THE PALACE PLAYTIME
Follow Me!
Children go
To and fro,
In a merry, pretty row,
Footsteps light,
Faces bright;
'Tis a happy sight,
Swiftly turning round and round,
Never look upon the ground;
Follow me,
Full of glee,
Singing merrily.
Work is done,
Play's begun;
Now we have our laugh and fun;
Happy days,
Pretty plays,
And no naughty ways.
Holding fast each other's hand,
We're a happy little band;
Follow me,
Full of glee,
Singing merrily.
Birds are free;
So are we;
And we live as happily.
Work we do,
Study too,
For we learn "Twice two";
Then we laugh, and dance, and sing,
Gay as larks upon the wing;
Follow me,
Full of glee,
Singing merrily.
Eliza Lee Follen.
The Baby's Birthday
Come, Charles, blow the trumpet,
And George, beat the drum,
For this is the baby's birthday!
Little Annie shall sing,
And Jemmy shall dance,
And father the jews-harp will play.
Rad-er-er too tan-da-ro te
Rad-er-er tad-or-er tan do re.
Come toss up the ball,
And spin the hum top;
We'll have a grand frolic to-day;
Let's make some soap bubbles,
And blow them up high,
And see what the baby will say.
Rad-er-er too tan-da-ro te
Rad-er-er tad-or-er tan do re.
We'll play the grand Mufti;
Let's all make a ring;
The tallest the Mufti shall play;
You must look in his face,
And see what he does,
And mind what the Mufti shall say.
Rad-er-er too tan-da-ro te
Rad-er-er tad-or-er tan do re.
And now we'll play soldiers;
All hold up your heads!
Don't you know 'tis the baby's birthday?
You must turn out your toes,
And toss your feet high;
There! this, boys and girls, is the way.
Rad-er-er too tan-da-ro te
Rad-er-er tad-or-er tan do re.
Eliza Lee Follen.
Counting Out
Intery, mintery, cutery-corn,
Apple seed and apple thorn;
Wire, brier, limber-lock,
Five geese in a flock,
Sit and sing by a spring,
O-u-t, and in again.
A Tea-Party
You see, merry Phillis, that dear little maid,
Has invited Belinda to tea;
Her nice little garden is shaded by trees,—
What pleasanter place could there be?
There's a cake full of plums, there are strawberries too,
And the table is set on the green;
I'm fond of a carpet all daisies and grass,—
Could a prettier picture be seen?
A blackbird (yes, blackbirds delight in warm weather,)
Is flitting from yonder high spray;
He sees the two little ones talking together,—
No wonder the blackbird is gay.
Kate Greenaway.
Around the World
In go-cart so tiny
My sister I drew;
And I've promised to draw her
The wide world through.
We have not yet started—
I own it with sorrow—
Because our trip's always
Put off till to-morrow.
Kate Greenaway.
My Ship and I[1]
O it's I that am the captain of a tidy little ship,
Of a ship that goes a-sailing on the pond;
And my ship it keeps a-turning all around and all about;
But when I'm a little older, I shall find the secret out
How to send my vessel sailing on beyond.
For I mean to grow as little as the dolly at the helm,
And the dolly I intend to come alive;
And with him beside to help me, it's a-sailing I shall go,
It's a-sailing on the water, when the jolly breezes blow
And the vessel goes a divie-divie-dive.
O it's then you'll see me sailing through the rushes and the reeds,
And you'll hear the water singing at the prow;
For beside the dolly sailor, I'm to voyage and explore,
To land upon the island where no dolly was before,
And to fire the penny cannon in the bow.
Robert Louis Stevenson.
[1] From "Poems and Ballads," copyright, 1895, 1896, by Chas. Scribner's Sons.
The Feast of the Doll
In flow'ry Japan, the home of the fan,
The land of the parasol,
Each month has its feast, from greatest to least,
And March is the Feast of the Doll-doll-doll,
And March is the Feast of the Doll.
The wee, slippered maid in gown of brocade,
The baby with shaven poll,
The little brown lad in embroidery clad,
All troop to the Feast of the Doll-doll-doll,
All troop to the Feast of the Doll.
How pleasant 'twould be, 'neath an almond-tree,
In sunshine and perfume to loll,
Forget our own spring, with its wind and its sting,
And sing to the praise of the Doll-doll-doll,
And sing to the praise of the Doll.
Come, sweet Tippytoes, as pink as a rose,
And white as a cotton-boll;
Let us follow the plan of the folk in Japan,
And dance for your Feast, little Doll-doll-doll,
And dance for your Feast, little Doll.
Nora Archibald Smith.
Cuddle Down, Dolly
They sent me to bed, dear, so dreadfully early,
I hadn't a moment to talk to my girlie;
But while Nurse is getting her dinner downstairs,
I'll rock you a little and hear you your prayers.
Cuddle down, dolly,
Cuddle down, dear!
Here on my shoulder you've nothing to fear.
That's what Mamma sings to me every night,
Cuddle down, dolly dear, shut your eyes tight!
Not comfor'ble dolly?—or why do you fidget?
You're hurting my shoulder, you troublesome midget!
Perhaps it's that hole that you told me about.
Why, darling, your sawdust is trick-ker-ling out!!
