Part 1

RHYMES OF A CHILD’S WORLD

By MIRIAM CLARK POTTER With Illustrations by Ruth Fuller Stevens

Boston THE FOUR SEAS COMPANY Publishers ]

_Copyright, 1920, by_ THE FOUR SEAS COMPANY

The Four Seas Press Boston, Mass., U. S. A.

TO MY MOTHER AND FATHER WHO ALWAYS HAD TIME TO WAIVE GROWN-UP MATTERS AND READ A SMALL RHYME:

WHOSE HEARTS EVER HELD THROUGH THE FLIGHT OF THE YEARS A SOFT UNDERSTANDING OF SMALL JOYS AND TEARS.

We wish to acknowledge with thanks the permission of “The Youth’s Companion,” “St. Nicholas,” “Little Folks,” and Congregational Publishing Society for such of these rhymes as have appeared in their publications.

CONTENTS

IN THE HOUSE

Page

MY DEAREST IS A LADY 13

BUBBLES 14

THE GROWN-UP WORLD 16

TEA TIME 18

UMBRELLAS 20

THE MARCH WIND 21

THE TIPTOES 23

RAIN-ON-THE-ROOF 25

PRINCESS FIRE 27

THE DOLLS 28

BREAD AND BUTTER 30

THE COMPANY MAN 31

THE NEW SLIPPERS 32

THE LIGHTHOUSE LAMP 33

SISTER MARTHA 35

A PLAINT 36

THE FAT LITTLE CLOUD 37

THE LOOKING GLASS 38

MUFFINS 40

THANKSGIVING KITCHEN SONG 41

CRACKER SHIPS 43

THE CANDLE TREE 44

THE LITTLE RUG FROM PERSIA 46

DUTCH KATRINA 47

OUTDOORS AT PLAY

THE CHILDREN OF THE WIND 51

THE SOLEMN FROG 52

SUMMER WEATHER 53

A WARNING 54

THE MOON IN THE POOL 55

THE FLYING HOURS 56

THE COMMON THINGS 57

THE HEN 60

BLUNDERING BENJAMIN BUMBLE BEE 61

THE TWO LITTLE FLOCKS 62

TO THE LITTLE GIRL NEXT DOOR 64

THE RIDE TO TOWN 65

THE SWANS 67

ROADS 69

THE CUDDLE-DE-WEES 71

THE HIGHEST HILL IN HAPPYTOWN 72

A LIKENESS 75

HAY COCKS 76

MAY 77

THE WINDMILL COUNTRY 78

THE OWL 79

THE CLOUD IN THE GARDEN 80

RUNAWAY RIVER 82

THE JACK O’ LANTERN 84

THE MAD MARCH HARE 86

THE WATER CHILD 88

TWILIGHT SONGS

TWILIGHT TOWN 91

THE LUCKY LITTLE STAR 92

THE FLOCK OF DREAMS 94

HOW SLEEP WAS MADE 95

THE TWO GOWNS 97

THE TWILIGHT MAN 99

THE DREAM SHIP 100

A PRAYER AT EVENING 101

THE WILLOW TREE 102

THE FAIRY’S NAME WAS WHISPER 104

FIRE FLIES 106

THE LADY NIGHT 107

THE MARCH OF THE SHADOWS 108

THE STAR-LIGHTER 109

A BALLAD OF THREE 111

THE STAR SHIPS 113

THE YELLOW CITY LIGHTS 114

THE PILOT WIND 115

ROCKING SONG 117

THE LAUGHTER MILL 119

LITTLE SISTER OF THE MOON 121

THE SANDMAN’S WIFE 123

DREAMS FOR THREE 126

LADY MOTHER 127

THE ROAD TO GLAD TOMORROW 128

_’Tis a world of wonderful things,_ _Of wind and water and wings_ _And the tiniest bird_ _That ever was heard_ _Of God and His goodness sings;_

_So be glad, little child, and say_ _“Mine is a wonderful way;_ _They all are for me,_ _The flower and the tree,_ _Love, and the light of day.”_

MY DEAREST IS A LADY

My dearest is a lady, and she wears a gown of blue; She sits beside the window, where the yellow sun comes through; The light is shining on her hair, and all the while she sews She sings a song about a knight--a brave, good knight she knows.

My dearest is a lady,--and O, I love her well! Full five and twenty times a day this very tale I tell; For I’m the knight in armor--a shield and sword I wear; And mother is my lady, with the light upon her hair.

BUBBLES

Misty balls of rainbow stuff, Sailing in the sun, We have watched them as they grew, Slowly, one by one. Flowers they are that bud and blow, Shining spheres of light; Our eager hands would grasp them Before they burst from sight.

