Chapter 4
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.
[Footnote 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.
[Footnote 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.
[Footnote 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.