And in it put great lumps of fat,
As big as my two thumbs.
The king and queen did eat thereof,
And noblemen beside;
And what they could not eat that night,
The queen next morning fried.
—ANONYMOUS
The Young Lady of Niger
There was a young lady of Niger
Who smiled as she rode on a Tiger;
They came back from the ride
With the lady inside,
And the smile on the face of the Tiger.
—ANONYMOUS
Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore
Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore—
No doubt you have heard the name before—
Was a boy who never would shut a door!
The wind might whistle, the wind might roar,
And teeth be aching and throats be sore,
But still he never would shut the door.
His father would beg, his mother implore,
“Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore,
We really do wish you would shut the door!”
Their hands they wrung, their hair they tore;
But Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore
Was deaf as the buoy out at the Nore.
When he walked forth the folks would roar,
“Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore,
Why don’t you think to shut the door?”
They rigged out a Shutter with sail and oar,
And threatened to pack off Gustavus Gore
On a voyage of penance to Singapore.
But he begged for mercy, and said, “No more!
Pray do not send me to Singapore
On a Shutter, and then I will shut the door!”
“You will?” said his parents; “then keep on shore!
But mind you do! For the plague is sore
Of a fellow that never will shut the door,
Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore!”
—WILLIAM BRIGHTY RANDS
The Rhyme of Dorothy Rose
Dorothy Rose had a turned-up nose.
Did she worry about it, do you suppose?
Oh, no; but a plan she began to hatch,
To make the rest of her features match.
First of all, she trained her eyes,
Turning them up to the sunny skies.
Look at the mud and the dust? not she!
Nothing but sunshine would Dorothy see.
A flower that droops has begun to wilt,
So up went her chin, with a saucy tilt.
An ounce of pluck’s worth a pound of sigh,
And courage comes with a head held high.
Lastly, her lips turned their corners up,
Brimming with smiles like a rosy cup.
Oh, a charming child is Dorothy Rose,—
And it all began with a turned-up nose!
—PAULINE FRANCES CAMP
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 gets 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 beside 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 sleepyhead,
Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.
—ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
A Tragedy
This is the short, sweet, sorrowful tale
Of Jessica Jenkins Jones;
She planted a packet of seeds with pride
While her dog looked on with his head on the side
And thought, “She’s burying bones.”
When Jessica left, he dug like mad
In search of the luscious bones,
So Jessica’s garden it doesn’t grow,
And Jessica’s dog is cross, and so
Is Jessica Jenkins Jones.
—DORIS WEBB
The Pantry Ghosts
Last night I had a horrid dream—
I cannot tell you why—
Huge pies and cakes of chocolate cream
And doughnuts passing by.
They looked at me with wicked joy.
I thought I heard them say,
“By night we haunt the foolish boy
That haunts our shelf by day.
“Behind us comes a nightmare grim—
You’d better hide your head!—
And then some Things, all pale and dim;
So crawl down in your bed.
“We never mind a little slice,—
A bite or two,—but when
You eat too much, it is n’t nice,
And we shall come again!”
—FREDERIC RICHARDSON
Mr. Coggs, Watchmaker
A watch will tell the time of day,
Or tell it nearly, anyway,
Excepting when it’s overwound,
Or when you drop it on the ground.
If any of our watches stop,
We haste to Mr. Coggs’s shop;
For though to scold us he pretends
He’s quite among our special friends.
He fits a dice box in his eye,
And takes a long and thoughtful spy,
And prods the wheels, and says: “Dear, dear!
More carelessness I greatly fear.”
And then he lays the dice box down
And frowns a most prodigious frown;
But if we ask him what’s the time,
He’ll make his gold repeater chime.
—EDWARD VERRALL LUCAS
Little Boy Blue
The little toy dog is covered with dust,
But sturdy and stanch he stands;
And the little toy soldier is red with rust,
And his musket molds in his hands.
