Category:A Child's Garden of Verses

This article is about a book written by Robert Louis Stevenson. It has been revised to improve clarity and factuality.

I. Bed in Summer

 * In winter I get up at night
 * And dress by yellow candle-light.
 * In summer quite the other way,
 * I have to go to bed by day.


 * I have to go to bed and see
 * The birds still hopping on the tree,
 * Or hear the grown-up people's feet
 * Still going past me in the street.


 * And does it not seem hard to you,
 * When all the sky is clear and blue,
 * And I should like so much to play,
 * To have to go to bed by day?

II. A Thought

 * It is very nice to think
 * The world is full of meat and drink,
 * With little children saying grace
 * In every Christian kind of place.

III. At the Sea-Side

 * When I was down beside the sea
 * A wooden spade they gave to me
 * To dig the sandy shore.


 * My holes were empty like a cup.
 * In every hole the sea came up,
 * Till it could come no more.

IV. Young Night-Thought

 * All night long and every night,
 * When my mama puts out the light,
 * I see the people marching by,
 * As plain as day before my eye.


 * Armies and emperor and kings,
 * All carrying different kinds of things,
 * And marching in so grand a way,
 * You never saw the like by day.


 * So fine a show was never seen
 * At the great circus on the green;
 * For every kind of beast and man
 * Is marching in that caravan.


 * As first they move a little slow,
 * But still the faster on they go,
 * And still beside me close I keep
 * Until we reach the town of Sleep.

V. Whole Duty of Children

 * A child should always say what's true
 * And speak when he is spoken to,
 * And behave mannerly at table;
 * At least as far as he is able.

VI. Rain

 * The rain is falling all around,
 * It falls on field and tree,
 * It rains on the umbrellas here,
 * And on the ships at sea.

VII. Sailing Story

 * Three of us afloat in the meadow by the swing,
 * Three of us abroad in the basket on the lea.
 * Winds are in the air, they are blowing in the spring,
 * And waves are on the meadow like the waves there are at sea.


 * Where shall we adventure, to-day that we're afloat,
 * Wary of the weather and steering by a star?
 * Shall it be to Africa, a-steering of the boat,
 * To Providence, or Babylon or off to Malabar?


 * Hi! but here's a squadron a-rowing on the sea--
 * Cattle on the meadow a-charging with a roar!
 * Quick, and we'll escape them, they're as mad as they can be,
 * The wicket is the harbour and the garden is the shore.

VIII. Foreign Lands

 * Up into the cherry tree
 * Who should climb but little me?
 * I held the trunk with both my hands
 * And looked abroad in foreign lands.


 * I saw the next door garden lie,
 * Adorned with flowers, before my eye,
 * And many pleasant places more
 * That I had never seen before.


 * I saw the dimpling river pass
 * And be the sky's blue looking-glass;
 * The dusty roads go up and down
 * With people tramping in to town.


 * If I could find a higher tree
 * Farther and farther I should see,
 * To where the grown-up river slips
 * Into the sea among the ships,


 * To where the roads on either hand
 * Lead onward into dreamy land,
 * Where all the children dine at five,
 * And all the playthings come alive.

IX. Windy Nights

 * Whenever the moon and stars are set,
 * Whenever the wind is high,
 * All night long in the dark and wet,
 * A man goes riding by.
 * Late in the night when the fires are out,
 * Why does he gallop and gallop about?


 * Whenever the trees are crying aloud,
 * And ships are tossed at sea,
 * By, on the highway, low and loud,
 * By at the gallop goes he.
 * By at the gallop he goes, and then
 * By he comes back at the gallop again.

X. Travel

 * I should like to rise and go
 * Where the golden apples grow;--
 * Where below another sky
 * Parrot islands anchored lie,
 * And, watched by cockatoos and goats,
 * Lonely Crusoes building boats;--
 * Where in sunshine reaching out
 * Eastern cities, miles about,
 * Are with mosque and minaret
 * Among sandy gardens set,
 * And the rich goods from near and far
 * Hang for sale in the bazaar;--
 * Where the Great Wall round China goes,
 * And on one side the desert blows,
 * And with the voice and bell and drum,
 * Cities on the other hum;--
 * Where are forests hot as fire,
 * Wide as England, tall as a spire,
 * Full of apes and cocoa-nuts
 * And the negro hunters' huts;--
 * Where the knotty crocodile
 * Lies and blinks in the Nile,
 * And the red flamingo flies
 * Hunting fish before his eyes;--
 * Where in jungles near and far,
 * Man-devouring tigers are,
 * Lying close and giving ear
 * Lest the hunt be drawing near,
 * Or a comer-by be seen
 * Swinging in the palanquin;--
 * Where among the desert sands
 * Some deserted city stands,
 * All its children, sweep and prince,
 * Grown to manhood ages since,
 * Not a foot in street or house,
 * Not a stir of child or mouse,
 * And when kindly falls the night,
 * In all the town no spark of light.
 * There I'll come when I'm a man
 * With a camel caravan;
 * Light a fire in the gloom
 * Of some dusty dining room;
 * See the pictures on the walls,
 * Heroes, fights and festivals;
 * And in a corner find the toys
 * Of the old Egyptian boys.

