The Project Gutenberg eBook of Rhymes of a child's world, by Miriam Clark Potter.

A Book of Verse for Children

By
MIRIAM CLARK POTTER
With Illustrations by
Ruth Fuller Stevens

Boston
THE FOUR SEAS COMPANY
Publishers

{4}

Copyright, 1920, by
THE FOUR SEAS COMPANY

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

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.

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{8}
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{9}
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

THE CHILD INDOORS AT PLAY

MY DEAREST IS A LADY

BUBBLES

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 u{17}p,
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{18} belong in you, world, some day?

TEA TIME

UMBRELLAS

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;{22}
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.
{23}

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

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,
An{25}d 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;
We{27}t 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 win{28}d 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{30} 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

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{34} 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

A PLAINT

THE FAT LITTLE CLOUD

THE LOOKING GLASS

MUFFINS

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.
{44}

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

THE CANDLE TREE

THE LITTLE RUG FROM PERSIA

DUTCH KATRINA

THE CHILDREN OF THE WIND

THE SOLEMN FROG

SUMMER WEATHER

A WARNING

THE MOON IN THE POOL

THE FLYING HOURS

THE COMMON THINGS

In the meadow lands, where the lilies grow
Where the reapers sing and the cattle low
The river dreams as it moves to sea
And the heaven above smiles tenderly;
Over its waters she gently bends
And her glad, bright smile to its depths she sends
So magic sweet, that through and through
The river warms to a richer blue;
’T{61}is something just a child can see
And not for grown-ups, but for me.

The sun is a fire, so the grown-folks say
And warms the earth in a learned way;
But the sun is a great round crown, I know,
Of a giant who lost it years ago.
He was King of the Clouds, till one black day
The wind, in an anger, swept him away,
And his golden crown, like a living thing
Keeps moving about to find its king.
’Tis something just a child can see
And not for grown-ups, but for me.

THE HEN

BLUNDERING BENJAMIN BUMBLE BEE

THE TWO LITTLE FLOCKS

Five little sheep on a hillside grazed
Where the raggedest daisies grew,
And just overhead, in a sunny space
Were five little clouds in the blue;

And the five little clouds in the sky looked down
On the five little sheep below
And they called out to them in a friendly way
“O little white flock, hello!”

“We look alike—we must be alike;
Now isn’t that plain to you?
Come up with us in the pasture sky
O little white flock,—please do!”

But the five little sheep on the hill looked sad
And nibbled the grass instead;
And each one smothered a sorrowful sigh
Shaking his wise little head;

And they called to the flock in the sky, “O no;
Such union would never do;
We must be fed on the greenest grass
While your meadow grass is blue;”

“And how would we look when trying to fly
With hard little feet for wings?
Sheep of the earth and sheep of the sky
Were made for different things.”

And the little white flock in the sky looked down
On the little white flock below
And they said to themselves—“How queer; when we
Resemble each other so!”

TO THE LITTLE GIRL NEXT DOOR

A RIDE TO TOWN

Oh, the road that leads to town
On a summer morning!
Yellow sunshine on the fields,{70}
Mist the hills adorning;
Leaves soft blowing in the breeze
Fresh from summer showers;
Roadside, as we drive along,
Crowded thick with flowers.
{71}

Aunt Matilda flaps the reins;
“Raisins, flour, and butter;
We must not forget the yeast”;
(How the corn leaves flutter;)
“We must get a skein of yarn
And some gingham patches”;
(How the river, where it turns,
Sky’s own color matches!)

“Here we are at Peter’s Mill;
Yes, they’re busy grinding”;
Through Green Meadow, just beyond,
Bubble Brook is winding;
Satin crows perch on the trees;
Auntie counts her money;
While she’s gone I sing my joy;—
Bees are making honey!

THE SWANS

On{72} the tiny lake with the fairy bridge, where the rainbow fountains play,
The grass slopes down to the water’s edge, in an easy, velvet way;
And there the white bird-boats float by, in a long, parading line,
And I am a princess on the shore, to play they are really mine.