We'll call the good doctor in, right straight away;
This can't be neglected a single more day;
I'll wet my new hankchif and tie it round tight,
'Twill keep you from suffering pains in the night.
I hope you've been good, little dolly, to-day,
Not cross to your nursie, nor rude in your play;
Nor dabbled your feet in those puddles of water
The way you did yesterday, bad little daughter!
Oh, dear! I'm so sleepy—can't hold up my head,
I'll sing one more verse, then I'll creep into bed.
Cuddle down, dolly,
Here on my arm,
Nothing shall frighten you, nothing shall harm.
Cuddle down sweetly, my little pink rose,
Good angels come now and guard thy repose.
Kate Douglas Wiggin.
Playgrounds
In summer I am very glad
We children are so small,
For we can see a thousand things
That men can't see at all.
They don't know much about the moss
And all the stones they pass:
They never lie and play among
The forests in the grass:
They walk about a long way off;
And, when we're at the sea,
Let father stoop as best he can
He can't find things like me.
But, when the snow is on the ground
And all the puddles freeze,
I wish that I were very tall,
High up above the trees.
Laurence Alma Tadema.
Keeping Store
We have bags and bags of whitest down
Out of the milk-weed pods;
We have purple asters in lovely heaps,
And stacks of golden-rods—
We have needles out of the sweet pine woods,
And spools of cobweb thread;
We have bachelors' buttons for dolly's dress,
And hollyhock caps for her head.
Mary F. Butts.
One and One[2]
Two little girls are better than one
Two little boys can double the fun,
Two little birds can build a fine nest,
Two little arms can love mother best.
Two little ponies must go to a span;
Two little pockets has my little man;
Two little eyes to open and close,
Two little ears and one little nose,
Two little elbows, dimpled and sweet,
Two little shoes on two little feet,
Two little lips and one little chin,
Two little cheeks with a rose shut in;
Two little shoulders, chubby and strong,
Two little legs running all day long.
Two little prayers does my darling say,
Twice does he kneel by my side each day,—
Two little folded hands, soft and brown,
Two little eyelids cast meekly down,—
And two little angels guard him in bed,
"One at the foot, and one at the head."
Mary Mapes Dodge.
[2] From "Rhymes and Jingles," copyright, 1874, 1904, by Chas. Scribner's Sons.
A Happy Child
My house is red—a little house,
A happy child am I,
I laugh and play the livelong day,
I hardly ever cry.
I have a tree, a green, green tree,
To shade me from the sun;
And under it I often sit,
When all my work is done.
My little basket I will take,
And trip into the town;
When next I'm there I'll buy some cake,
And spend my bright half-crown.
Kate Greenaway.
II
THE PALACE GARDEN
The Garden Year
January brings the snow,
Makes our feet and fingers glow.
February brings the rain,
Thaws the frozen lake again.
March brings breezes, loud and shrill,
To stir the dancing daffodil.
April brings the primrose sweet,
Scatters daisies at our feet.
May brings flocks of pretty lambs,
Skipping by their fleecy dams.
June brings tulips, lilies, roses,
Fills the children's hands with posies.
Hot July brings cooling showers,
Apricots, and gillyflowers.
August brings the sheaves of corn,
Then the harvest home is borne.
Warm September brings the fruit;
Sportsmen then begin to shoot.
Fresh October brings the pheasant;
Then to gather nuts is pleasant.
Dull November brings the blast;
Then the leaves are whirling fast.
Chill December brings the sleet,
Blazing fire, and Christmas treat.
Unknown.
The Child and the World
I see a nest in a green elm-tree
With little brown sparrows,—one, two, three!
The elm-tree stretches its branches wide,
And the nest is soft and warm inside.
At morn the sun, so golden bright,
Climbs up to fill the world with light;
It opens the flowers, it wakens me,
And wakens the birdies,—one, two, three.
And leaning out of my window high,
I look far up at the blue, blue sky,
And then far out at the earth so green,
And think it the loveliest ever seen,—
The loveliest world that ever was seen!
But by and by, when the sun is low,
And birds and babies sleepy grow,
I peep again from my window high,
And look at the earth and clouds and sky.
The night dew falls in silent showers,
To cool the hearts of thirsty flowers;
The moon comes out,—the slender thing,
A crescent yet, but soon a ring,—
And brings with her one yellow star;
How small it looks, away so far!
But soon, in the heaven's shining blue,
A thousand twinkle and blink at you,
Like a thousand lamps in the sky so blue.
And hush! a light breeze stirs the tree,
And rocks the birdies,—one, two, three.
What a beautiful cradle, that soft, warm nest!
What a dear little coverlid, mother-bird's breast!
She's hugging them close to her, tight, so tight
That each downy head is hid from sight;
But out from under her sheltering wings
Their bright eyes glisten, the darling things!
I lean far out from my window's height
And say, "Dear, lovely world, good-night!
Good-night, dear, pretty, baby moon!
Your cradle you'll outgrow quite soon,
And then, perhaps, all night you'll shine,
A grown-up lady moon, so fine
And bright that all the stars
Will want to light their lamps from yours.
Sleep sweetly, birdies, never fear,
For God is always watching near!
And you, dear, friendly world above,
The same One holds us in His love;
Both you so great, and I so small,
Are safe,—He sees the sparrows fall,
The dear God watcheth over all!"
