Rhymes of a child's world

Name: Rhymes of a child's world
Author: Miriam Clark Potter

Whole book · 78 sections

SpeedVoice

RHYMES of a CHILD’S WORLD

[Image of the book-cover is unavailable.]

RHYMES OF A CHILD’S WORLD

A Book of Verse for Children

By
MIRIAM CLARK POTTER
With Illustrations by
Ruth Fuller Stevens

Boston
THE FOUR SEAS COMPANY
Publishers

Copyright, 1920, by
THE FOUR SEAS COMPANY

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

TO MY MOTHER AND FATHER
WHO ALWAYS HAD TIME
TO WAIVE GROWN-UP MATTERS
AND READ A SMALL RHYME:

WHOSE HEARTS EVER HELD
THROUGH THE FLIGHT OF THE YEARS
A SOFT UNDERSTANDING
OF SMALL JOYS AND TEARS.

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
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
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

’TIS a world of wonderful things,
Of wind and water and wings
And the tiniest bird
That ever was heard
Of God and His goodness sings;

So be glad, little child, and say
“Mine is a wonderful way;
They all are for me,
The flower and the tree,
Love, and the light of day.”

THE CHILD INDOORS AT PLAY

In the house I walk around
Over shining floors.
Pleasant things to do are found
In the snug
Indoors.

Ruth Fuller Stevens 1918

MY DEAREST IS A LADY

My dearest is a lady, and she wears a gown of blue;
She sits beside the window, where the yellow sun comes through;
The light is shining on her hair, and all the while she sews
She sings a song about a knight—a brave, good knight she knows.

My dearest is a lady,—and O, I love her well!
Full five and twenty times a day this very tale I tell;
For I’m the knight in armor—a shield and sword I wear;
And mother is my lady, with the light upon her hair.

BUBBLES

Misty balls of rainbow stuff,
Sailing in the sun,
We have watched them as they grew,
Slowly, one by one.
Flowers they are that bud and blow,
Shining spheres of light;
Our eager hands would grasp them
Before they burst from sight.

Little brother, come and see!
Here’s a pretty thing,
Glowing like a fairy lamp,
Floating like a wing.
Magic colors gleam and go
In a glad surprise;
Can you reach the jewels there,
Little Wonder-Eyes?

Little boy from ’cross-the-street,

Very straight and proud,
Blows the biggest one of all,

Rosy as a cloud;
Up it rises like a bird,

Trembles in the air,
Shines with all its soul for us,
Then is gone nowhere.

Sky has sent her sweetest blue,
Dawn has sent her rose,
River sends her laughter-lights,—
Don’t you just suppose?
Day has given clearness,—

Night has lent a star,—
And only happy children
Know what bubbles are.

Little boy from ’cross-the-street,

Little Let-Me-Too,
Thinks they’re made of undreamed dreams,
Glassed in morning dew;
Just perhaps they’re made of that;
We are glad they stay
For even little breathless whiles, 161

Before they melt away.

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 up,
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 belong in you, world, some day?

TEA TIME

The tea bell rings with a merry sound
And tea is ready at last;
Down from the hall, where we played at cars,
We come on the Very-Fast.

There are the muffins we hoped would be
And the plates of honey and cheese.
We may have milk in our little blue jugs
As much as ever we please.

Oh, we were hungry up in the hall,
Hungry as children can be;
Often we called from the stairs to ask:
“When is it time for tea?”

The candles shine with a yellow light
And our shadows are big on the wall;
Out in the dark the wind rides past
With a “Happy good-night!” to all.

UMBRELLAS

People on a rainy day
Look like mushrooms, strange to say,
And their round umbrella tops
Gleam among the falling drops;

Little mushrooms grow in clumps,
Round the feet of mossy stumps,
Large ones wander up and down
Through the streets of Rainy-town.

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;
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.

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

The tiny little Tiptoes, from the Land of Wonder-Where,
Walk all around our houses, and we never know they’re there;
They climb the chairs and tables, and they hang upon the door,
They wind the clock, and ride the cat, and slide upon the floor.

They come to see the baby bathed, and stand, all in a row,
Upon the edge of Little Tub, and lean to watch the show;
They clap their hands at every splash; and then away they fly,
To see what cook is making, and dance upon the pie.

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,
And 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;
Wet 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 wind 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 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

I come in hungry from my play,
And ask for things to eat;
And think of all the cake we’ve got,
So plummy and so sweet;

But very gently, mother says,
“There’s butter, and there’s bread;”
And smiles at me; my hunger leaves,
I sigh, and shake my head;

For I had only wished for cake,
So plummy, and so sweet;
And I go back to play again
Without a thing to eat.