Some birds belong to the sky and hills, and some must stay in the tree,
The wee brown partridge runs in the grass,—as wild as a bird can be;
They all belong to the free outdoors, the eagles, the owls, and the larks,
But the tall white swans, with their stately necks, were made for the city parks.

As they sail along in their proudest way, with their feet a-dabble behind,
Their stiff starched tails stand up in a row, the crispiest tails you’ll find;
Now they are still, where the willows are, a-float on their spreading wings,
And upside down they are pictured there,—the pretty white china things!

ROADS

Many, many roads there are, warm and dusty brown,
Some go running to the hills, some turn into town,
Some lead far and far away, where nobody knows;
How I’d like to follow them, finding where each goes!

Once I found a pretty road, leading up a hill,
I thought each turn would be the last, and yet it wandered still;
Close beside a shady pool, up across a stile,
Then down beside a twist of stream, till I had gone a mile.

It was a fine and pleasant road, and as I walked I thought:
“It leads, perhaps, to stately lands which rich Sir John has bought:”
But down it went across a bridge, all tumbled and forlorn,
Then straight behind a farmer’s barn, where ducks were eating corn.
{74}

Many, many roads there are, warm and dusty brown;
Some go running to the hills, some turn into town;
Each and every one of them, I choose it as my friend,
For strange delights are waiting me, if I could find the end.

THE CUDDLE-DE-WEES

Our hen has a troop of cuddle-de-wees
Th{75}at follow her round, all day;
And some are yellow, and some are black,
And one is a spotless gray;
And at evening time, when the sunset light
Glows red between the trees
Our hen selects a sheltered place
And calls to her cuddle-de-wees;

“Cuddle-de-wees, cuddle-de-wees,
The dew’s on the meadow, the night’s on the breeze,
And the herd bells ring; come under my wing
And snuggle to sleep, while the crickets sing;
To the world, a stupid old hen am I;
To you I’m a refuge, warm and dry,
And safe with a feathery peace: so rest,
For young little fowl this place is the best.”

And there in the shadow, beneath the trees,
They run to her gladly, the cuddle-de-wees.
{76}

THE HIGHEST HILL IN HAPPY TOWN

The highest hill in Happytown—I climbed it just today,
A little wind went with me, like a comrade, all the way.
I’d longed to journey to the place, and when the glad day came,
I told myself that Happytown should be the village name.

We chose the pleasant river road that leads along the fields,
And what a wealth of clover-sweet the wind across it yields!
We drove through little Singing Woods, we passed another place,
But all the time ’twas Happytown toward which I turned my face.

“O horses, hurry on,” I sang, “and do not wait to drink,
How glad you are to stop a while at shady River Brink!”
And when we reached the little town, I flew with glad swift feet,
To what I knew was waiting me at end of Sunlight Street.

And out upon the valley, where the greenest meadows lay
I saw the tiny reaper folk go piling up the hay;
Then far, far out and wide I looked; and wonderful to me,
On distant shores I’d never seen, spread out the wide, blue sea.

I saw it shining in the light, all misty blue and gray,
The little soft-winged wander boats were resting on the bay;
I stood and looked and wondered, and wished some day to go
Far over there to hear its voice, and feel the salt wind blow.
{78}

And have you heard of Happytown? And do you know its hill?
Such wonders can it show you when the air is clear and still;
The highest in the countryside, for when you stand and look
The world is spread before you, like a wide and open book.

A LIKENESS

HAY COCKS

MAY

THE WINDMILL COUNTRY

THE OWL

THE CLOUD IN THE GARDEN

Oh, where can I find a little white cloud?
Tell me, bee in the clover;
Do they ever, you think, come down to drink,
When the heat of the day is over?
I’d tie one fast to the cherry tree
With a twist of silver twine;{85}
A glad little child I’d surely be
If a little white cloud were mine.

And every morning I’d pull it down
To brush a puff or a wing;
I’d hold it fast in my arms awhile
Smoothing the feathery thing;
I’d feed it dew from a hollyhock
And when it had drunk to please
With a tug on its string it would be away
Riding the gay little breeze.

But Oh, if the clouds in the sky should cry
“Come back, little brother again!”
If their sad little tears should fall down to earth
In sorrowing drops of rain;
If the silver cloud mother should come, at night,
In a fog gown, trailing low,
To hunt for a child in our garden place—
I think I should let it go!