Kate Douglas Wiggin.
The Gravel Path
Baby mustn't frown,
When she tumbles down;
If the wind should change—Ah me,
What a face her face would be!
Rub away the dirt,
Say she wasn't hurt;
What a world 'twould be—O my,
If all who fell began to cry!
Laurence Alma Tadema.
A Dewdrop
Little drop of dew,
Like a gem you are;
I believe that you
Must have been a star.
When the day is bright,
On the grass you lie;
Tell me then, at night
Are you in the sky?
Frank Dempster Sherman.
Who Has Seen the Wind?
Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you:
But when the leaves hang trembling,
The wind is passing through.
Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I:
But when the trees bow down their heads,
The wind is passing by.
Christina G. Rossetti
The Wind's Song
O winds that blow across the sea,
What is the story that you bring?
Leaves clap their hands on every tree
And birds about their branches sing.
You sing to flowers and trees and birds
Your sea-songs over all the land.
Could you not stay and whisper words
A little child might understand?
The roses nod to hear you sing;
But though I listen all the day,
You never tell me anything
Of father's ship so far away.
Its masts are taller than the trees;
Its sails are silver in the sun;
There's not a ship upon the seas
So beautiful as father's one.
With wings spread out it flies so fast
It leaves the waves all white with foam.
Just whisper to me, blowing past,
If you have seen it sailing home.
I feel your breath upon my cheek,
And in my hair, and on my brow.
Dear winds, if you could only speak,
I know what you would tell me now.
My father's coming home, you'd say,
With precious presents, one, two, three;
A shawl for mother, beads for May,
And eggs and shells for Rob and me.
The winds sing songs where'er they roam;
The leaves all clap their little hands;
For father's ship is coming home
With wondrous things from foreign lands.
Gabriel Setoun.
Who Likes the Rain?
"I," said the duck. "I call it fun,
For I have my pretty red rubbers on;
They make a little three-toed track,
In the soft, cool mud,—quack! quack!"
"I!" cried the dandelion, "I!
My roots are thirsty, my buds are dry."
And she lifted a towsled yellow head
Out of her green and grassy bed.
"I hope 'twill pour! I hope 'twill pour!"
Purred the tree-toad at his gray bark door,
"For, with a broad leaf for a roof,
I am perfectly weather-proof."
Sang the brook: "I laugh at every drop,
And wish they never need to stop
Till a big, big river I grew to be,
And could find my way to the sea."
"I," shouted Ted, "for I can run,
With my high-top boots and rain-coat on,
Through every puddle and runlet and pool
I find on the road to school."
Clara Doty Bates.
Rain[3]
The rain is raining all around,
It falls on field and tree,
It rains on the umbrellas here,
And on the ships at sea.
Robert Louis Stevenson.
[3] From "Poems and Ballads," copyright, 1895, 1896, by· Chas. Scribner's Sons.
Rain in Spring
So soft and gentle falls the rain,
You cannot hear it on the pane;
For if it came in pelting showers,
'Twould hurt the budding leaves and flowers.
Gabriel Setoun.
Sun and Rain
If all were rain and never sun,
No bow could span the hill;
If all were sun and never rain,
There'd be no rainbow still.
Christina G. Rossetti.
Bees
Bees don't care about the snow;
I can tell you why that's so:
Once I caught a little bee
Who was much too warm for me.
Frank Dempster Sherman.
Annie's Garden
In little Annie's garden
Grew all sorts of posies;
There were pinks, and mignonette,
And tulips, and roses.
Sweet peas, and morning glories,
A bed of violets blue,
And marigolds, and asters,
In Annie's garden grew.
There the bees went for honey,
And the humming-birds too;
And there the pretty butterflies
And the lady-birds flew.
And there among her flowers,
Every bright and pleasant day,
In her own pretty garden
Little Annie went to play.
Eliza Lee Follen.
The Daisy
I'm a pretty little thing,
Always coming with the spring;
In the meadows green I'm found,
Peeping just above the ground;
And my stalk is covered flat
With a white and yellow hat.
Little lady, when you pass
Lightly o'er the tender grass,
Skip about, but do not tread
On my meek and lowly head;
For I always seem to say,
Surely winter's gone away.
Unknown.
Pussy Willow
Pussy Willow wakened
From her Winter nap,
For the frolic Spring Breeze
On her door would tap.
"It is chilly weather
Though the sun feels good;
I will wrap up warmly;
Wear my furry hood."
Mistress Pussy Willow
Opened wide her door;
Never had the sunshine
Seemed so bright before.
Never had the brooklet
Seemed so full of cheer;
"Good morning, Pussy Willow,
Welcome to you, dear!"
Never guest was quainter:—
Pussy came to town
In a hood of silver gray
And a coat of brown.
Happy little children
Cried with laugh and shout,
"Spring is coming, coming,
Pussy Willow's out."
Kate L. Brown.
Spring Questions
How do the pussy-willows grow?
How do the meadow violets blow?
How do the brooklet's waters flow?
Gold-Locks wants to know.
Long and gray,
The willows sway,
And the catkins come the first spring day.
Plenty of them
On every stem,
All dressed in fur,
As if they were
Prepared to keep the cold away.