Little brother, come and see! Here’s a pretty thing, Glowing like a fairy lamp, Floating like a wing. Magic colors gleam and go In a glad surprise; Can you reach the jewels there, Little Wonder-Eyes?

Little boy from ’cross-the-street, Very straight and proud, Blows the biggest one of all, Rosy as a cloud; Up it rises like a bird, Trembles in the air, Shines with all its soul for us, Then is gone nowhere.

Sky has sent her sweetest blue, Dawn has sent her rose, River sends her laughter-lights,-- Don’t you just suppose? Day has given clearness,-- Night has lent a star,-- And only happy children Know what bubbles are.

Little boy from ’cross-the-street, Little Let-Me-Too, Thinks they’re made of undreamed dreams, Glassed in morning dew; Just perhaps they’re made of that; We are glad they stay For even little breathless whiles, Before they melt away.

THE GROWN-UP WORLD

O Grown-Up World, where I live and play, Shall I really belong in you, world, some day?

The chairs are so tall, it is hard to climb up, So heavy to hold is a grown person’s cup, The door-knobs are high, very high, I must stand On the tips of my toes when I put up my hand.

The grown people sing as they pass in and out And things seem just right, as they journey about; They light the high lamps, and they read the big books And they smile down upon me, with far-away looks.

But soon I’ll be older, and then I’ll be tall, And I’ll wind the old clock, where it stands in the hall; I’ll sit down in chairs like my great-aunt Marie And lift the big pot when it comes with the tea.

Grown-Up World, where I live and play, Shall I really belong in you, world, some day?

TEA TIME

The tea bell rings with a merry sound And tea is ready at last; Down from the hall, where we played at cars, We come on the Very-Fast.

There are the muffins we hoped would be And the plates of honey and cheese. We may have milk in our little blue jugs As much as ever we please.

Oh, we were hungry up in the hall, Hungry as children can be; Often we called from the stairs to ask: “When is it time for tea?”

The candles shine with a yellow light And our shadows are big on the wall; Out in the dark the wind rides past With a “Happy good-night!” to all.

UMBRELLAS

People on a rainy day Look like mushrooms, strange to say, And their round umbrella tops Gleam among the falling drops;

Little mushrooms grow in clumps, Round the feet of mossy stumps, Large ones wander up and down Through the streets of Rainy-town.

THE MARCH WIND

The lion wind comes rushing in From jungle lands of sky, And all the lamps along the street He fairly blinds with snow and sleet And goes a-rushing by; The bold March wind, the cold March wind, Who makes the tree-tops fly.

He stole a pillow from a line And rolled it, all the way, From Perkins Street to Market Square With giant paws at play; The queer March wind, the drear March wind, Who takes my breath away.

The other night, at dinner-time, When cook went to the door, To get the frozen pudding in ’Twas spilled upon the floor! The gruff March wind, the rough March wind, Had played the trick, she swore.

But just last night, when all was dark, I raised the window wide, To fasten in a flapping cord, That kept the curtain tied; The great March wind rushed through the room; “I promise Spring!” he cried.

THE TIPTOES

The tiny little Tiptoes, from the Land of Wonder-Where, Walk all around our houses, and we never know they’re there; They climb the chairs and tables, and they hang upon the door, They wind the clock, and ride the cat, and slide upon the floor.

They come to see the baby bathed, and stand, all in a row, Upon the edge of Little Tub, and lean to watch the show; They clap their hands at every splash; and then away they fly, To see what cook is making, and dance upon the pie.

At night, when lamps are lighted, they hurry all about (Like owls, they see much better when the moon and stars are out;) They gather round the fireplace, to hear the fam’ly talk, And walk upon the mantle; but you never _hear_ them walk.

The things they do are dangerous; I’m sure you’re thinking that; They might be drowned in Bath-Tub, or eaten by the cat: But their little hands are careful, and their footsteps soft as breath, And at a sudden rattle they are frightened half to death.

(Now, did you ever hear, at dusk, with no one in the room, The wicker chair go snappy-snap, like bristles in a broom? Well, then you may be certain, so the Really-Trulies say, That a Tiptoe slipped and tumbled, and is running fast away.)

RAIN-ON-THE-ROOF

Rain upon the roof in the garret; little fingers knocking on the pane; A fairy voice is calling in the splashing and the falling, “I am the rain--the rain!” Shadows, shadows, shadows, in the corner by the eaves; Wet against the windows lie the little faded leaves.

Rain upon the roof in the garret; play we are a pirate crew at sea; Play the old oak chest, in the veil of cobwebs dressed, Is a leaking, creaking ship, the “Stinging Bee”; Play the broken cradle, where our pile of play-things lie, Is an island full of treasure, where we’ll anchor by and by.