RUNAWAY RIVER

THE JACK O’LANTERN

To the man who tends the garden little brother said today—
“We want a yellow pumpkin, very round”;
And the wind among the corn-stalks, where we stood a-hand-in-hand
Made a funny little rattling sort of sound;
It was very bright and frosty, and the man said, “Come with me,—
I will find you what you want, if you will wait”;
Then he took us through the corn-lines past the heavy apple trees;
There were piles of yellow pumpkins by the gate.

And he asked, “To make a pie with? or to roll upon the ground?”
And he smiled when little brother shook his head;
Then, “I really won’t be guessing, but I think I know the kind—
I was little once myself, you know,” he said;
And we looked at him and twinkled, while he hunted all about,
Till he got the very roundest of them all;
Then he made a wink at brother, and a funny face at me,
And he set the pumpkin up upon the wall.

“‘Tis the king of all the others!” cried the cheery garden-man;
“I’ll be scooping out the middle, if you say”;
And we told him “Yes” in whispers, for it was our secret plan,
And we watched him while he cut the heart away;
Then he asked us—“And his eyes? Shall his nose be long and wise?
Shall he have a ragged, jagged sort of smile?”
And we told the garden-man, “Please, as quickly as you can;
We can only wait a very little while.”

Then he laid the knife beside him, as he said, “Here is the man;
He’ll be looking very happy with a light”;
And we rolled him in our jackets, as we thanked the garden-man,
And we hurried home to wait until the night;
Then a little moon is shining; then we’ll hide behind the wall,
And we’ll put the yellow candle in its place;
In the pretty lighted windows of the children that we know,
While the fathers read the papers, and the mothers sit and sew,
There will shine a merry Jack O’Lantern face.

THE MAD MARCH HARE

THE WATER CHILD

TWILIGHT TOWN

THE LUCKY LITTLE STAR

“I’m a lucky little star!” sang the brightest in the sky.
“Of all the stars about me there is none so glad as I!
For every night at twilight, at the end of every day,
I can look right through a window, in a very pleasant way,
And watch a little mother, with a pretty, drooping head,
As she tucks a little earth-child up, and leaves him safe in bed.{99}”

“And when she’s drawn the curtain back, and blown away the light,
She leaves the little earth-child to slumber and the night;
But never right to slumber,—our secret may it be,—
For every night the little child looks out and smiles to me.
No other star in heaven has so good a place as I!
I’m a lucky little star,” sang the brightest in the sky.

THE FLOCK OF DREAMS

HOW SLEEP WAS MADE

A whisper, a shadow, a lullaby,
A glint of gold from the evening sky,
The wind that blows
Where the poppy grows
And the drowsy song that the river knows,
A gay-winged fairy gathered up
And locked away in a lily cup.

When evening c{101}ame, and the moon was bright,
And the forest dreamed in a glory white,
The fairy flew
Where the lily grew,
And opened it wide, as she’d planned to do;
One moment she poised, on airy wing,
And then in a rapture began to sing:

“O, wonderful sight in the lily cup!
How glad I am that I gathered up
A whisper, a shadow, a lullaby,
A glint of gold from the evening sky,
The wind that blows
Where the poppy grows
And the drowsy song that the river knows,
For my prisoners, down in the whiteness deep,
Have made, ah, wonder! the thing called Sleep.”

THE TWO GOWNS

My mother has a pretty dress
Of silk that’s rich and fine.
She wears it when there’s company
And when she’s out to dine;
The collar has a velvet bow
Below my mother’s face;
The skirt trails softly on the floor,
The sleeves are trimmed with lace;{103}
It shines and shimmers in the light
All changing, gold and green,
I smile at her, and whisper low,
“My mother is a queen!”

My{104} mother has another dress
Of cloth that’s soft and red.
She wears it when the light is low,
When I am going to bed;
And after I have said my prayers
And when I say good-night,
I’m not afraid of hurting it—
I hug up to it tight,
And say, with arms ’round mother’s neck,
“Oh, have you ever guessed
That though your silken gown is fine
I like this dress the best?”