Time was when the little toy dog was new
And the soldier was passing fair,
And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue
Kissed them and put them there.
“Now, don’t you go till I come,” he said,
“And don’t you make any noise!”
So toddling off to his trundle-bed
He dreamed of the pretty toys.
And as he was dreaming, an angel song
Awakened our Little Boy Blue,—
Oh, the years are many, the years are long,
But the little toy friends are true.
Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,
Each in the same old place,
Awaiting the touch of a little hand,
The smile of a little face.
And they wonder, as waiting these long years through,
In the dust of that little chair,
What has become of our Little Boy Blue
Since he kissed them and put them there.
—EUGENE FIELD
The Quangle Wangle’s Hat
I
On the top of the Crumpetty Tree
The Quangle Wangle sat,
But his face you could not see,
On account of his Beaver Hat.
For his Hat was a hundred and two feet wide,
With ribbons and bibbons on every side
And bells, and buttons, and loops, and lace,
So that nobody ever could see the face
> Of the Quangle Wangle Quee.
II
The Quangle Wangle said
To himself on the Crumpetty Tree,—
“Jam; and jelly; and bread;
“Are the best food for me!
“But the longer I live on this Crumpetty Tree
“The plainer than ever it seems to me
“That very few people come this way
“And that life on the whole is far from gay!”
Said the Quangle Wangle Quee.
III
But there came to the Crumpetty Tree,
Mr. and Mrs. Canary;
And they said,—“Did you ever see
”Any spot so charmingly airy?
“May we build a nest on your lovely Hat?
”Mr. Quangle Wangle, grant us that!
“O please let us come and build a nest
”Of whatever material suits you best,
“Mr. Quangle Wangle Quee!”
IV
And besides, to the Crumpetty Tree
Came the Stork, the Duck, and the Owl;
The Snail, and the Bumble-Bee,
The Frog, and the Fimble Fowl;
(The Fimble Fowl, with a Corkscrew leg;)
And all of them said,—“We humbly beg,
”We may build our homes on your lovely Hat,—
“Mr. Quangle Wangle, grant us that!
“Mr. Quangle Wangle Quee!”
V
And the Golden Grouse came there,
And the Pobble who has no toes,—
And the small Olympian bear,—
And the Dong with a luminous nose.
And the Blue Baboon, who played the flute,—
And the Orient Calf from the Land of Tute,—
And the Attery Squash, and the Bisky Bat,—
All came and built on the lovely Hat
Of the Quangle Wangle Quee.
VI
And the Quangle Wangle said,
To himself on the Crumpetty Tree,—
“When all these creatures move
“What a wonderful noise there’ll be!”
And at night by the light of the Mulberry moon
They danced to the Flute of the Blue Baboon,
On the broad green leaves of the Crumpetty Tree,
And all were as happy as happy could be,
With the Quangle Wangle Quee.
—EDWARD LEAR
The Butter Betty Bought
Betty Botta bought some butter;
“But,” said she, “This butter’s bitter!
If I put it in my batter
It will make my batter bitter.
But a bit o’ better butter
Will but make my batter better.”
So she bought a bit o’ butter
Better than the bitter butter,
Made her bitter batter better.
So ’twas better Betty Botta
Bought a bit o’ better butter.
—ANONYMOUS
Those scissors can slip.
Barbershop
When you visit the barber
And sit in his chair,
Don’t squirm
Like a worm
While he’s cutting your hair.
Don’t shiver
And quiver
And bounce up and down.
Don’t shuffle
And snuffle
And act like a clown.
Each wiggle
Will jiggle
The blades of the shears.
Clip-clip,
Clip-clip.
Those scissors can slip
And snip
Off a tip
Of one of your tender pink ears!
—MARTIN GARDNER
The Raggedy Man
O The Raggedy Man! He works fer Pa;
An’ he’s the goodest man ever you saw!