The violets, too,
In bonnets blue,
And little crooked necks askew,
Stand, sweet and small,
Where the grass is tall,
Content to spy
But a bit of sky,
Nor ever to know the world at all.
The waters run
In shade and sun,
And laugh because the winter's done.
Now swift, now slow,
The pace they go,
Shining between
Their banks of green,
Whither, they neither care nor know.
Clara Doty Bates.
Snowdrops
Great King Sun is out in the cold,
His babies are sleeping, he misses the fun;
So he knocks at their door with fingers of gold:
"Time to get up," says Great King Sun.
Though the garden beds are sprinkled with snow,
It's time to get up in the earth below.
Who wakes first? A pale little maid,
All in her nightgown opens the door,
Peering round as if half afraid
Before she steps out on the wintry floor.
All in their nightgowns, snowdrops stand,
White little waifs in a lonely land.
Great King Sun with a smile looks down,—
"Where are your sisters? I want them, too!"
Each baby is hurrying into her gown,
Purple and saffron, orange and blue,
Great King Sun gives a louder call,—
"Good morning, Papa!" cry the babies all.
W. Graham Robertson.
A Mystery
Flowers from clods of clay and mud!
Flowers so bright, and grass so green!
Tell me, blade, and leaf, and bud,
How it is you're all so clean.
If my fingers touch these sods,
See, they're streaked with sticky earth;
Yet you spring from clayey clods,
Pure, and fresh, and fair from birth.
Do you wash yourselves at night,
In a bath of diamond dew,
That you look so fresh and bright
When the morning dawns on you?
God, perhaps, sends summer showers,
When the grass grows grey for rain,
To wash the faces of His flowers,
And bid His fields be green again.
Tell me, blade, and leaf, and bud;
Flowers so fair, and grass so green,
Growing out of clay and mud,
How it is you're all so clean.
Gabriel Setoun.
Meadow Talk
"Don't pick all the flowers!" cried Daisy one day
To a rosy-cheeked boy who was passing her way;
"If you take every one, you will very soon see
That when next summer comes, not a bud will there be!"
"Quite true!" said the Clover,
"And over and over
I've sung that same song
To whoe'er came along."
Quoth the Buttercup, "I
Have not been at all shy
In impressing that rule
On each child of the school."
"I've touched the same subject,"
Said Timothy Grass.
"'Leave just a few flowers!'
I beg, as they pass."
Sighed a shy little Fern,
From her home in the shade,
"About pulling up roots,
What a protest I've made!"
"The children are heedless!"
The Gentian declared,
"When my blossom-time comes,
Not a bud will be spared."
"Take courage, sweet neighbor!"
The Violet said;
And raised in entreaty
Her delicate head.
"The children are thoughtless,
I own, in my turn;
But if we all teach them,
They cannot but learn."
"The lesson," said the Alders,
"Is a simple one, indeed,
Where no root is, blooms no flower,
Where no flower is, no seed."
"'Tis very well said!" chirped the Robin,
From the elm tree fluttering down;
"If you'll write on your leaves such a lesson,
I'll distribute them over the town."
"Oh, write it, dear Alders!" the Innocents cried,
Their pretty eyes tearfully blue;
"You are older than we are; you're strong and you're wise—
There's none but would listen to you!"
But, ah! the Alders could not write;
And though the Robin knew
The art as well as any bird—
Or so he said—he flew
Straight up the hill and far away,
Remarking as he went,
He had a business errand
And was not on pleasure bent.
Did the children learn the lesson,
Though 'twas never written down?
We shall know when, gay and blithesome,
Lady Summer comes to town.
Nora Archibald Smith.
Twenty Froggies
Twenty froggies went to school
Down beside a rushy pool.
Twenty little coats of green,
Twenty vests all white and clean.
"We must be in time," said they,
"First we study, then we play;
That is how we keep the rule,
When we froggies go to school."
Master Bull-frog, brave and stern,
Called his classes in their turn,
Taught them how to nobly strive,
Also how to leap and dive;
Taught them how to dodge a blow,
From the sticks that bad boys throw.
Twenty froggies grew up fast,
Bull-frogs they became at last;
Polished in a high degree,
As each froggie ought to be,
Now they sit on other logs,
Teaching other little frogs.
George Cooper.
The Snail
The Snail he lives in his hard round house,
In the orchard, under the tree:
Says he, "I have but a single room;
But it's large enough for me."
The Snail in his little house doth dwell
All the week from end to end,
You're at home, Master Snail; that's all very well,
But you never receive a friend.
Unknown.
The Worm
No, little worm, you need not slip
Into your hole, with such a skip;
Drawing the gravel as you glide
On to your smooth and slimy side.
I'm not a crow, poor worm, not I,
Peeping about your holes to spy,
And fly away with you in air,
To give my young ones each a share.
No, and I'm not a rolling-stone,
Creaking along with hollow groan;
Nor am I of the naughty crew,
Who don't care what poor worms go through,
But trample on them as they lie,
Rather than pass them gently by;
Or keep them dangling on a hook,
Choked in a dismal pond or brook,
Till some poor fish comes swimming past,
And finishes their pain at last.