XI. Singing

 * Of speckled eggs the birdie sings
 * And nests among the trees;
 * The sailor sings of ropes and things
 * In ships upon the seas.


 * The children sing in far Japan,
 * The children sing in Spain;
 * The organ with the organ man
 * Is singing in the rain.

XII. Looking Forward

 * When I am grown to man's estate
 * My house shall be quite grand and great,
 * And shall tell the girls and boys
 * Not to make such idle noise.

XIII. A Good Play

 * We built a ship upon the stairs
 * All made of the back-bedroom chairs,
 * And filled it full of sofa pillows
 * To go a-sailing on the billows.


 * We took a saw and several nails,
 * And water in the nursery pails;
 * And Tom said, "Let us also take
 * An apple and a slice of cake;"--
 * Which was enough for Tom and me
 * To go a-sailing on, till tea.


 * We sailed along for days and days,
 * And had the very best of plays;
 * But Tom fell out and hurt his knee,
 * So there was no one left but me.

XIV. Where Go the Boats?

 * Dark brown is the river,
 * Golden is the sand.
 * It flows along for ever,
 * With trees on either hand.


 * Green leaves a-floating,
 * Castles of the foam,
 * Boats of mine a-boating--
 * Where will all come home?


 * On goes the river
 * And out past the mill,
 * Away down the valley,
 * Away down the hill.


 * Away down the river,
 * A hundred miles or more,
 * Other little children
 * Shall bring my boats ashore.

XV. Auntie's Skirts

 * Whenever Auntie moves around,
 * Her dresses make a curious sound,
 * They trail behind her up the floor,
 * And trundle after through the door.

XVI. The Land of Counterpane

 * When I was sick and lay a-bed,
 * I had two pillows at my head,
 * And all my toys beside me lay,
 * To keep me happy all the day.


 * And sometimes for an hour or so
 * I watched my leaden soldiers go,
 * With different uniforms and drills,
 * Among the bed-clothes, through the hills;


 * And sometimes sent my ships in fleets
 * All up and down among the sheets;
 * Or brought my trees and houses out,
 * And planted cities all about.


 * I was the giant great and still
 * That sits upon the pillow-hill,
 * And sees before him, dale and plain,
 * The pleasant land of counterpane.

XVII. The Land of Nod

 * From breakfast on through all the day
 * At home among my friends I stay,
 * But every night I go abroad
 * Afar into the land of Nod.


 * All by myself I have to go,
 * With none to tell me what to do--
 * All alone beside the streams
 * And up the mountain-sides of dreams.


 * The strangest things are these for me,
 * Both things to eat and things to see,
 * And many interesting sights abroad
 * Till morning in the land of Nod.


 * Try as I like to find the way,
 * I never can get back by day,
 * Nor can remember plain and clear
 * The curious music that I hear.

XVIII. My Shadow

 * I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,
 * And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.
 * He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head;
 * And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.


 * The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow--
 * Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow;
 * For he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber ball,
 * And he sometimes goes so little that there's none of him at all.


 * He hasn't got a notion of how children ought to play,
 * And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way.
 * He stays so close behind me, he's a coward you can see;
 * I'd think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me!


 * One morning, very early, before the sun was up,
 * I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup;
 * But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head,
 * Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.

XIX. System

 * Every night my prayers I say,
 * And get my dinner every day;
 * And every day that I've been good,
 * I get an orange after food.

XX. A Good Boy

 * I woke before the morning, I was happy all the day,
 * I never said an ugly word, but smiled and stuck to play.


 * And now at last the sun is going down behind the wood,
 * And I am very happy, for I know that I've been good.


 * My bed is waiting cool and fresh, with linen smooth and fair,
 * And I must be off to sleepsin-by, and not forget my prayer.


 * I know that, till to-morrow I shall see the sun arise,
 * No ugly dream shall fright my mind, no ugly sight my eyes.


 * But slumber hold me tightly till I waken in the dawn,
 * And hear the thrushes singing in the lilacs round the lawn.

XXI. Escape at Bedtime

 * The lights from the parlour and kitchen shone out
 * Through the blinds and the windows and bars;
 * And high overhead and all moving about,
 * There were thousands of millions of stars.
 * There ne'er were such thousands of leaves on a tree,
 * Nor of people in church or the Park,
 * As the crowds of the stars that looked down upon me,
 * And that glittered and winked in the dark.


 * The Dog, and the Plough, and the Hunter, and all,
 * And the star of the sailor, and Mars,
 * These shown in the sky, and the pail by the wall
 * Would be half full of water and stars.
 * I think of the stars as I turn with a sigh,
 * And I soon lay asleep in my bed;
 * But the glory kept shining and bright in my eyes,
 * And the stars going round in my head.

XXII. Marching Song

 * Bring the comb and play upon it!
 * Marching, here we come!
 * Willie cocks his highland bonnet,
 * Johnnie beats the drum.


 * Mary Jane commands the party,
 * Peter leads the rear;
 * Feet in time, alert and hearty,
 * Each a Grenadier!


 * All in the most martial manner
 * Marching double-quick;
 * While the napkin, like a banner,
 * Waves upon the stick!


 * Here's enough of fame and pillage,
 * Great commander Jane!
 * Now that we've been round the village,
 * Let's go home again.

