First Published in 1924
First Edition | Nov., 1924 |
Second Edition | Dec., 1924 |
Third Edition | 〃 1924 |
Fourth Edition | 〃 1924 |
Fifth Edition | 〃 1924 |
Sixth Edition | 〃 1924 |
Seventh Edition | 〃 1924 |
Eighth Edition | Jan., 1925 |
Ninth Edition | 〃 1925 |
Tenth Edition | 〃 1925 |
Eleventh Edition | 〃 1925 |
Twelfth Edition | 〃 1925 |
Thirteenth Edition | 〃 1925 |
Fourteenth Edition | 〃 1925 |
Fifteenth Edition | 〃 1925 |
Sixteenth Edition | 〃 1925 |
Seventeenth Edition | Mar., 1925 |
Eighteenth Edition | 〃 1925 |
Nineteenth Edition | 〃 1925 |
Twentieth Edition | 〃 1925 |
Twenty-first Edition | 〃 1925 |
Twenty-second Edition | 〃 1925 |
Twenty-third Edition | 〃 1925 |
Printed in the United States of America
At one time (but I have changed my mind now) I thought I was going to write a little Note at the top of each of these poems, in the manner of Mr. William Wordsworth, who liked to tell his readers where he was staying, and which of his friends he was walking with, and what he was thinking about, when the idea of writing his poem came to him. You will find some lines about a swan here, if you get as far as that, and I should have explained to you in the Note that Christopher Robin, who feeds this swan in the mornings, has given him the name of “Pooh.” This is a very fine name for a swan, because, if you call him and he doesn’t come (which is a thing swans are good at), then you can pretend that you were just saying “Pooh!” to show how little you wanted him. Well, I should have told you that there are six cows who come down to Pooh’s lake every afternoon to drink, and of course they say “Moo” as they come. So I thought to myself one fine day, walking with my friend Christopher Robin, “Moo rhymes with Pooh! Surely there is a bit of poetry to be got out of that?” Well, then, I began to think about the swan on his lake; and at first I thought how lucky it was that his name was Pooh; and then I didn’t think about that any more ... and the poem came quite differently from what I intended ... and all I can say for it now is that, if it hadn’t been for Christopher Robin, I shouldn’t have written it; which, indeed, is all I can say for any of the others. So this is why these verses go about together, because they are all friends of Christopher Robin; and if I left out one because it was not quite like the one before, then I should have to leave out the one before because it was not quite like the next, which would be disappointing for them.
[x]
Then there is another thing. You may wonder sometimes
who is supposed to be saying the verses. Is it the Author, that
strange but uninteresting person, or is it Christopher Robin,
or some other boy or girl, or Nurse, or Hoo? If I had followed
Mr. Wordsworth’s plan I could have explained this
each time; but, as it is, you will have to decide for yourselves.
If you are not quite sure, then it is probably Hoo. I don’t
know if you have ever met Hoo, but he is one of those curious
children who look four on Monday, and eight on Tuesday,
and are really twenty-eight on Saturday, and you never know
whether it is the day when he can pronounce his “r’s.” He
had a great deal to do with these verses. In fact, you might
almost say that this book is entirely the unaided work of
Christopher Robin, Hoo, and Mr. Shepard, who drew the pictures.
They have said “Thank you” politely to each other
several times, and now they say it to you for taking them into
your house. “Thank you so much for asking us. We’ve
come.”
A. A. M.
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* This poem being in the Library of the Queen’s Dolls’ House, is printed here by special permission.
The table of contents is reproduced as in the original, with The Wrong House out of order.
The last line of the first stanza of Bad Sir Brian Botany has been indented for consistency with subsequent stanzas.