Rain upon the roof in the garret; shadows, dust, and cobwebs all around; We know the game to play, on a dark and blowy day, And we launch the “Stinging Bee” without a sound; With a pilot at the spinning wheel, we’ll land, at the break of day, On lonely Cradle Island, and steal all the things away.

PRINCESS FIRE

The gray fog folds the houses round, The rain falls from the sky, And in the house, all snug and warm, Are Princess Fire and I; She wears a gown of changing red And while she sings to me She dances gayly to and fro With laughing witchery.

Oh, weary, weary, weary wheels, Slow turning in the street; Oh, lamps that burn so bravely there, Through all the mist and sleet; Oh, great bleak wind from northern lands That beats against the pane-- To your cold realms I banish you;-- To darkness and the rain.

Upon the hearthstone here within The ruddy comfort gleams, And Princess Fire her province rules, The while her subject dreams; And here are warmth, and cheer, and light, And here no need to sigh;-- A lover and his lady bright-- Good Princess Fire and I.

THE DOLLS

I take them up at morning, and I put them down at night, The large one, and the small one, and the rest; The one that came from London-town, the one from bright Japan, The pretty Paris lady with the fluffy feather fan, And the weary, dreary one I love the best; I take them up with smiling, and I put them down with sighs, And I smooth their hair with loving and with pride, When I put them in the cradle, at the paling of the skies, I sing my very softest at their side.

O, a boy may have a fife and gun, a boy may have a drum, A boy may have a helmet with a plume; And a boy may go a-marching all around the house with shouts, And set the echoes ringing in a room; But dolls were made for girls, I guess, and here before the fire, I rock them, rock them, rock them to their rest; The one that came from London-town, the one from bright Japan, The pretty Paris lady with the fluffy feather fan, The nodding one that shuts its eyes as sleepy babies can, And the weary, dreary one I love the best.

BREAD AND BUTTER

I come in hungry from my play, And ask for things to eat; And think of all the cake we’ve got, So plummy and so sweet;

But very gently, mother says, “There’s butter, and there’s bread;” And smiles at me; my hunger leaves, I sigh, and shake my head;

For I had only wished for cake, So plummy, and so sweet; And I go back to play again Without a thing to eat.

THE COMPANY MAN

Sometimes the company man is wide, And sometimes he’s high and thin, But always he smiles, in the parlor there, When brother and I come in; He looks down at us in a grown-up way, With--“How are you children, my dears, today?”

Then out to the table we go like a march, With mother-our-dear in the lead; And the company man sits down with smiles And eats very much indeed; We try to be quiet, as good as we can, And we stare all the time at the company man.

THE NEW SLIPPERS

Sister Alice has some slippers that are really very new, She’s had them from the shoe-shop for just a day or two; They are very, very shiny, of a leather smooth and sleek, With ribbon bows to tie them;--but goodness, how they squeak!

And early in the morning they come squeaking down the stairs, They squeak across the polished floor to come to fam’ly prayers; Then out along the garden walk, where morning winds are cool, And when ’tis time for lessons, they go squeaking off to school.

But when the shine is worn away, and when the soles are through, And when the little slippers are old instead of new, The squeak will go away from them, and in the house and out, They’ll only make a thumping sound, as Alice walks about.

THE LIGHTHOUSE LAMP

When at night I draw the curtain, and look out upon the sea, I watch the yellow lighthouse lamp, flash out “One, two and three”; Calling, “Here are reefs to wreck you!” and “Good sailorman, take care! An island here with rocky shores, beware, seafolk, beware! ’Tis I, the lonely lighthouse lamp, that calls you on the deep. I glow when fog is thick and cold, when daylight is asleep. Watch close! Ride sure! Take heart again! Keep safely out to sea! I send my warning out to you, my friendly warning out to you, I flash, ‘One, two and three!’”

When morning comes to wake me, and I look across the bay, The lighthouse lamp is fast asleep, all in the light of day. The tall, white tower is holding it. It keeps it safely high. The gray gulls circle round it, and “We bring you dreams!” they cry. “Dreams of the high, white stars at night, dreams of the rocking sea, Dreams of the ships that listen when you call, ‘One, two and three!’ And more than all of these again, are dreams to fill your sleep, Of the homes of sailormen, the waiting homes of sailormen, Whose happiness you keep.”

SISTER MARTHA

Sister Martha said to me: “Tie your hair with bows, Oh, the way it flies about, when the least wind blows!” Sister Martha fluttered by, in her primrose gown, She’s the very neatest girl, people say, in town.