XXIII. The Cow

 * The friendly cow all red and white,
 * I love with all my heart:
 * She gives me cream with all her might,
 * To eat with apple-tart.


 * She wanders lowing here and there,
 * And yet she cannot stray,
 * All in the pleasant open air,
 * The pleasant light of day;


 * And blown by all the winds that pass
 * And wet with all the showers,
 * She walks among the meadow grass
 * And eats the meadow flowers.

XXIV. Happy Thought

 * The world is so full of a number of things,
 * I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings.

XXV. The Wind

 * I saw you toss the kites on high
 * And blow the birds about the sky;
 * And all around I heard you pass,
 * Like ladies' skirts across the grass--
 * O wind, a-blowing all day long,
 * O wind, that sings so loud a song!


 * I saw the different things you did,
 * But always you yourself you hid.
 * I felt you push, I heard you call,
 * I could not see yourself at all--
 * O wind, a-blowing all day long,
 * O wind, that sings so loud a song!


 * O you that are so strong and cold,
 * O blower, are you young or old?
 * Are you a beast of field and tree,
 * Or just a stronger child than me?
 * O wind, a-blowing all day long,
 * O wind, that sings so loud a song!

XXVI. Keepsake Mill

 * Over the borders, a sound without pardon,
 * Breaking the branches and crawling below,
 * Out through the breach in the wall of the garden,
 * Down by the banks of the river we go.


 * Here is a mill with the humming of thunder,
 * Here is the weir with the wonder of foam,
 * Here is the sluice with the race running under--
 * Marvelous places, though handy to home!


 * Sounds of the village grow stiller and stiller,
 * Stiller the note of the birds on the hill;
 * Dusty and dim are the eyes of the miller,
 * Deaf are his ears with the moil of the mill.


 * Years may go by, and the wheel in the river
 * Wheel as it wheels for us, children, to-day,
 * Wheel and keep roaring and foaming for ever
 * Long after all of the boys are away.


 * Home for the Indies and home from the ocean,
 * Heroes and soldiers we all will come home;
 * Still we shall find the old mill wheel in motion,
 * Turning and churning that river to foam.


 * You with the bean that I gave when we quarreled,
 * I with your marble of Saturday last,
 * Honored and old and all gaily appareled,
 * Here we shall meet and remember the past.

XXVII. Good Children

 * Children, you are very little,
 * And your bones are very brittle;
 * If you would grow great and stately,
 * You must try to walk sedately.


 * You must still be bright and quiet,
 * And content with simple diet;
 * And remain, through all bewild'ring,
 * Innocent and honest children.


 * Happy hearts and happy faces,
 * Happy play in grassy places--
 * That was how in ancient ages,
 * Children grew to kings and sages.

XXVIII. Foreign Children

 * Little Indian, Sioux, or Crow,
 * Little frosty Eskimo,
 * Little Turk or Japanese,
 * Do you wish that you were me?


 * You have seen the scarlet trees
 * And the lions over seas;
 * You have eaten ostrich eggs,
 * And turned the turtles off their legs.


 * Such a life is very fine,
 * It is nice, just like mine:
 * You may often as you trod,
 * Have wearied NOT to be abroad.


 * You have curious things to eat,
 * I am fed on normal meat;
 * You can dwell upon the foam,
 * But I am safe and live at home.


 * Little Indian, Sioux or Crow,
 * Little frosty Eskimo,
 * Little Turk or Japanese,
 * Do you wish that you were me?

XXIX. The Sun Travels

 * The sun is not a-bed, when I
 * At night upon my pillow lie;
 * Still round the earth his way he takes,
 * And morning after morning makes.


 * While here at home, in shining day,
 * We round the sunny garden play,
 * Each little Indian sleepy-head
 * Is being kissed and put to bed.


 * And when at eve I rise from tea,
 * Day dawns beyond the Atlantic Sea;
 * And all the children in the west
 * Are getting up and being dressed.

XXX. The Lamplighter

 * My tea is nearly ready and the sun has left the sky.
 * It's time to take the window to see Jerry going by;
 * For every night at teatime and before you take your seat,
 * With lantern and with ladder he comes posting up the street.


 * Now Tom would be a driver and Maria go to sea,
 * And my papa's a banker and as rich as he can be;
 * But I, when I am stronger and can choose what I'm to do,
 * O Jerry, I'll go round at night and light the lamps with you!


 * For we are very blessed, with a lamp before the door,
 * And Jerry stops to light it as he lights so many more;
 * And oh! before you hurry by with ladder and with light;
 * O Jerry, see a little child and nod to him to-night!

XXXI. My Bed is a Boat

 * My bed is like a little boat;
 * Nurse helps me in when I embark;
 * She girds me in my sailor's coat
 * And starts me in the dark.


 * At night I go on board and say
 * Good-night to all my friends on shore;
 * I shut my eyes and sail away
 * And see and hear no more.


 * And sometimes things to bed I take,
 * As prudent sailors have to do;
 * Perhaps a slice of wedding-cake,
 * Perhaps a toy or two.


 * All night across the dark we steer;
 * But when the day returns at last,
 * Safe in my room beside the pier,
 * I find my vessel fast.