He comes to our house every day,
An’ waters the horses, an’ feeds ’em hay;
An’ he opens the shed—an’ we all ist laugh
When he drives out our little, old, wobble-ly calf;
An’ nen—ef our hired girl says he can—
He milks the cow fer ’Lizabuth Ann—
Ain’t he a’ awful good Raggedy Man?
Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man!
W’y, The Raggedy Man—he’s ist so good
He splits the kindlin’ an’ chops the wood;
An’ nen he spades in our garden, too,
An’ does most things ’at boys can’t do—
He clumbed clean up in our big tree
An’ shooked a’ apple down fer me—
An’ ’nother ’n’, too, fer ’Lizabuth Ann—
An’ ’nother ’n’, too, fer The Raggedy Man—
Ain’t he a’ awful kind Raggedy Man?
Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man!
An’ The Raggedy Man, he knows most rhymes
An’ tells ’em, if I be good, sometimes:
Knows ’bout Giunts, an’ Griffuns, an’ Elves,
An’ the Squidgicum Squees ’at swallers therselves!
An’ wite by the pump in our pasture-lot,
He showed me the hole ’at the Wunks is got,
’At lives ’way deep in the ground, ’an can
Turn into me, er ’Lizabuth Ann!
Er Ma, er Pa, er The Raggedy Man!
Ain’t he a funny old Raggedy Man?
Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man!
The Raggedy Man—one time when he
Wuz makin’ a little bow-’n’-orry fer me,
Says, “When you’re big like your Pa is,
Air you go’ to keep a fine store like his—
An’ be a rich merchunt—an’ wear fine clothes?—
Er what air you go’ to be, goodness knows!”
An’ nen he laughed at ’Lizabuth Ann,
An’ I says “’M go’ to be a Raggedy Man!—
I’m ist go’ to be a nice Raggedy Man!”
Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man!
—JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY
Great Fleas Have Little Fleas
Great fleas have little fleas upon their backs to bite ’em,
And little fleas have lesser fleas, and so ad infinitum.
And the great fleas themselves in turn have greater fleas to go on
While these again have greater still, and greater still, and so on.
—A. DE MORGAN
The Peppery Man
The Peppery Man was cross and thin;
He scolded out and scolded in;
He shook his fist, his hair he tore;
He stamped his feet and slammed the door.
Heigh ho, the Peppery Man,
The rabid, crabbed Peppery Man!
Oh, never since the world began
Was any one like the Peppery Man.
His ugly temper was so sour
He often scolded for an hour;
He gnashed his teeth and stormed and scowled,
He snapped and snarled and yelled and howled.
He wore a fierce and savage frown;
He scolded up and scolded down;
He scolded over field and glen,
And then he scolded back again.
His neighbors, when they heard his roars,
Closed their blinds and locked their doors,
Shut their windows, sought their beds,
Stopped their ears and covered their heads.
He fretted, chafed, and boiled and fumed;
With fiery rage he was consumed,
And no one knew, when he was vexed,
What in the world would happen next.
Heigh ho, the Peppery Man,
The rabid, crabbed Peppery Man!
Oh, never since the world began
Was any one like the Peppery Man.
—ARTHUR MACY
August
Buttercup nodded and said good-by,
Clover and daisy went off together,
But the fragrant wat
er lilies lie
Yet moored in the golden August weather.
The swallows chatter about their flight,
The cricket chirps like a rare good fellow,
The asters twinkle in clusters bright,
While the corn grows ripe and the apples mellow.
—CELIA THAXTER
The Mayor of Scuttleton
The Mayor of Scuttleton burned his nose
Trying to warm his copper toes;
He lost his money and spoiled his will
By signing his name with an icicle quill;
He went bareheaded, and held his breath,
And frightened his grandame most to death;
He loaded a shovel and tried to shoot,
And killed the calf in the leg of his boot;
He melted a snowbird and formed the habit
Favorite Poems of Childhood Page 4