THE TWILIGHT MAN

THE DREAM-SHIP

A PRAYER AT EVENING

THE WILLOW TREE

When the day is nearly over, and the shadows are all gray,
There’s a place in father’s garden where I dearly love to stay;
For I’m tired of all my lessons, and I’m weary of my play,
When the day is nearly over, and the shadows are all gray.

There’s a motherly old willow growing close against the wall,
And I climb up in her branches, and I know I cannot fall,
For she rocks me very softly, in her gentle, loving way,
When the day is nearly over, and the shadows are all gray.

Softly to her leaves and branches come the breezes of the night
And they sing me songs of slumber, in the dim and restful light;
“Sleep and slumber, sleep and slumber, little child,” they seem to say,
“For the day is nearly over, and the shadows are all gray.”

THE FAIRY’S NAME WAS WHISPER

The fairy’s name was Whisper, and she flew around at night;
She filled the lamps of evening, and she set the grasses right;
She waked a lazy glow-worm, where the mossy wood-spring drips,
And hushed the noisy froggies, with her finger on her lips.

“It’s time to sleep! It’s time to sleep!” she told the forest birds;
She soothed the hurried river, with a chant of magic words;{110}
And, finding Billy Beaver, who had planned to work at night,
She sent him off to bed at once, by winking fire-fly light.

The fairy’s name was Whisper; and this I know is true;
And when she’d hung the mists out, there were other things to do;
She caught her robes about her, and she flew from door to door,
To set the babies sleeping, in a hundred homes or more.

And here’s a little baby, who would like to stay awake,
For happy lights are riding, in the boats upon the lake;
An{111}d here a baby cuddles,—and here a baby cries,—
And Whisper finds the newest one, and shuts her tiny eyes.

And do the mothers see her? O never; not at all;
The kitten doesn’t see her, nor the clock upon the wall;
But all the nodding babies, who lie, or walk, or creep;
Know, “Whisper’s come to see us;” and then—they’re—off—to—sleep.

FIRE-FLIES

THE LADY NIGHT

THE MARCH OF THE SHADOWS

From over western hill-tops, where the ruddy sun has dropped,
There comes a line of shadows, marching down,
They are clothed in softest gray, and they’re marching all the way,
From the distant, purple hill-tops to the town.

For their Shadow-King in silence leads them marching, marching on
Ac{115}ross the meadow lands along the lane
Where the glow-worm’s lamp is gleaming, and the poppy flower is dreaming
And the summer wind is stealing through the grain.

For the evening dew has fallen, and the evening mists are low,
And every blossom wears a silver crown;
While the winds are singing, sighing, and the day is paling, dying,
They are marching, marching, marching to the town.

THE STAR-LIGHTER

Come quickly, little sister-girl, the stars are being lit,
The night from down the dusky hills is creeping, bit by bit,
The baby moon is sailing; O, just come out and see,
How the Nightman lights the pretty stars for little you and me!

For he’s the fairy of the skie{116}s, and wears a robe of blue,
He’s old as all the years there are, and yet as young as you,
He has a magic torch to hold; it reaches up so far
That, standing on the hill-top, he can light the farthest star.

And one by one they twinkle out, so very glad and bright
We’re sure he must have touched them with his magic torch of light;
Look up there, little sister-girl, beyond the hill, and see
The big new one that’s glowing now, for little you and me!

Oh{117}, isn’t Nightman good to us, to light the stars o’ nights?
He shows us every evening just the prettiest of sights;
For he’s the fairy of the skies—he wears a robe of blue—
And old as all the years is he—yet just as young as you.

A BALLAD OF THREE

We’re going to build a ship some day,
Bobby, and baby, and I,
A ship to carry us far away,
Bobby, and baby and I;
A swift white ship in which to ride
With a sail of a cobweb, strong and wide,
We’ll launch it away on the blue, blue tide,{118}
Bobby, and baby and I.

We’ll all climb in, with our baby cat,
Bobby, and baby, and I,
The sun may be hot, but we won’t mind that,
Bobby, and baby, and I;
For we’ll sail away to a country fair
And all that we want will be waiting there.
It’s a long, long way, but we know where,
Bobby, and baby, and I.