For my part, I could never bear
Your tender flesh to hack and tear,
Forgetting that poor worms endure
As much as I should, to be sure,
If any giant should come and jump
On to my back, and kill me plump,
Or run my heart through with a scythe,
And think it fun to see me writhe!
O no, I'm only looking about,
To see you wriggle in and out,
And drawing together your slimy rings,
Instead of feet, like other things:
So, little worm, don't slide and slip
Into your hole, with such a skip.
Ann Taylor.
The City Mouse and the Garden Mouse
The city mouse lives in a house;—
The garden mouse lives in a bower,
He's friendly with the frogs and toads,
And sees the pretty plants in flower.
The city mouse eats bread and cheese;—
The garden mouse eats what he can;
We will not grudge him seeds and stocks,
Poor little timid furry man.
Christina G. Rossetti.
The Robin to His Mate
Said Robin to his pretty mate,
"Bring here a little hay;
Lay here a stick and there a straw,
And bring a little clay.
"And we will build a little nest,
Wherein you soon shall lay
Your little eggs, so smooth, so blue;
Come, let us work away.
"And you shall keep them very warm;
And only think, my dear,
'Twill not be long before we see
Four little robins here.
"They'll open wide their yellow mouths,
And we will feed them well;
For we shall love the little dears,
Oh, more than I can tell!
"And while the sun is shining warm
Up in the summer sky,
I'll sit and sing to them and you,
Up in the branches high.
"And all night long, my love, you'll sit
Upon the pretty nest,
And keep the little robins warm
Beneath your downy breast."
Mrs. Carter.
The Brown Thrush
There's a merry brown thrush sitting up in the tree.
He's singing to me! He's singing to me!
And what does he say, little girl, little boy?
"Oh, the world's running over with joy!
Don't you hear? Don't you see?
Hush! Look! In my tree,
I'm as happy as happy can be!"
And the brown thrush keeps singing, "A nest do you see
And five eggs, hid by me in the juniper tree?
Don't meddle! Don't touch! little girl, little boy,
Or the world will lose some of its joy!
Now I'm glad! now I'm free!
And I always shall be,
If you never bring sorrow to me."
So the merry brown thrush sings away in the tree,
To you and to me, to you and to me;
And he sings all the day, little girl, little boy,
"Oh, the world's running over with joy!
But long it won't be,
Don't you know? Don't you see?
Unless we're as good as can be."
Lucy Larcom.
The Little Doves
High on the top of an old pine-tree,
Broods a mother dove with her young ones three;
Warm over them is her soft downy breast,
And they sing so sweetly in their nest:
"Coo," say the little ones, "Coo," says she,
All in their nest in the old pine-tree.
Soundly they sleep through the moonshiny night,
Each young one covered and tucked in tight;
Morn wakes them up with the first blush of light,
And they sing to each other with all their might:
"Coo," say the little ones, "Coo," says she,
All in their nest in the old pine-tree.
When in the nest they are all left alone,
While their mother dear for their food has flown,
Quiet and gentle they all remain,
Till their mother they see come home again:
Then "Coo," say the little ones, "Coo," says she,
All in their nest in the old pine-tree.
When they are fed by their tender mother,
One never will push nor crowd another:
Each opens widely his own little bill,
And he patiently waits, and gets his fill:
Then "Coo," say the little ones, "Coo," says she,
All in their nest in the old pine-tree.
Wisely the mother begins, by and by,
To make her young ones learn to fly;
Just for a little way over the brink,
Then back to the nest as quick as a wink:
And "Coo," say the little ones, "Coo," says she,
All in their nest in the old pine-tree.
Fast grow the young ones, day and night,
Till their wings are plumed for a longer flight;
Till unto them at the last draws nigh
The time when they all must say good-by:
Then "Coo," say the little ones, "Coo," says she,
And away they fly from the old pine-tree.
Unknown.
The Other Side of the Sky
A pool in a garden green,
And the sky hung over all;
Down to the water we lean—
What if I let you fall?
A little splash and a cry,
A little gap in the blue,
And you'd fall right into the sky—
Into the sky—and through.
What do you think they'd think?
How do you think they'd greet
A little wet baby in pink
Tumbling down at their feet?
I wonder if they'd be shy,
Those folk of the Far Away:
On the other side of the Sky,
Do you think you'd be asked to stay?
I think they would say—"No, no"
(Peeping down through a crack),
"For they seem to want her below,
And so we must send her back."
W. Graham Robertson.
The Happy World
The bee is a rover;
The brown bee is gay;
To feed on the clover,
He passes this way.
Brown bee, humming over,
What is it you say?
"The world is so happy—so happy to-day!"
The martens have nested
All under the eaves;
The field-mice have jested
And played in the sheaves;
We have played, too, and rested,
And none of us grieves,
All over the wide world, who is it that grieves?
William Brighty Rands.
Come, Little Leaves
"Come, little leaves," said the wind one day.
"Come over the meadows with me and play;
Put on your dresses of red and gold,
For summer is gone and the days grow cold."
Soon as the leaves heard the wind's loud call,
Down they came fluttering, one and all;
Over the brown fields they danced and flew,
Singing the sweet little song they knew.
"Cricket, good-by, we've been friends so long,
Little brook, sing us your farewell song;
Say you are sorry to see us go;
All, you will miss us, right well we know.