XXXII. The Moon

 * The moon has a face like the clock in the hall;
 * She shines on birds on the garden wall,
 * On streets and fields and harbor quays,
 * And birdies asleep in the forks of the trees.


 * The squalling cat and the squeaking mouse,
 * The howling dog by the door of the house,
 * The bat that lies in bed at noon,
 * All love to be out by the light of the moon.


 * But all of the things that belong to the day
 * Cuddle to sleep to be out of her way;
 * And flowers and children close their eyes
 * Till up in the morning the sun shall arise.

XXXIII. The Swing

 * How do you like to go up in a swing,
 * Up in the air so blue?
 * Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing
 * Ever a child can do!


 * Up in the air and over the wall,
 * Till I can see so wide,
 * River and trees and cattle and all
 * Over the countryside--


 * Till I look down on the garden green,
 * Down on the roof so brown--
 * Up in the air I go flying again,
 * Up in the air and down!

XXXIV. Time to Rise

 * A birdie with a yellow bill
 * Hopped upon my window sill,
 * Cocked his shining head and I
 * Opened my eyes as he flew through the sky.

XXXV. Looking-Glass River

 * Smooth it glides upon its travel,
 * Here a wimple, there a gleam--
 * O the clean gravel!
 * O the smooth stream!


 * Sailing blossoms, silver fishes,
 * Paven pools as clear as air--
 * How a child wishes
 * To live down there!


 * We can see our colored faces
 * Floating on the shaken pool
 * Down in cool places,
 * Dim and very cool;


 * Till a wind or water wrinkle,
 * Dipping marten, plumping trout,
 * Spreads in a twinkle
 * And blots all out.


 * See the rings pursue each other;
 * All below grows black as night,
 * Just as if mother
 * Had blown out the light!


 * Patience, children, just a minute--
 * See the spreading circles die;
 * The stream and all in it
 * Will clear by-and-by.

XXXVI. From a Railway Carriage

 * Faster than horses, faster than finches,
 * Bridges and houses, hedges and ditches;
 * And charging along like troops in a battle
 * All through the meadows, the horses, and cattle:
 * All of the sights of the hill and the plain
 * Fly as thick as driving rain;
 * And ever again, in the wink of an eye,
 * Painted stations whistle by.


 * Here is a child who clambers and scrambles,
 * All by himself and gathering brambles;
 * Here is a tramp who stands and gazes;
 * And here is the green for stringing the daisies!
 * Here is a cart run away in the road
 * Lumping along with man and load;
 * And here is a mill, and there is a river:
 * Each a glimpse and gone forever!

XXXVII. Winter-Time

 * Late lies the wintry sun a-bed,
 * A frosty, fiery sleepy-head;
 * Blinks but an hour or two; and then,
 * A purple-red orange, it sets again.


 * Before the stars have left the skies,
 * At morning in the dark I rise;
 * And shivering in my frostiness,
 * By the cold candle, bathe and dress.


 * Close by the jolly fire I sit
 * To warm my frozen bones a bit;
 * Or with a reindeer-sled, explore
 * The colder countries round the door.


 * When to go out, my nurse doth wrap
 * Me in my comforter and cap;
 * The cold wind burns my face, and blows
 * Its frosty pepper up my nose.


 * Black are my steps on silver sod;
 * Thick blows my frosty breath abroad;
 * And tree and house, and hill and lake,
 * Are frosted like a wedding cake.

XXXVIII. The Hayloft

 * Through all the pleasant meadow-side
 * The grass grew shoulder-high,
 * Till the shining scythes went far and wide
 * And cut it down to dry.


 * Those green and sweetly smelling crops
 * They led in waggons home;
 * And they piled them here in mountain tops
 * For mountaineers to roam.


 * Here is Mount Clear, Mount Rusty-Nail,
 * Mount Eagle and Mount High;--
 * The mice that in these mountains dwell,
 * No happier are than I!


 * Oh, what a joy to clamber there,
 * Oh, what a place for play,
 * With the sweet, the dim, the dusty air,
 * The happy hills of hay!

XXXIX. Farewell to the Farm

 * The coach is at the door at last;
 * The eager children, mounting fast
 * And kissing hands, in chorus sing:
 * Good-bye, good-bye, to everything!


 * To house and garden, field and lawn,
 * The meadow-gates we swang upon,
 * To pump and stable, tree and swing,
 * Good-bye, good-bye, to everything!


 * And fare you well for evermore,
 * O ladder at the hayloft door,
 * O hayloft where the cobwebs cling,
 * Good-bye, good-bye, to everything!


 * Crack goes the whip, and off we go;
 * The trees and houses smaller grow;
 * Last, round the woody turn we sing:
 * Good-bye, good-bye, to everything!

1. Good-Night

 * When the bright lamp is carried in,
 * The sunless hours again begin;
 * O'er all without, in field and lane,
 * The breezy night returns again.


 * Now we behold the embers flee
 * About the firelit hearth; and see
 * Our faces painted as we pass,
 * Like pictures, on the window glass.


 * Must we to bed indeed? Well then,
 * Let us arise and go like men,
 * And face with an undaunted tread
 * The long black passage up to bed.


 * Farewell, O brother, sister, sire!
 * O pleasant party round the fire!
 * The songs you sing, the tales you tell,
 * Till far to-morrow, fare you well!

