Little White Lily.
This poem (George Macdonald, 1828-) finds a place in this volume because, as a child, I loved it. It completely filled my heart, and has made every member of the lily family dear to me. George Macdonald’s charming book, “At the Back of the North Wind,” also was my wonder and delight.
|
Little White Lily Sat by a stone, Drooping and waiting Till the sun shone. Little White Lily Sunshine has fed; Little White Lily Is lifting her head. Little White Lily Said: “It is good Little White Lily’s Clothing and food.” Little White Lily Dressed like a bride! Shining with whiteness, And crownèd beside! Little White Lily Drooping with pain, Waiting and waiting For the wet rain. Little White Lily Holdeth her cup; Rain is fast falling And filling it up. Little White Lily Said: “Good again, When I am thirsty To have the nice rain. Now I am stronger, Now I am cool; Heat cannot burn me, My veins are so full.” Little White Lily Smells very sweet; On her head sunshine, Rain at her feet. Thanks to the sunshine, Thanks to the rain, Little White Lily Is happy again. |
George Macdonald.
How the Leaves Came Down.
“How the Leaves Came Down,” by Susan Coolidge (1845-), appeals to children because it helps to reconcile them to going to bed. “I go to bed by day” is one of the crosses of childhood.
|
“I’ll tell you how the leaves came down,” The great Tree to his children said: “You’re getting sleepy, Yellow and Brown, Yes, very sleepy, little Red. It is quite time to go to bed.” “Ah!” begged each silly, pouting leaf, “Let us a little longer stay; Dear Father Tree, behold our grief! ’Tis such a very pleasant day, We do not want to go away.” So, for just one more merry day To the great Tree the leaflets clung, Frolicked and danced, and had their way, Upon the autumn breezes swung, Whispering all their sports among— “Perhaps the great Tree will forget, And let us stay until the spring, If we all beg, and coax, and fret.” But the great Tree did no such thing; He smiled to hear their whispering. “Come, children, all to bed,” he cried; And ere the leaves could urge their prayer, He shook his head, and far and wide, Fluttering and rustling everywhere, Down sped the leaflets through the air. I saw them; on the ground they lay, Golden and red, a huddled swarm, Waiting till one from far away, White bedclothes heaped upon her arm, Should come to wrap them safe and warm. The great bare Tree looked down and smiled. “Good-night, dear little leaves,” he said. And from below each sleepy child Replied, “Good-night,” and murmured, “It is so nice to go to bed!” |
Susan Coolidge.
Willie Winkie.
“Wee Willie Winkie,” by William Miller (1810-72), is included in this volume out of respect to an eight-year-old child who chose it from among hundreds. We had one poetry hour every week, and he studied and recited it with unabated interest to the end of the year.