Part 2

Brother Dick and I one day Watched Mrs. Spider spin away: My, how she spun, and spun, and spun, Until she had her web all done! Then, brother Dick, he said to me: “Now, where can Mr. Spider be?” We watched, but didn’t see him come, So I guess he couldn’t have lived at home.

THE NAUGHTY LITTLE GIRL

When I’m so awf’ly naughty, And just won’t do The very littlest tiny thing That I’m told to, But kick and scream when any one Attempts to come my way, And press my fingers to my ears To miss what they may say, Why, then my mother says that I’m As bad as bad can be; She says she thinks it’s some one else Instead of me. She says she’s sure the little girl She used to know Would never do the horrid things That hurt her so; And though she doesn’t try to whip, She looks so very sad That somehow I just get ashamed And can’t keep being bad: I chase the naughty girl away As far as far can be; Then I run and kiss my mother, so She’ll know I’m me!

ON THE STAIR

A wee form nestles on the stair, Two eyes betraying The Sand-man has o’ertaken there Wee steps delaying. Too tired to mount the flight to bed, Dear little tumbled golden head, Just resting there a while instead, Through dreamland straying.

THE LAND O’ DREAMS

All aboard for the Land o’ Dreams! (One for the money and two for the show!) All aboard for the Land o’ Dreams! (Three to make ready and four to go!) The passenger’s late, But the cars all wait-- Just hark to the brakeman’s cries: “All aboard for the Land o’ Dreams!”-- And the tickets are drowsy eyes.

II

All aboard for the Land o’ Dreams! (One for the money and two for the show!) All aboard for the Land o’ Dreams! (Three to make ready and four to go!) The whistles sound, And the wheels go ’round, And the bright green fields slip past; The passenger’s here and the track is clear To the Land o’ Dreams at last!

THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT

Sometimes at night I get awake And all’s so dark and still-- Why I’m ’bout scared even to take A deep-down breath, until I peer ’round first and try to see If ev’rything’s all right! For the terriblest things can be,-- The Middle of the Night.

I want so much to cry right out-- But I am awful ’fraid! ’Cause, if those black things _were_ about, They’d hear the noise I made. And mother sleeps so very sound, She mightn’t hear, you see, And then they’d make a great big bound And run away with me.

So I lie just still as I can-- My heart a-thumping so! Wishing I were a great big man, So I’d not scare, you know. When oh!--the covers pull away And just as I begin To scream--why, I hear mother say It’s her tucking them in!

WHEN OUR FATHERS WERE LITTLE BOYS

When our fathers were little boys, Before they grew to men, I wonder did they make a noise Or have a good time then? I wonder did they ever fight And punch each other’s nose? Or if they always did just right And never spoiled their clothes.

I wonder did their mothers scold Sometimes and make them cry? I wonder if they ever told A teeny-weeny lie? I wonder if they ever had Such dirty hands and face? I wonder were they ever mad And banged things ’round the place?

I wonder did they ever run To fires hard as they could? Or if they called it better fun To sit still and be good? I wonder _were_ they ever small And kept back in the shade? Or didn’t they have to grow at all, But just come ready made?

SLUMBER LAND

To all: “Good-night!” Two eyes shut tight And baby’s bound for Slumber, The land where all tired children go, The land where white dream-flowers grow Beyond my art to number: Winks And blinks And nods all past-- Mother’s arms are sure and fast, Off to Slumber Land at last, The moonlit Land of Slumber!

THE NEW BROTHER

We’ve got a new kid in our house; And it ’bout gives me a fit, The fuss that ev’rybody is A-making over it. All ’long I’ve been the pet, you see, ’Twas _me_ they tried to please But now, this other fellow has Them all upon their knees!

He’s just about the ugliest! And really doesn’t seem Able to do another thing But double up and scream. He’s got no teeth, he’s got no hair,-- Worst curiosity! I’d like some one to tell me _why_ He counts for more than me!

End of Project Gutenberg's Poems of Life, by Katharine Forrest Hamill