I know the song that the bluebird is singing,
Out in the apple-tree where he is swinging:
Brave little fellow! the skies may be dreary:
Nothing cares he while his heart is so cheery.
Hark! how the music leaps out from his throat— 5
Hark! was there ever so merry a note?
Listen awhile, and you'll hear what he's saying,
Up in the apple-tree, swinging and swaying.
"Dear little blossoms, down under the snow,
You must be weary of winter, I know; 10
Hark while I sing you a message of cheer—
Summer is coming! and spring-time is here!
"Little white snowdrop! I pray you, arise;
Bright yellow crocus! come, open your eyes;
Sweet little violets, hid from the cold, 5
Put on your mantles of purple and gold:
Daffodils! daffodils! say, do you hear?—
Summer is coming! and spring-time is here!"
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
Scotland, 1850-1894
Where go the Boats?
Dark brown is the river,
Golden is the sand, 10
It flows along forever,
With trees on either hand.
Green leaves a-floating,
Castles of the foam,
Boats of mine a-boating—
Where will all come home?
On goes the river 5
And out past the mill,
Away down the valley,
Away down the hill.
Away down the river,
A hundred miles or more, 10
Other little children
Shall bring my boats ashore.