"Dear little lambs in your fleecy fold,
Mother will keep you from harm and cold;
Fondly we watched you in vale and glade,
Say, will you dream of our loving shade?"
Dancing and whirling, the little leaves went,
Winter had called them, and they were content;
Soon, fast asleep in their earthy beds,
The snow laid a coverlid over their heads.
George Cooper.
Little Jack Frost
Little Jack Frost went up the hill,
Watching the stars and the moon so still,
Watching the stars and the moon so bright,
And laughing aloud with all his might.
Little Jack Frost ran down the hill,
Late in the night when the winds were still,
Late in the fall when the leaves fell down,
Red and yellow and faded brown.
Little Jack Frost walked through the trees,
"Ah," sighed the flowers, "we freeze, we freeze."
"Ah," sighed the grasses, "we die, we die."
Said Little Jack Frost, "Good-by, Good-by."
Little Jack Frost tripped 'round and 'round,
Spreading white snow on the frozen ground,
Nipping the breezes, icing the streams,
Chilling the warmth of the sun's bright beams.
But when Dame Nature brought back the spring,
Brought back the birds to chirp and sing,
Melted the snow and warmed the sky,
Little Jack Frost went pouting by.
The flowers opened their eyes of blue,
Green buds peeped out and grasses grew;
It was so warm and scorched him so,
Little Jack Frost was glad to go.
Unknown.
The Snow-Bird's Song.
The ground was all covered with snow one day,
And two little sisters were busy at play,
When a snow-bird was sitting close by on a tree,
And merrily singing his chick-a-de-dee,
Chick-a-de-dee, chick-a-de-dee,
And merrily singing his chick-a-de-dee.
He had not been singing that tune very long
Ere Emily heard him, so loud was his song;
"Oh, sister, look out of the window," said she;
"Here's a dear little bird singing chick-a-de-dee,
Chick-a-de-dee, etc.
"Oh, mother, do get him some stockings and shoes,
And a nice little frock, and a hat, if he choose;
I wish he'd come into the parlor and see
How warm we would make him, poor chick-a-de-dee,
Chick-a-de-dee," etc.
"There is One, my dear child, though I cannot tell who,
Has clothed me already, and warm enough too.
Good-morning! Oh, who are as happy as we?"
And away he went singing his chick-a-de-dee.
Chick-a-de-dee, etc.
F. C. Woodworth.
Snow
O come to the garden, dear brother, and see,
What mischief was done in the night;
The snow has quite covered the nice apple-tree,
And the bushes are sprinkled with white.
The spring in the grove is beginning to freeze,
The pond is hard frozen all o'er;
Long icicles hang in bright rows from the trees,
And drop in odd shapes from the door.
The old mossy thatch, and the meadows so green,
Are covered all over with white;
The snowdrop and crocus no more can be seen,
The thick snow has covered them quite.
And see the poor birds how they fly to and fro,
They're come for their breakfast again;
But the little worms all are hid under the snow,
They hop about chirping in vain.
Then open the window, I'll throw them some bread,
I've some of my breakfast to spare:
I wish they would come to my hand to be fed,
But they're all flown away, I declare.
Nay, now, pretty birds, don't be frightened, I pray,
You shall not be hurt, I'll engage;
I'm not come to catch you and force you away,
And fasten you up in a cage.
I wish you could know you've no cause for alarm,
From me you have nothing to fear;
Why, my little fingers could do you no harm,
Although you came ever so near.
Jane Taylor.
III
THE PALACE PETS
The Cow[4]
The friendly cow all red and white,
I love with all my heart:
She gives me cream with all her might,
To eat with apple-tart.
She wanders lowing here and there,
And yet she cannot stray,
All in the pleasant open air,
The pleasant light of day;
And blown by all the winds that pass
And wet with all the showers,
She walks among the meadow grass
And eats the meadow flowers.
Robert Louis Stevenson.
[4] From "Poems and Ballads," copyright, 1895, 1896, by Chas. Scribner's Sons.
The Good Moolly Cow
Come! supper is ready;
Come! boys and girls, now,
For here is fresh milk
From the good moolly cow.
Have done with your fife,
And your row de dow dow,
And taste this sweet milk
From the good moolly cow.
Whoever is fretting
Must clear up his brow,
Or he'll have no milk
From the good moolly cow.
And here is Miss Pussy;
She means by mee-ow,
Give me, too, some milk
From the good moolly cow.
When children are hungry,
O, who can tell how
They love the fresh milk
From the good moolly cow!
So, when you meet moolly,
Just say, with a bow,
"Thank you for your milk,
Mrs. Good Moolly Cow."
Eliza Lee Follen.
The Cow
"Pretty Moo-cow, will you tell
Why you like the fields so well?
You never pluck the daisies white,
Nor look up to the sky so bright;
So tell me, Moo-cow, tell me true,
Are you happy when you moo?"
"I do not pluck the daisies white;
I care not for the sky so bright;
But all day long I lie and eat
Pleasant grass, so fresh and sweet,—
Grass that makes nice milk for you;
So I am happy when I moo."
Mrs. Motherly.
Bossy and the Daisy
Right up into Bossy's eyes,
Looked the Daisy, boldly,
But, alas! to his surprise,
Bossy ate him, coldly!