2. Shadow March

 * All around the house is the jet-black night;
 * It stares through the window-pane;
 * It crawls in the corners, hiding from the light,
 * And it moves with the moving flame.


 * Now my little heart goes a beating like a drum,
 * With the breeze of the summer in my hair;
 * And all around the candle the silent shadows come,
 * And go marching along up the stair.


 * The shadow of the balusters, the shadow of the lamp,
 * The shadow of the child that goes to bed--
 * All the silent shadows coming tramp, tramp, tramp,
 * With the dark night sky overhead.

3. In Port

 * Last, to the chamber where I lie
 * My tired footsteps patter nigh,
 * And come out from the cold and gloom
 * Into my warm and cheerful room.


 * There, safe arrived, we turn about
 * To keep the cool, damp breezes out,
 * And close the happy door at last
 * On all the perils that we past.


 * Then, when mama goes by to bed,
 * She shall come in with tip-toe tread,
 * And see me lying warm and fast
 * And in the land of Nod at last.

I. The Unseen Playmate

 * When children are playing alone on the green,
 * In comes the playmate that never was seen.
 * When children are happy and lonely and good,
 * The Friend of the Children comes out of the wood.


 * Nobody heard him, and nobody saw,
 * His is a picture you never could draw,
 * But he's sure to be present, abroad or at home,
 * When children are happy and playing alone.


 * He lies in the laurels, he runs on the grass,
 * He sings when you tinkle the musical glass;
 * Whene'er you are happy and cannot tell why,
 * The Friend of the Children is sure to be by!


 * He loves to be little, he hates to be big,
 * 'Tis he that inhabits the caves that you dig;
 * 'Tis he when you play with your soldiers of tin
 * That sides with the wrong group and never can win.


 * 'Tis he, when at night you go off to your bed,
 * Bids you go to sleep and not trouble your head;
 * For wherever they're lying, in cupboard or shelf,
 * 'Tis he that takes care of your playthings himself!

II. My Ship and I

 * O it's I that am the captain of a tidy little ship,
 * Of a ship that goes a sailing on the pond;
 * And my ship it keeps a-turning all around and all about;
 * But when I'm a little older, I shall find the secret out
 * How to send my vessel sailing on beyond.


 * 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.

III. My Kingdom

 * Down by a shining water well
 * I found a very little dell,
 * No higher than my head.
 * The heather and the gorse about
 * In summer bloom were coming out,
 * Some yellow and some red.


 * I called the little pool a sea;
 * The little hills were big to me;
 * For I am very small.
 * I made a boat, I made a town,
 * I searched the caverns up and down,
 * And named them one and all.


 * And all about was mine, I said,
 * The little sparrows overhead,
 * The little minnows too.
 * This was the world and I was king;
 * For me the bees came by to sing,
 * For me the swallows flew.


 * I played there were no deeper seas,
 * Nor any wider plains than these,
 * Nor other kings than me.
 * At last I heard my mother call
 * Out from the house at evenfall,
 * To call me home to tea.


 * And I must rise and leave my dell,
 * And leave my dimpled water well,
 * And leave my heather blooms.
 * Alas! and as my home I neared,
 * How very big my nurse appeared.
 * How great and cool the rooms!

IV. Picture-Books in Winter

 * Summer fading, winter comes--
 * Frosty mornings, tingling thumbs,
 * Window robins, winter rooks,
 * And the picture story-books.


 * Water now is turned to stone
 * Nurse and I can walk upon;
 * Still we find the flowing brooks
 * In the picture story-books.


 * All the pretty things put by,
 * Wait upon the children's eyes,
 * Sheep and shepherds, trees and crooks,
 * In the picture story-books.


 * We may see how all things are
 * Seas and cities, near and far,
 * And the butterfly's good looks,
 * In the picture story-books.


 * How am I to sing your praise,
 * Happy chimney-corner days,
 * Sitting safe in nursery nooks,
 * Reading picture story-books?

V. My Treasures

 * These nuts, that I keep in the back of the nest,
 * Where all my tin soldiers are lying at rest,
 * Were gathered in Autumn by nursie and me
 * In a wood with a well by the side of the sea.


 * This whistle we made (and how clearly it sounds!)
 * By the side of a field at the end of the grounds.
 * Of a branch of a plane, with a knife of my own,
 * It was nursie who made it, and nursie alone!


 * The stone, with the white and the yellow and grey,
 * We discovered I cannot tell HOW far away;
 * And I carried it back although weary and cold,
 * For though father denies it, I'm sure it is gold.


 * But of all my treasures the last is the king,
 * For there's very few children possess such a thing;
 * And that is a chisel, both handle and blade,
 * Which a man who was really a carpenter made.

VI. Block City

 * What are you able to build with your blocks?
 * Castles and palaces, churches and docks.
 * Rain may keep raining, and others go roam,
 * But I can be happy and building at home.


 * Let the sofa be mountains, the carpet be sea,
 * There I'll establish a city for me:
 * A church and a mill and a palace beside,
 * And a harbor as well where my vessels may ride.


 * Great is the palace with pillar and wall,
 * A sort of a tower on the top of it all,
 * And steps coming down in an orderly way
 * To where my toy vessels lie safe in the bay.