Green and gold the garden lay, set with summer flowers, Sweetly pink and white they grew, fresh from morning showers; Martha took her sewing there; underneath the tree Quiet in the shade she sat, sewing daintily.

Just perhaps when I am old, old as Martha looks, I will sew on lacy clothes, read love-story books; Now, behind the goblin bush, where I cannot show, I ruffle up my windy hair, and _pity_ Martha so!

A PLAINT

When I have grown a yard or so I’ll be a pirate, that I know, And capture on the stormy sea Ships full of coffee and of tea.

For it is quite a shame, I think, When such good things are had to drink That only grown folks get a cup; How glad I’ll be when I grow up!

THE FAT LITTLE CLOUD

Little Eldora made some bread, And set it to rise in a pan; After a while it began to grow, As only good bread-dough can.

Then little Eldora went to town And stayed there most of the day; While she was gone the bread got up-- Out of the pan and away.

When she got back it was floating up Out of the door, and high It rose and rose, till at last it made A fat little cloud in the sky.

THE LOOKING GLASS

Far behind the looking glass I should like to go and pass, Looking near and far; Magic things it shows to me, Things as like as like can be, To the things that are.

Hanging in the quiet hall True it shows upon the wall Window, clock and stair; Sometimes roses in a vase, Sometimes mother in her lace, All in picture there.

Once, before the lights were lit, Soft the smooth glass mirrored it,-- Evening’s rosy moon; Slow it slipped from past a tree, Shone a little while for me, Then was gone so soon.

MUFFINS

Molly tied her apron on, Blue and white, it was; “I’ll be making muffins,” Molly said, “because There’s no more o’ currants For the little buns”; “Make us muffins,” ’Lizbeth cries, “Fluffy yellow ones!”

Sniffing in the baking smell Brother said to me: “Think of all the children Muffinless, for tea! Esquimos with bear and oil China boys with rice-- I am glad I live at home; Muffins are so nice!”

THANKSGIVING KITCHEN SONG

Warm Thanksgiving fires are burning, over all the land Frosty winds are blowing down the streets; Hungry little children by the kitchen tables stand To look upon the good Thanksgiving sweets.

Molly with cap and apron, open wide the door; Let us in the kitchen for the fun! There’s a pudding stuffed with raisins, and the turkey fills the pan, The pumpkin pie is yellow as the sun.

Upon the silver treasure plate we pile the purple fruit And Molly swings the heavy oven door; The air is sweet with spicy things, the kettle hums a tune, The yellow sun is shining on the floor.

Just out across the river, through the lines of crinkled corn, A gusty little wind, all up and down, Plays tag among the melon vines, and then flies off at last, To tease the smoking chimneys of the town.

Warm Thanksgiving fires are burning, over all the land, In the kitchens of the houses there is cheer; And we are very cosy as we watch the little clock; The hour of merry dinner-time is near.

CRACKER SHIPS

Ships a-sailing in my soup; See them dip and flutter! Little cracker ships are they With a sail of butter;

Nurse has come; I eat them up As fast as I am able; She has said ’tis not polite To fuss with things at table.

THE CANDLE TREE

O hush, little brother, step soft on the stair This Christmas morning; for waiting there Is the candle-tree, with its flowers of light All shining and blossoming bright, so bright: Isn’t it good to bloom for us so When all other trees are asleep in the snow?

Only on Christmas day it comes While the white snow flies and the north wind hums; When the spirit of giving is in the air Then we are sure to find it there. O hush, little brother, step soft and light Lest it fade like a dream-thing away from sight!

For under its branches are sheltered here The things we’ve wanted through all the year; The doll I dreamed about months ago, The scarlet horn that you wanted so New books and pictures, all waiting, see,-- Under the care of the candle-tree!

And over its branches and all about Peace and contentment and joy shine out, Making the world a beautiful place Making me say, as I lift my face, “O wonderful, wonderful, candle-tree, The light of the Christ-child is over me!”

THE LITTLE RUG FROM PERSIA

The little rug from Persia, that lies upon our floor, It gleams a wealth of colors with the sunlight from the door; A pretty gold, like candlelight A starry blue, like skies at night, A red like rubies, wild and bright, All these and many more.

The little rug from Persia, that shines like flowers and wings, If it could only talk to us could tell of many things; Of foreign lands, so far away Of magic night and burning day, Of dark-skinned children at their play Of elephants and kings.

DUTCH KATRINA

Dutch Katrina is so good! In the kitchen’s brightness Makes us sugar things to eat, Cakes of fairy lightness; Keeps us laughing all the while With a song or fable; Tells us of the Tulip Land As she lays the table.