND MOTHER." /> </h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> O MOTHER-MY-LOVE, if you’ll give me your hand, And go where I ask you to wander,{204} I will lead you away to a beautiful land— The Dreamland that’s waiting out yonder. We’ll walk in a sweet-posie garden out there, Where moonlight and starlight are streaming, And the flowers and the birds are filling the air With the fragrance and music of dreaming. </div> <div class="stanza"> There’ll be no little tired-out boy to undress, No questions or cares to perplex you; There’ll be no little bruises or bumps to caress, Nor patching of stockings to vex you. For I’ll rock you away on a silver-dew stream, And sing you asleep when you’re weary, And no one shall know of our beautiful dream, But you and your own little dearie. </div> <div class="stanza"> And when I am tired I’ll nestle my head In the bosom that’s soothed me so often, And the wide-awake stars shall sing in my stead A song which our dreaming shall soften.{205} So, Mother-My-Love, let me take your dear hand, And away through the starlight we’ll wander— Away through the mist to the beautiful land— The Dreamland that’s waiting out yonder. </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_205_sml.jpg" width-obs="74" height-obs="142" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {206} <div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_206_sml.jpg" width-obs="50" height-obs="88" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {207} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_207_sml.jpg" width-obs="204" height-obs="101" alt="Image unavailable: Ganderfeather’s Gift." /> </h2> {208} <div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_208_sml.jpg" width-obs="99" height-obs="100" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {209} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_209_sml.jpg" width-obs="201" height-obs="419" alt="Image unavailable: GANDERFEATHER’S GIFT." /> </h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> I WAS just a little thing When a fairy came and kissed me;{210} Floating in upon the light Of a haunted summer night, Lo, the fairies came to sing Pretty slumber songs and bring Certain boons that else had missed me. From a dream I turned to see What those strangers brought for me, When that fairy up and kissed me— Here, upon this cheek, he kissed me! </div> <div class="stanza"> Simmerdew was there, but she Did not like me altogether; Daisybright and Turtledove, Pilfercurds and Honeylove, Thistleblow and Amberglee On that gleaming, ghostly sea Floated from the misty heather, And around my trundle-bed Frisked, and looked, and whispering said— Solemnlike and all together: “You shall kiss him, Ganderfeather!” </div> <div class="stanza"> Ganderfeather kissed me then— Ganderfeather, quaint and merry! </div> </div></div> {211} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_211_sml.jpg" width-obs="225" height-obs="560" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {212} <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> No attenuate sprite was he, —But as buxom as could be;— Kissed me twice, and once again, And the others shouted when On my cheek uprose a berry Somewhat like a mole, mayhap, But the kiss-mark of that chap Ganderfeather, passing merry— Humorsome, but kindly, very! </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_212_sml.jpg" width-obs="251" height-obs="207" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> I was just a tiny thing When the prankish Ganderfeather{213} Brought this curious gift to me With his fairy kisses three; Yet with honest pride I sing That same gift he chose to bring Out of yonder haunted heather. Other charms and friendships fly— Constant friends this mole and I, Who have been so long together. Thank you, little Ganderfeather! </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_213_sml.jpg" width-obs="96" height-obs="193" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {214} <div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_214_sml.jpg" width-obs="32" height-obs="104" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {215} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_215_sml.jpg" width-obs="129" height-obs="576" alt="Image unavailable: FROM THE SECOND BOOK OF VERSE" /> </h2> {216} <div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_216_sml.jpg" width-obs="52" height-obs="85" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {217} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_217_sml.jpg" width-obs="244" height-obs="131" alt="Image unavailable: Telling the Bees" /> </h2> {218} <div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_218_sml.jpg" width-obs="63" height-obs="105" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {219} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_219_sml.jpg" width-obs="183" height-obs="392" alt="Image unavailable: TELLING THE BEES." /> </h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> OUT of the house where the slumberer lay Grandfather came one summer day,{220} And under the pleasant orchard trees He spake this wise to the murmuring bees: “The clover-bloom that kissed her feet And the posie-bed where she used to play, Have honey store, but none so sweet As ere our little one went away. O bees, sing soft, and, bees, sing low; For she is gone who loved you so.” </div> <div class="stanza"> A wonder fell on the listening bees Under those pleasant orchard trees, And in their toil that summer day Ever their murmuring seemed to say: “Child, O child, the grass is cool, And the posies are waking to hear the song Of the bird that swings by the shaded pool, Waiting for one that tarrieth long.” ’Twas so they called to the little one then, As if to call her back again. </div> <div class="stanza"> O gentle bees, I have come to say That grandfather fell asleep to-day,{221} And we know by the smile on grandfather’s face He has found his dear one’s biding-place. So, bees, sing soft, and, bees, sing low, As over the honey-fields you sweep— To the trees abloom and the flowers ablow Sing of grandfather fast asleep; And ever beneath these orchard trees Find cheer and shelter, gentle bees. </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_221_sml.jpg" width-obs="102" height-obs="166" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {222} <div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_222_sml.jpg" width-obs="44" height-obs="80" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {223} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_223_sml.jpg" width-obs="168" height-obs="592" alt="Image unavailable: FROM ‘THE LONESOME LITTLE SHoE’" /> </h2> {224} <div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_224_sml.jpg" width-obs="47" height-obs="93" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {225} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_225_sml.jpg" width-obs="204" height-obs="290" alt="Image unavailable: Contentment." /> </h2> {226} <div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_226_sml.jpg" width-obs="116" height-obs="85" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {227} <h2> <ANTIMG src="images/i_227_sml.jpg" width-obs="278" height-obs="311" alt="Image unavailable: CONTENTMENT." /> </h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> ONCE on a time an old red hen Went strutting round with pompous clucks, For she had little babies ten, A part of which were tiny ducks. “’Tis very rare that hens,” said she, “Have baby ducks as well as chicks— But I possess, as you can see, Of chickens four and ducklings six!”{228} </div> <div class="stanza"> A season later, this old hen Appeared, still cackling of her luck, For, though she boasted babies ten, Not one among them was a duck! “’Tis well,” she murmured, brooding o’er The little chicks of fleecy down, “My babies now will stay ashore, And, consequently, cannot drown!” </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_228_sml.jpg" width-obs="173" height-obs="244" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> The following spring the old red hen Clucked just as proudly as of yore.— But lo! her babes were ducklings ten, Instead of chickens as before! “’Tis better,” said the old red hen, As she surveyed her waddling brood; “A little water now and then Will surely do my darlings good!”{229} </div> <div class="stanza"> But, oh! alas, how very sad! When gentle spring rolled round again, The eggs eventuated bad, And childless was the old red hen! Yet patiently she bore her woe, And still she wore a cheerful air, And said: “’Tis best these things are so For babies are a dreadful care!” </div> <div class="stanza"> I half suspect that many men, And many, many women, too, Could learn a lesson from the hen With foliage of vermilion hue. She ne’er presumed to take offence At any fate that might befall, But meekly bowed to Providence.— She was contented—that was all! </div> </div></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_229_sml.jpg" width-obs="365" height-obs="127" alt="Image unavailable: THE END." /></div> {230} <div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_230_sml.jpg" width-obs="144" height-obs="218" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> {231} <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_231_sml.jpg" width-obs="209" height-obs="129" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></div> <hr class="full" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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