 * This one is sailing and that one is moored:
 * Hark to the song of the sailors aboard!
 * And see, on the steps of my palace, the kings
 * Coming and going with presents and things!


 * Now I have done with it, down let it go!
 * All in a moment the town is laid low.
 * Block upon block lying scattered and free,
 * What is there left of my town by the sea?


 * Yet as I saw it, I see it again,
 * The church and the palace, the ships and the men,
 * And as long as I live and where'er I may be,
 * I'll always remember my town by the sea.

VII. The Land of Story-Books

 * At evening when the lamp is lit,
 * Around the fire my parents sit;
 * They sit at home and talk and sing,
 * And do not play at anything.


 * Now, with my little gun, I crawl
 * All in the dark along the wall,
 * And follow round the forest track
 * Away behind the sofa back.


 * There, in the night, where none can spy,
 * All in my hunter's camp I lie,
 * And play at books that I have read
 * Till it is time to go to bed.


 * These are the hills, these are the woods,
 * These are my starry solitudes;
 * And there the river by whose brink
 * The roaring lions come to drink.


 * I see the others far away
 * As if in firelit camp they lay,
 * And I, like to an Indian scout,
 * Around their party prowled about.


 * So when my nurse comes in for me,
 * Home I return across the sea,
 * And go to bed with backward looks
 * At my dear land of Story-books.

VIII. Armies in the Fire

 * The lamps now glitter down the street;
 * Faintly sound the falling feet;
 * And the blue even slowly falls
 * About the garden trees and walls.


 * Now in the falling of the gloom
 * The red fire paints the empty room:
 * And warmly on the roof it looks,
 * And flickers on the back of books.


 * Armies march by tower and spire
 * Of cities blazing, in the fire;--
 * Till as I gaze with staring eyes,
 * The armies fade, the luster dies.


 * Then once again the glow returns;
 * Again the phantom city burns;
 * And down the red-hot valley, lo!
 * The bright red armies marching go!


 * Blinking embers, tell me true
 * Where are those armies marching to,
 * And what the burning city is
 * That crumbles in your furnaces!

IX. The Little Land

 * When at home alone I sit
 * And am very tired of it,
 * I have just to shut my eyes
 * To go sailing through the skies--
 * To go sailing far away
 * To the pleasant Land of Play;
 * To the lovely land afar
 * Where the Little People are;
 * Where the clover-tops are trees,
 * And the rain-pools are the seas,
 * And the leaves, like little ships,
 * Sail about on tiny trips;
 * And above the Daisy tree
 * Through the grasses,
 * High o'erhead the Bumble Bee
 * Hums and passes.


 * In that forest to and fro
 * I can wander, I can go;
 * See the spider and the fly,
 * And the ants go marching by,
 * Carrying parcels with their feet
 * Down the green and grassy street.
 * I can in the sorrel sit
 * Where the ladybird alit.
 * I can climb the jointed grass
 * And on high
 * See the greater swallows pass
 * In the sky,
 * And the round sun rolling by
 * Heeding no such things as I.


 * Through that forest I can pass
 * Till, as in a looking-glass,
 * Humming fly and daisy tree
 * And my tiny self I see,
 * Painted very clear and neat
 * On the rain-pool at my feet.
 * Should a leaflet come to land
 * Drifting near to where I stand,
 * Straight I'll board that tiny boat
 * Round the rain-pool sea to float.


 * Little thoughtful creatures sit
 * On the grassy coasts of it;
 * Little things with lovely eyes
 * See me sailing with surprise.
 * Some are clad in armour green--
 * (These have sure to battle been!)--
 * Some are pied with ev'ry hue,
 * Black and crimson, gold and blue;
 * Some have wings and swift are gone;--
 * But they all look kindly on.


 * When my eyes I once again
 * Open, and see all things plain:
 * High bare walls, great bare floor;
 * Great big knobs on drawer and door;
 * Great big people perched on chairs,
 * Stitching tucks and mending tears,
 * Each a hill that I could climb,
 * And talking nonsense all the time--
 * O dear me,
 * That I could be
 * A sailor on a the rain-pool sea,
 * A climber in the clover tree,
 * And just come back a sleepy-head,
 * Late at night to go to bed.

I. Night and Day

 * When the golden day is done,
 * Through the closing portal,
 * Child and garden, flower and sun,
 * Vanish all things mortal.


 * As the building shadows fall
 * As the rays diminish,
 * Under evening's cloak they all
 * Roll away and vanish.


 * Garden darkened, daisy shut,
 * Child in bed, they slumber--
 * Firefly in the hallway rut,
 * Mice among the lumber.


 * In the darkness houses shine,
 * Parents move the candles;
 * Till on all the night benign
 * Turns the bedroom handles.


 * Till at last the day begins
 * In the east a-breaking,
 * In the hedges and the whins
 * Sleeping birds a-waking.


 * In the darkness shapes of things,
 * Houses, trees and hedges,
 * Clearer grow; and sparrow's wings
 * Beat on window ledges.


 * These shall wake the yawning maid;
 * She the door shall open--
 * Finding dew on garden glade
 * And the morning broken.


 * There my garden grows again
 * Green and rosy painted,
 * As at eve behind the pane
 * From my eyes it fainted.