We’ll play all day, till the moon comes up,
Bobby, and baby, and I;
Then we’ll drink some cream from a silver cup,
Bo{119}bby, and baby, and I;
And we’ll go to sleep by a drooping tree
That dips its arms in the sweet blue sea
To fish up dreams for just us three,—
Bobby, and baby, and I.

THE STAR-SHIPS

THE YELLOW CITY LIGHTS

Through the rain and mist they’re shining; O yellow city lights,
How good you are to twinkle so on dark and windy nights!
Through the puddles splash the horses, and below the wi{122}ndow glass
I can see the wet umbrellas of the people as they pass,

O yellow city lights—O yellow city lights!
How brave you are to twinkle so on dark and rainy nights!
For the wind is blowing, blowing, and the water comes in sheets
Against the sides of houses, and all up and down the streets.

You are friendlier than the stars I think, O lights in proud array,
The stars are all magnificent, but cold and far away,
And they never dare to twinkle, on dark and stormy nights,
While you shine out as brave as brave, O yellow city lights!

THE PILOT WIND

The wind is caught in the lilac bush
It struggles a-while, in vain,
And then, with one little wilful push,
It comes fluttering out again
It skips a-whispering up the path
It slips within the door
To rock the boat, that’s set afloat
On the sea of the nursery floor.

“Sleep little sailor,” it’s singing low,
“I’ve come to rock your ship;
I rock it away where the sleep waves play,
And the soft, gray dream gulls dip;
I’ll rock it away till you reach at last
The shores of a strange blue land
Then I’ll kiss your hair, and leave you there
With the rudder in your hand.”

The wind is back in the lilac bush
It{124} lies there happy, quite,
With the blossoms bent like a purple tent
To hold it there, all night;
“I’ve rocked the sailor away,” it says,
“And he’ll not come back, I think,
Till the stars grow white in the morning light
And the dawn is brushed with pink.”

ROCKING SONG

Sleepyheart and Openeyes were rocking in a chair—
(Swing, little shadow, on the wall!)
Openeyes was saying, “I shall wander in the moon,
And toss a golden comet for a ball.”
Sleepyheart was saying, “I shall not go out, I think,
For all the stars in heaven are going winky-wink.{125}”

Sleepyheart and Openeyes were rocking in a chair—
(Swing little shadow, to and fro!)
Openeyes was saying, “For the night was made for play;
I shall never go to bed again, I know.”
Sleepyheart was saying, “I shall buy a little dream,
And eat it just at cradle-time, with sugar, and with cream.”

Th{126}e chair was rocking, rocking, and the room was very still—
(Swing little shadow to the tune!)
Openeyes was saying, “Through the window over there
She is coming in to dance with us—the moon!”
Sleepyheart was saying, “There’s a boat upon the sea;
It’s sailing off to Whisperland, and coming in for me.”

Sleepyheart was nodding now; Openeyes was still—
(Swing, little shadow, very slow!)
Out across the clover-tops the little wind had cried,
“Away to Slumber Forest you shall go!”
Birds and bees and butterflies had answered to the call;
Quiet as a dreaming thing, the shadow on the wall.

THE LAUGHTER-MILL

Joy was the chief of the laughter-mill; high on a sun-topped peak
He had builded it up at the rainbow’s end, happily, week by week;
And years and years and years had passed; and still the old mill stood
Strong as a fort; and it worked away, singing the song of the good.

Joy was the chief of the laughter-mill; in it worked Fun and Gay
And Dimple-my-Chin and the Chuckle boys, turning the wheels all day;
And every night when the sun was low, and they turned away from the door,
There were piles of laughs all ready to wear, in good neat rows on the floor.

Some of the laughs were the largest size, as large as a man might please,
So{127}me were the kind that were hard to use; there were not so many of these.
Some were quite sober, and some were bright, and all were turned up at the ends,
With an extra package of Gigglequicks, for young little girls and their friends.

Joy made the styles in his laughter-mill; some of the smiles were sweet;
Some were to wear in a happy home, and some were for use on the street;
But Dimple-my-Chin and the Chuckle boys worked lovingest, best, I hear,
On a soft little laugh that was stirred in a heart, and made of a precious tear.

