Favorite Poems of Childhood
Page 2
We very much fear
That we have lost our mittens.”
“Lost your mittens!
You naughty kittens!
Then you shall have no pie!”
“Mee-ow, mee-ow, mee-ow.”
“No, you shall have no pie.”
“Mee-ow, mee-ow, mee-ow.”
The three little kittens found their mittens;
And they began to cry,
“Oh, mother dear,
See here, see here!
See, we have found our mittens!”
“Put on your mittens,
You silly kittens,
And you may have some pie.”
“Purr-r, purr-r, purr-r,
Oh, let us have the pie!
Purr-r, purr-r, purr-r.”
The three little kittens put on their mittens,
And soon ate up the pie;
“Oh, mother dear,
We greatly fear
That we have soiled our mittens!”
“Soiled your mittens!
You naughty kittens!”
Then they began to sigh,
“Mee-ow, mee-ow, mee-ow.”
Then they began to sigh,
“Mee-ow, mee-ow, mee-ow.”
The three little kittens washed their mittens,
And hung them out to dry;
“Oh, mother dear,
Do not you hear
That we have washed our mittens?”
“Washed your mittens!
Oh, you’re good kittens!
But I smell a rat close by,
Hush, hush! Mee-ow, mee-ow.”
“We smell a rat close by,
Mee-ow, mee-ow, mee-ow.”
—ELIZA LEE FOLLEN
There Were Two Ghostesses
There were two ghostesses,
Sitting on two postesses,
Eating bread and toastesses.
Weren’t they beastesses
To make such feastesses?
—ANONYMOUS
Jabberwocky
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
He chortled in his joy.
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
—LEWIS CARROLL
Only One Mother
Hundreds of stars in the pretty sky,
Hundreds of shells on the shore together,
Hundreds of birds that go singing by,
Hundreds of lambs in the sunny weather.
Hundreds of dewdrops to greet the dawn,
Hundreds of bees in the purple clover,
Hundreds of butterflies on the lawn,
But only one mother the wide world over.
—GEORGE COOPER
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.
—ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
Tomorrow’s the Fair
Tomorrow’s the fair,
And I shall be there,
Stuffing my guts
With gingerbread nuts.
—ANONYMOUS
The Duel
The gingham dog and the calico cat
Side by side on the table sat;
’T was half-past twelve, and (what do you think!)
Nor one nor t’ other had slept a wink!
The old Dutch clock and the Chinese plate
Appeared to know as sure as fate
There was going to be a terrible spat.
(I was n’t there; I simply state
What was told to me by the Chinese plate!)
The gingham dog went “Bow-wow-wow!”
And the calico cat replied “Mee-ow!”
The air was littered, an hour or so,
With bits of gingham and calico,
While the old Dutch clock in the chimney-
place
Up with its hands before its face,
For it always dreaded a family row!
(Now mind: I’m only telling you
What the old Dutch clock declares is true!)
The Chinese plate looked very blue,
And wailed, “Oh, dear! what shall we do!”
But the gingham dog and the calico cat
Wallowed this way and tumbled that,
Employing every tooth and claw
In the awfullest way you ever saw—
And, oh! how the gingham and calico flew!
There was going to be a terrible spat.
(Don’t fancy I exaggerate-
I got my news from the Chinese plate!)
Next morning, where the two had sat
They found no trace of dog or cat;
And some folks think unto this day
That burglars stole that pair away!
But the truth about the cat and pup
Is this: they ate each other up!
Now what do you really think of that!
(The old Dutch clock it told me so,
And that is how I came to know.)
—EUGENE FIELD
The Moon’s the North Wind’s Cooky
(WHAT THE LITTLE GIRL SAID)
The Moon’s the North Wind’s cooky.
He bites it, day by day,
Until there’s but a rim of scraps
That crumble all away.
The South Wind is a baker.
He kneads clouds in his den,
And bakes a crisp new moon that ...
greedy
North ... Wind ... eats ... again!
—VACHEL LINDSAY
Mr. Moon
A SONG OF THE LITTLE PEOPLE
O Moon, Mr. Moon,
When you comin’ down?
Down on the hilltop,
Down in the glen,
Out in the clearin’,
To play with little men?
Moon, Mr. Moon,
When you comin’ down?
O Mr. Moon,
Hurry up along!
The reeds in the current
Are whisperin’ slow;
The river’s a-wimplin’
To and fro.
Hurry up along,
Or you’ll miss the song!
Moon, Mr. Moon,
When you comin’ down?
O Moon, Mr. Moon,
When you comin’ down?
Down where the Good Folk
Dance in a ring,
Down where the Little Folk
Sing?
Moon, Mr. Moon,
When you comin’ down?
—BLISS CARMAN
Judging by Appearances
An old Jack-o’-lantern lay on the ground;
He looked at the Moon-man, yellow and round.
The old Jack-o’-lantern gazed and he gazed,
And still as he looked he grew more amazed.
Then said Jack-o’-lantern, “How can it be
That fellow up there looks so much like me?
“I s’pose he must be a brother of mine,
And somebody cut him, too, from the vine.
“He looks very grand up there in the sky;
But I know just how ’twill be, by and by.