 * Just as it was shut away,
 * Toy-like, in the even,
 * Here I see it glow with day
 * Under glowing heaven.


 * Every path and every plot,
 * Every blush of roses,
 * Every blue forget-me-not
 * Where the dew reposes,


 * "Up!" they cry, "the day is come
 * On the smiling valleys:
 * We have beat the morning drum;
 * Playmate, join your allies!"

II. Nest Eggs

 * Birds all the sunny day
 * Flutter and quarrel
 * Here in the arbour-like
 * Tent of the laurel.


 * Here in the fork
 * The brown nest is seated;
 * Four little blue eggs
 * The mother keeps heated.


 * While we stand watching her
 * Staring like gabies,
 * Safe in each egg are the
 * Bird's little babies.


 * Soon the frail eggs they shall
 * Chip, and upspringing
 * Make all the April woods
 * Merry with singing.


 * Younger than we are,
 * O children, and frailer,
 * Soon in the blue air they'll be,
 * Singer and sailor.


 * We, so much older,
 * Taller and stronger,
 * We shall look down on the
 * Birdies no longer.


 * They shall go flying
 * With musical speeches
 * High overhead in the
 * Tops of the beeches.


 * In spite of our wisdom
 * And sensible talking,
 * We on our feet must go
 * Plodding and walking.

III. The Flowers

 * All the names I know from nurse:
 * Gardener's garters, Shepherd's purse,
 * Bachelor's buttons, Lady's smock,
 * And the Lady Hollyhock.


 * Tiny places, tiny things,
 * Tiny woods where the wild bee wings,
 * Tiny trees for tiny dames--
 * These all have such pleasant names!


 * Tiny woods below whose boughs
 * Little spiders weave a house;
 * Tiny tree-tops, rose or thyme,
 * Where the braver beetles climb!


 * Fair are grown-up people's trees,
 * But the fairest woods are these;
 * Where, if I were not so tall,
 * I should live for good and all.

IV. Summer Sun

 * Great is the sun, and wide he goes
 * Through empty heaven with repose;
 * And in the blue and glowing days
 * More thick than rain he showers his rays.


 * Though closer still the blinds we pull
 * To keep the shady parlour cool,
 * Yet he will find a chink or two
 * To slip his golden fingers through.


 * The dusty attic spider-clad
 * He, through the keyhole, maketh glad;
 * And through the broken edge of tiles
 * Into the laddered hay-loft smiles.


 * Meantime his golden face around
 * He bares to all the garden ground,
 * And sheds a warm and glittering look
 * Among the ivy's inmost nook.


 * Above the hills, along the blue,
 * Round the bright air with footing true,
 * To please the child, to paint the rose,
 * The gardener of the World, he goes.

V. The Silent Soldier

 * When the grass was closely mown,
 * Walking on the lawn alone,
 * In the turf a hole I found,
 * And hid a soldier underground.


 * Spring and daisies came apace;
 * Grasses hide my hiding place;
 * Grasses run like a green sea
 * O'er the lawn up to my knee.


 * Under grass alone he lies,
 * Looking up with leaden eyes,
 * Scarlet coat and pointed gun,
 * To the stars and to the sun.


 * When the grass is ripe like grain,
 * When the scythe is stoned again,
 * When the lawn is shaven clear,
 * Then my hole shall reappear.


 * I shall find him, never fear,
 * I shall find my grenadier;
 * But for all that's gone and come,
 * I shall find my soldier dumb.


 * He has lived, a little thing,
 * In the grassy woods of spring;
 * Done, if he could tell me true,
 * Just as I should like to do.


 * He has seen the starry hours
 * And the springing of the flowers;
 * And the many things that pass
 * In the forests of the grass.


 * In the silence he has heard
 * Talking bee and ladybird,
 * And the butterfly has flown
 * O'er him as he lay alone.


 * Not a word will he disclose,
 * Not a word of all he knows.
 * I must lay him on the shelf,
 * And make up the whole tale myself.

VI. Autumn Fires

 * In the other gardens
 * And all up the vale,
 * From the autumn bonfires
 * See the smoke trail!


 * Pleasant summer over
 * And all the summer flowers,
 * The red fire blazes,
 * The grey smoke towers.


 * Sing a song of seasons!
 * Something bright in all!
 * Flowers in the summer,
 * Fires in the fall!

VII. The Gardener

 * The gardener does not love to talk.
 * He makes me keep the gravel walk;
 * And when he puts his tools away,
 * He locks the door and takes the key.


 * Away behind the currant row,
 * Where no one else but cook may go,
 * Far in the plots, I see him dig,
 * Old and serious, brown and big.


 * He digs the flowers, green, red, and blue,
 * Nor wishes to be spoken to.
 * He digs the flowers and cuts the hay,
 * And never seems to want to play.


 * Quiet gardener! summer goes,
 * And winter comes with pinching toes,
 * When in the garden bare and brown
 * You must lay your barrow down.

VIII. Historical Associations

 * Dear Uncle Jim, this garden ground
 * That now you slowly walk around,
 * Has seen immortal actions done
 * And valiant battles lost and won.


 * Here we had best on tip-toe tread,
 * While I for safety march ahead,
 * For this is that historic ground
 * Where all who loiter slumber sound.