LITTLE SISTER OF THE MOON

Little sister of the moon lived upon a steep
Where the road wound upward, to the hill of sleep;
There she slept, the daytimes, in a mossy cave
Where nights the shadows gathered, and dancing lessons gave.

At eight o’clock each night she woke: “It’s time to rise, I guess”;
She shook her tangled hair out, and donned a silver dress;
She washed her hands in water, that ran as cold as snow,
And packed a little basket, with the sweetest things that grow.

And then she sang; “And now, away!” and flew up to the sky,
The owl’s child saw her going, and blinked a sober eye;
The willow threw her kisses, and the breeze laughed, “I’m along,”
And helped her bear the basket, and sang a sweetheart song.
{128}

The moon, her patient sister, was waiting in the blue,
How could she leave for supper, with so many things to do?
She must keep the little stars awake, and put the breeze to sleep;
And scare away the cloud-folk, who crowded round like sheep.

So Little Sister comes to her; she flies before her face.
She spreads her silver gown out, and bows a low “Your Grace!”
With the dipper for a saucer, and a comet for a spoon,
She mixes sweets with fire and dew, and feeds them to the moon.

THE SANDMAN’S WIFE

The little brown sandman lives, you know,
On the top of the hill where the poppies grow;
The roof of his house is a great toadstool
With a wee bell-tower, like the village school;
And tumbling and heaping about the door
Are piles of sand from the white seashore.

The little brown sandman, bent and thin,
Has a deep blue cloak that he wraps up in;
His peaked hat has a star on top
And he fastens his cloak with a green gumdrop;
He’s always sleepy; a slow man he;
And he stretches and yawns at half-past three.

Now the greatest joy in the sandman’s life
Is Polly M’ Pumpkin, the sandman’s wife;
She’s a round little soul, with a rosy face,
And she bustles and bounces about the place;
The children the sandman goes to see
She loves a great deal more than he.

At seven o’clock, on every night,
She lights his lamp with a fagot bright;
Then Polly M’ Pumpkin wakes him up
As he sits asleep, by his blue tea-cup;
“The children are nodding now,” she cries,
“Go sprinkle the sea-sand upon their eyes!”

And she hands him a sack, when he blinks and starts,
“For My Sleepiest Children” (ah, bless their hearts!)
And quite unknown to the brown sandman
She has mixed it up, as she only can,
With magical sugar, as sweet as a rose,
That brings good dreams wherever it goes.

“Now hurry away!” she cries, and stands,
On the flat door-stone, and waves her hands;
The little brown sandman slips away
Till he’s lost in the stars of the milky way;
“He’d never get started in all his life,
If it wasn’t for me,” says the sandman’s wife.

Then she climbs the bell-tower, up on the house,
And she peers about, like a bright-eyed mouse;
And she says to herself, as she always does,
“I’ll let him sleep some night, because
I’m going to go, in my husband’s place,”
And a mischievous smile lights up her face.

DREAMS FOR THREE

Three little dreams flew in from the south
And they flew in a swift straight line
And one was a dream of peaches and cream
And that little dream was mine;
I dreamed that a pretty white cloth was spread
With the round moon set for a dish
And I ate in state of peaches and cream
As much as my heart could wish.

The next little dream was a funny one;
It came to Molly O’Lear;
She thought that she rode on a great green goose
That bucked like a Texas steer;
It flopped about, till it knocked her off,
And it cackled “Gingerbread Joke;”
And Molly wondered what that could be,
And while she was wondering, woke.

The last little dream was the best of all.
It flew to Elizabeth Lee.
She swung in a hammock, embroidered with snails,
Way up to the top of a tree;
And there she found, all cuddled away,
In a sort of a cottony nest,
The Little Lost Princess of Shut-Eye town;—
No wonder her dream was best.

LADY MOTHER

THE ROAD TO GLAD TOMORROW

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RHYMES OF A CHILD'S WORLD: A BOOK OF VERSE FOR CHILDREN ***

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The Project Gutenberg eBook of Rhymes of a child's world: a book of verse for children

RHYMES of a CHILD’S WORLD

CONTENTS