“He’s proud of his shining, I have no doubt,
But just wait until his candle goes out!”
—EMILIE POULSSON
The Dinkey-Bird
In an ocean, ’way out yonder
(As all sapient people know),
Is the land of Wonder-Wander,
Whither children love to go;
It’s their playing, romping, swinging,
That give great joy to me
While the Dinkey-Bird goes singing
In the amfalula tree!
There the gum-drops grow like cherries,
And taffy’s thick as peas—
Caramels you pick like berries
When, and where, and how you please;
Big red sugar-plums are clinging
To the cliffs beside that sea
Where the Dinkey-Bird is singing
In the amfalula tree.
So when children shout and scamper
And make merry all the day,
When there’s naught to put a damper
To the ardor of their play;
When I hear their laughter ringing,
Then I’m sure as sure can be
That the Dinkey-Bird is singing
In the amfalula tree.
For the Dinkey-Bird’s bravuras
And staccatos are so sweet—
His roulades, appoggiaturas,
And robustos so complete,
That the youth of every nation—
Be they near or far away—
Have especial delectation
In that gladsome roundelay.
Their eyes grow bright and brighter,
Their lungs begin to crow,
Their hearts get light and lighter,
And their cheeks are all aglow;
For an echo cometh bringing
The news to all and me,
That the Dinkey-Bird is singing
In the amfalula tree.
I’m sure you like to go there
To see your feathered friend—
And so many goodies grow there
You would like to comprehend!
Speed, little dreams, your winging
To that land across the sea,
Where the Dinkey-Bird is singing
In the amfalula tree!
—EUGENE FIELD
The Elf and the Dormouse
Under a toadstool
Crept a wee Elf,
Out of the rain
To shelter himself.
Under the toadstool,
Sound asleep,
Sat a big Dormouse,
All in a heap.
Trembled the wee Elf,
Frightened, and yet
Fearing to fly away
Lest he get wet.
To the next shelter—
Maybe a mile!
Sudden the wee Elf
Smiled a wee smile,
Tugged till the toadstool
Toppled in two.
Holding it over him
Gaily he flew.
Soon he was safe home
Dry as could be.
Soon woke the Dormouse—
“Good gracious me!
Where is my toadstool?”
Loud he lamented.
—And that’s how umbrellas,
First were invented.
—OLIVER HERFORD
The Little Elf
I met a little Elfman once,
Down where the lilies blow.
I asked him why he was so small,
And why he didn’t grow.
He slightly frowned, and with his eye
He looked me through and through—
“I’m quite as big for me,” said he,
“As you are big for you!”
—JOHN KENDRICK BANGS
The Fairies
Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren’t go a-hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl’s feather!
Down along the rocky shore
Some make their home,
They live on crispy pancakes
Of yellow tide-foam;
Some in the reeds
Of the black mountain-lake,
With frogs for their watch-dogs,
All night awake.
High on the hill-top
The old King sits;
He is now so old and gray
He’s nigh lost his wits.
With a bridge of white mist
Columbkill he crosses,
Wee folk, good folk.
On his stately journeys
From Slieveleague to Rosses;
Or going up with music
On cold starry nights,
To sup with the Queen
Of the gay Northern Lights.
They stole little Bridget
For seven years long;
When she came down again
Her friends were all gone.
They took her lightly back,
Between the night and morrow,
They thought that she was fast asleep,
But she was dead with sorrow.
They have kept her ever since
Deep within the lake,
On a bed of flag-leaves,
Watching till she wake.
By the craggy hill-side,
Through the mosses bare,
They have planted thorn-trees
For pleasure here and there.
Is any man so daring
As dig them up in spite,
He shall find their sharpest thorns
In his bed at night.
Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren’t go a-hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl’s feather!
—WILLIAM ALLINGHAM
An Unsuspected Fact
If down his throat a man should choose
In fun, to jump or slide,
He’d scrape his shoes against his teeth,
Nor dirt his own inside.
But if his teeth were lost and gone,
And not a stump to scrape upon,
He’d see at once how very pat
His tongue lay there by way of mat,
And he would wipe his feet on that!
—EDWARD CANNON
Minnie and Winnie
Minnie and Winnie
Slept in a shell.
Sleep, little ladies!
And they slept well.
Pink was the shell within,
Silver without;
Sounds of the great sea
Wandered about.
Sleep little ladies!
Wake not soon!
Echo on echo
Dies to the moon.
Two bright stars
Peep’d into the shell,
What are they dreaming of?
Who can tell?
Started a green linnet
Out of the croft;
Wake, little ladies,
The sun is aloft!
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—ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON
A Sea-Song from the Shore
Hail! Ho!
Sail! Ho!
Ahoy! Ahoy! Ahoy!
Who calls to me,
So far at sea?
Only a little boy!
Sail! Ho!
Hail! Ho!
The sailor he sails the sea;
I wish he would capture
A little sea-horse
And send him home to me.
I wish, as he sails
Through the tropical gales,
He would catch me a sea-bird, too,
With its silver wings
And the song it sings,
And its breast of down and dew!
I wish he would catch me a
Little mermaid,
Some island where he lands,