Listen! Daisies in the fields,
Hide away from Bossy!
Daisies make the milk she yields,
And her coat grow glossy.
So, each day, she tries to find
Daisies nodding sweetly,
And although it's most unkind,
Bites their heads off, neatly!
Margaret Deland.
The Clucking Hen
"Will you take a walk with me,
My little wife, to-day?
There's barley in the barley-field,
And hay-seed in the hay."
"Thank you," said the clucking hen;
"I've something else to do;
I'm busy sitting on my eggs,
I cannot walk with you."
"Cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck,"
Said the clucking hen;
"My little chicks will soon be hatched,
I'll think about it then."
The clucking hen sat on her nest,
She made it in the hay;
And warm and snug beneath her breast,
A dozen white eggs lay.
Crack, crack, went all the eggs,
Out dropt the chickens small!
"Cluck," said the clucking hen,
"Now I have you all."
"Come along, my little chicks,
I'll take a walk with you."
"Hollo!" said the barn-door cock,
"Cock-a-doodle-do!"
Aunt Effie's Rhymes.
Chickens in Trouble
"O mother, mother! I'm so cold!"
One little chicken grumbled.
"And, mother!" cried a second chick,
"Against a stone I've stumbled."
"And oh! I am so sleepy now,"
Another chick was moaning;
While chicken fourth of tired wings,
Kept up a constant groaning.
"And, mother! I have such a pain!"
Peeped out the chicken baby;
"That yellow meal did taste so good,
I've eaten too much, may be."
"And there's a black, black cloud up there,"
Cried all in fear and wonder;
"O mother dear, do spread your wings
And let us all creep under."
"There, there, my little dears, come here;
Your cries are quite distressing,"
The mother called, and spread her wings
For comfort and caressing.
And soon beneath her feathers warm,
The little chicks were huddled;
"I know what ailed you all," she said,
"You wanted to be cuddled."
And as they nestled cosily
And hushed their weak complaining,
She told them that the black, black cloud
Was quite too small for raining.
And one by one they all were soothed,
And out again went straying,
Until five happy little chicks
Were in the farmyard playing.
Emilie Poulsson.
From the Norwegian.
The Funniest Thing in the World[5]
The funniest thing in the world, I know,
Is watchin' the monkeys 'at's in the show!—
Jumpin' an' runnin' an' racin' roun',
'Way up the top o' the pole; nen down!
First they're here, an' nen they're there,
An' ist a'most any an' ever'where!—
Screechin' an' scratchin' wherever they go,
They're the funniest thing in the world, I know!
They're the funniest thing in the world, I think:—
Funny to watch 'em eat an' drink;
Funny to watch 'em a-watchin' us,
An' actin' 'most like grown folks does!—
Funny to watch 'em p'tend to be
Skeerd at their tail 'at they happen to see;—
But the funniest thing in the world they do
Is never to laugh, like me an' you!
James Whitcomb Riley.
[5] From "Rhymes of Childhood," copyright 1902, used by special permission of the publishers, The Bobbs-Merrill Company.
The Orphan's Song
I had a little bird,
I took it from the nest;
I prest it and blest it,
And nurst it in my breast.
I set it on the ground,
Danced round and round,
And sang about it so cheerly,
With "Hey, my little bird,
And ho! my little bird,
And oh! but I love thee dearly!"
I make a little feast
Of food soft and sweet,
I hold it in my breast,
And coax it to eat;
I pit, and I pat,
I call this and that,
And I sing about so cheerly,
With "Hey, my little bird,
And ho! my little bird,
And ho! but I love thee dearly!"
Sydney Dobell.
The Darling Birds
The darling birds are warm;
Yes, feather on feather,
All close together,
The darling birds are warm.
They care not whether
'Tis stormy weather,
For they are safe from harm.
With feather on feather,
Tho' 'tis stormy weather,
The darling birds are warm.
Unknown.
The Lamb
Now, Lamb, no longer naughty be,
Be good and homewards come with me,
Or else upon another day
You shall not with the daisies play.
Did we not bring you, for a treat,
In the green grass to frisk your feet?
And when we must go home again
You pull your ribbon and complain.
So, little Lamb, be good once more,
And give your naughty tempers o'er.
Then you again shall dine and sup
On daisy white and buttercup.
Kate Greenaway.
Four Pets
Pussy has a whiskered face,
Kitty has such pretty ways,
Doggie scampers when I call,
And has a heart to love us all.
The dog lies in his kennel,
And Puss purrs on the rug,
And baby perches on my knee
For me to love and hug.
Pat the dog and stroke the cat,
Each in its degree;
And cuddle and kiss my baby,
And baby dear kiss me.
Christina G. Rossetti.
A Puppy's Problem
When Midget was a puppy,
And to the farm was brought,
She found that there were many things
A puppy must be taught.
Her mother oft had told her
The first thing to be known
Was how to gnaw and bite, and thus
Enjoy a toothsome bone.
So Midget practiced biting
On everything around,
But that was not approved at all,
To her surprise, she found.
The farmer spoke severely,
Till Midget shook with fright;
The children shouted "No, no, no!
Bad Midget! Mustn't bite!"
'Twas just the same with barking;
At first they all said "Hark!"