 * Here is the sea, here is the sand,
 * Here is simple Shepherd's Land,
 * Here are the queen's hollyhocks,
 * And there are Jacob's many rocks.


 * But yonder, see! apart and high,
 * Frozen Siberia lies; where I,
 * With Robert Bruce and William Tell,
 * At Christmastime did sing Noel.

I. To Willie and Henrietta

 * If two may read aright
 * These rhymes of old delight
 * And house and garden play,
 * You two, my cousins, and you only, may.


 * You in a garden green
 * With me were king and queen,
 * Were hunter, soldier, tar,
 * And all the thousand things that children are.


 * Now in the elders' seat
 * We rest with quiet feet,
 * And from the window-bay
 * We watch the children, our successors, play.


 * "Time was," the golden head
 * Irrevocably said;
 * But time which one can bind,
 * While flowing fast away, leaves love behind.

II. To My Mother

 * You too, my mother, read my rhymes
 * For love of unforgotten times,
 * And you may chance to hear once more
 * The little feet along the floor.

III. To Auntie

 * "Chief of our aunts"--not only I,
 * But all your dozen of nurselings cry--
 * "What did the other children do?
 * And what were childhood, wanting you?"

IV. To Minnie

 * The red room with the giant bed
 * Where none but elders laid their head;
 * The little room where you and I
 * Did for awhile together lie
 * And, simple suitor, I your hand
 * In decent marriage did demand;
 * The great day nursery, best of all,
 * With pictures pasted on the wall
 * And leaves upon the blind--
 * A pleasant room wherein to wake
 * And hear the leafy garden shake
 * And rustle in the wind--
 * And pleasant there to lie in bed
 * And see the pictures overhead--
 * The wars about Sebastopol,
 * The grinning guns along the wall,
 * The daring escalade,
 * The plunging ships, the bleating sheep,
 * The happy children ankle-deep
 * And laughing as they wade:
 * All these are vanished clean away,
 * And the old manse is changed to-day;
 * It wears an altered face
 * And shields a stranger race.
 * The river, on from mill to mill,
 * Flows past our childhood's garden still;
 * But ah! we children never more
 * Shall watch it from the water-door!
 * Below the yew--it still is there--
 * Our phantom voices haunt the air
 * As we were still at play,
 * And I can hear them call and say:
 * "How far is it to Babylon?"


 * Ah, far enough, my dear,
 * Far, far enough from here--
 * Yet you have farther gone!
 * "Can I get there by candlelight?"
 * So goes the old refrain.
 * I do not know--perchance you might--
 * But only, children, hear it right,
 * Ah, never to return again!
 * The eternal dawn, beyond a doubt,
 * Shall break on hill and plain,
 * And put all stars and candles out
 * Ere we be young again.


 * To you in distant India, these
 * I send across the seas,
 * Nor count it far across.
 * For which of us forgets
 * The Indian cabinets,
 * The bones of antelope, the wings of albatross,
 * The pied and painted birds and beans,
 * The junks and bangles, beads and screens,
 * The gods and sacred bells,
 * And the loud-humming, twisted shells!
 * The level of the parlour floor
 * Was honest, homely, Scottish shore;
 * But when we climbed upon a chair,
 * Behold the gorgeous East was there!
 * Be this a fable; and behold
 * Me in the parlour as of old,
 * And Minnie just above me set
 * In the quaint Indian cabinet!
 * Smiling and kind, you grace a shelf
 * Too high for me to reach myself.
 * Reach down a hand, my dear, and take
 * These rhymes for old acquaintance' sake!

V. To My Name-Child

 * 1


 * Some day soon this rhyming volume, if you learn with proper speed,
 * Little Louis Sanchez, will be given you to read.
 * Then you shall discover, that your name was printed down
 * By the English printers, long before, in London town.


 * In the great and busy city where the East and West are met,
 * All the little letters did the English printer set;
 * While you thought of nothing, and were still too young to play,
 * Foreign people thought of you in places far away.


 * Ay, and when you slept, a baby, over all the English lands
 * Other little children took the volume in their hands;
 * Other children questioned, in their homes across the seas:
 * Who was little Louis, won't you tell us, mother, please?


 * 2


 * Now that you have spelt your lesson, lay it down and go and play,
 * Seeking shells and seaweed on the sands of Monterey,
 * Watching all the mighty whalebones, lying buried by the breeze,
 * Tiny sandy-pipers, and the huge Pacific seas.


 * And remember in your playing, as the sea-fog rolls to you,
 * Long ere you could read it, how I told you what to do;
 * And that while you thought of no one, nearly half the world away
 * Some one thought of Louis on the beach of Monterey!

VI. To Any Reader

 * As from the house your mother sees
 * You playing round the garden trees,
 * So you may see, if you will look
 * Through the windows of this book,
 * Another child, far, far away,
 * And in another garden, play.
 * But do not think you can at all,
 * By knocking on the window, call
 * That child to hear you. He intent
 * Is all on his play-business bent.
 * He does not hear, he will not look,
 * Nor yet be lured out of this book.
 * For, long ago, the truth to say,
 * He has grown up and gone away,
 * And it is but a child of air
 * That lingers in the garden there.