Whenever Midget tried her voice;
"Good puppy! that's it! Bark!"
But then, as soon as Midget
Could sound a sharp "Bow-wow!"
Alas! the talk was changed to "Hush!
Such noise we can't allow."
Now wasn't that a puzzle?
It seemed a problem dark,
That it was right and wrong to bite
And right and wrong to bark.
A puppy's hardest lesson
Is when to bark and bite;
But Midget learned it, and became
A comfort and delight.
Emilie Poulsson.
I Like Little Pussy
I like little Pussy,
Her coat is so warm;
And if I don't hurt her
She'll do me no harm.
So I'll not pull her tail,
Nor drive her away,
But Pussy and I
Very gently will play;
She shall sit by my side,
And I'll give her some food;
And she'll love me because
I am gentle and good.
I'll pat little Pussy,
And then she will purr,
And thus show her thanks
For my kindness to her;
I'll not pinch her ears,
Nor tread on her paw,
Lest I should provoke her
To use her sharp claw;
I never will vex her,
Nor make her displeased,
For Pussy can't bear
To be worried or teased.
Jane Taylor.
IV
THE PALACE JEST-BOOK
The Owl and the Eel and the Warming-Pan
The owl and the eel and the warming-pan,
They went to call on the soap-fat man.
The soap-fat man he was not within:
He'd gone for a ride on his rolling-pin.
So they all came back by the way of the town,
And turned the meeting-house upside down.
Laura E. Richards.
The Fastidious Serpent
There was a snake that dwelt in Skye,
Over the misty sea, oh;
He liv'd upon nothing but gooseberry-pie
For breakfast, dinner, and tea, oh.
Now gooseberry-pie—as is very well known—
Over the misty sea, oh,
Is not to be found under every stone,
Nor yet upon every tree, oh.
And being so ill to please with his meat,
Over the misty sea, oh,
The snake had sometimes nothing to eat,
And an angry snake was he, oh.
Then he'd flick his tongue and his head he'd shake,
Over the misty sea, oh,
Crying, "Gooseberry-pie! For goodness' sake
Some gooseberry-pie for me, oh!"
And if gooseberry-pie was not to be had,
Over the misty sea, oh,
He'd twine and twist like an eel gone mad,
Or a worm just stung by a bee, oh.
But though he might shout and wriggle about,
Over the misty sea, oh,
The snake had often to go without
His breakfast, dinner, and tea, oh.
Henry Johnstone.
Snake Story
There was a little Serpent and he wouldn't go to school—
Oh, what a naughty little Snake!
He grinn'd and put his tongue out when they said it was the rule—
Ah, what a naughty face to make.
He wriggled off behind a stone and hid himself from sight—
Oh, what a naughty thing to do!
And went to sleep as if it were the middle of the night—
I wouldn't do like that, would you?
He dreamt of stealing linties' eggs and sucking them quite dry—
Oh, what a greedy thing to dream!
And then he dreamt that he had wings and knew the way to fly—
Ah, what a pleasure that would seem!
By came a collie dog and said, "What have we here?
Oh, it's a horrid little Snake!"
He bark'd at him and woke him up and fill'd him full of fear—
Ah, how his heart began to quake!
How the Serpent got away he really didn't know—
Oh, what a dreadful fright he got!
But he hurried all the way to school as hard as he could go,
Dusty and terrified and hot.
As into school he wriggled, they were putting books away—
"Oh," says the master, "is it you?
Stand upon that stool, sir, while the others go to play;
That's what a truant has to do."
Henry Johnstone.
The Melancholy Pig
There was a Pig, that sat alone,
Beside a ruined Pump.
By day and night he made his moan:
It would have stirred a heart of stone
To see him wring his hoofs and groan,
Because he could not jump.
Lewis Carroll.
Hospitality
Said a Snake to a Frog with a wrinkled skin,
"As I notice, dear, that your dress is thin,
And a rain is coming, I'll take you in."
John B. Tabb.
Lost
"Lock the dairy door!" Oh, hark, the cock is crowing proudly!
"Lock the dairy door!" and all the hens are cackling loudly:
"Chickle, chackle, chee," they cry; "we haven't got the key," they cry;
"Chickle, chackle, chee! Oh, dear, wherever can it be!" they cry.
Up and down the garden walks where all the flowers are blowing,
Out about the golden fields where tall the wheat is growing,
Through the barn and up the road they cackle and they chatter:
Cry the children, "Hear the hens! Why, what can be the matter?"
What scraping and what scratching, what bristling and what hustling;
The cock stands on the fence, the wind his ruddy plumage rustling;
Like a soldier grand he stands, and like a trumpet glorious
Sounds his shout both far and near, imperious and victorious.
But to partlets down below, who cannot find the key, they hear,
"Lock the dairy door!" That's all his challenge says to them, my dear.
Why they had it, how they lost it, must remain a mystery;
I that tell you, never heard the first part of the history.
But if you will listen, dear, next time the cock crows proudly,
"Lock the dairy door!" you'll hear him tell the biddies loudly:
"Chickle, chackle, chee," they cry; "we haven't got the key!" they cry;
"Chickle, chackle, chee! Oh, dear, wherever can it be!" they cry.
Celia Thaxter.