THE COMPANY MAN

Sometimes the company man is wide,
And sometimes he’s high and thin,
But always he smiles, in the parlor there,
When brother and I come in;
He looks down at us in a grown-up way,
With—“How are you children, my dears, today?”

Then out to the table we go like a march,
With mother-our-dear in the lead;
And the company man sits down with smiles
And eats very much indeed;
We try to be quiet, as good as we can,
And we stare all the time at 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 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

Sister Martha said to me: “Tie your hair with bows,
Oh, the way it flies about, when the least wind blows!”
Sister Martha fluttered by, in her primrose gown,
She’s the very neatest girl, people say, in town.

Green and gold the garden lay, set with summer flowers,
Sweetly pink and white they grew, fresh from morning showers;
Martha took her sewing there; underneath the tree
Quiet in the shade she sat, sewing daintily.

Just perhaps when I am old, old as Martha looks,
I will sew on lacy clothes, read love-story books;
Now, behind the goblin bush, where I cannot show,
I ruffle up my windy hair, and pity Martha so!

A PLAINT

When I have grown a yard or so
I’ll be a pirate, that I know,
And capture on the stormy sea
Ships full of coffee and of tea.

For it is quite a shame, I think,
When such good things are had to drink
That only grown folks get a cup;
How glad I’ll be when I grow up!

THE FAT LITTLE CLOUD

Little Eldora made some bread,

And set it to rise in a pan;
After a while it began to grow,
As only good bread-dough can.

Then little Eldora went to town

And stayed there most of the day;
While she was gone the bread got up—
Out of the pan and away.

When she got back it was floating up

Out of the door, and high
It rose and rose, till at last it made
A fat little cloud in the sky.

THE LOOKING GLASS

Far behind the looking glass
I should like to go and pass,
Looking near and far;
Magic things it shows to me,
Things as like as like can be,
To the things that are.

Hanging in the quiet hall
True it shows upon the wall
Window, clock and stair;
Sometimes roses in a vase,
Sometimes mother in her lace,
All in picture there.

Once, before the lights were lit,
Soft the smooth glass mirrored it,—
Evening’s rosy moon;
Slow it slipped from past a tree,
Shone a little while for me,
Then was gone so soon.

MUFFINS

Molly tied her apron on,
Blue and white, it was;
“I’ll be making muffins,”
Molly said, “because
There’s no more o’ currants
For the little buns”;
“Make us muffins,” ’Lizbeth cries,
“Fluffy yellow ones!”

Sniffing in the baking smell
Brother said to me:
“Think of all the children
Muffinless, for tea!
Esquimos with bear and oil
China boys with rice—
I am glad I live at home;
Muffins are so nice!”

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.

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

Ships a-sailing in my soup;
See them dip and flutter!
Little cracker ships are they
With a sail of butter;

Nurse has come; I eat them up
As fast as I am able;
She has said ’tis not polite
To fuss with things at table.

THE CANDLE TREE

O hush, little brother, step soft on the stair
This Christmas morning; for waiting there
Is the candle-tree, with its flowers of light
All shining and blossoming bright, so bright:
Isn’t it good to bloom for us so
When all other trees are asleep in the snow?

Only on Christmas day it comes
While the white snow flies and the north wind hums;
When the spirit of giving is in the air
Then we are sure to find it there.
O hush, little brother, step soft and light
Lest it fade like a dream-thing away from sight!

For under its branches are sheltered here
The things we’ve wanted through all the year;
The doll I dreamed about months ago,
The scarlet horn that you wanted so
New books and pictures, all waiting, see,—
Under the care of the candle-tree!

And over its branches and all about
Peace and contentment and joy shine out,
Making the world a beautiful place
Making me say, as I lift my face,
“O wonderful, wonderful, candle-tree,
The light of the Christ-child is over me!”

THE LITTLE RUG FROM PERSIA

The little rug from Persia, that lies upon our floor,
It gleams a wealth of colors with the sunlight from the door;
A pretty gold, like candlelight
A starry blue, like skies at night,
A red like rubies, wild and bright,
All these and many more.

The little rug from Persia, that shines like flowers and wings,
If it could only talk to us could tell of many things;
Of foreign lands, so far away
Of magic night and burning day,
Of dark-skinned children at their play
Of elephants and kings.

DUTCH KATRINA

Dutch Katrina is so good!
In the kitchen’s brightness
Makes us sugar things to eat,
Cakes of fairy lightness;
Keeps us laughing all the while
With a song or fable;
Tells us of the Tulip Land
As she lays the table.

Now the work is done tonight
And the fire is dying
When we come to look for you,
’Trina, you are crying!
Crying for the Tulip Land,
Shadows deep behind you;
’Trina, light the lamp and sing;
See, we came to find you!

All out doors is mine for play
Green miles without an end,
And each small cloud that floats this way,
My little cotton friend—

THE CHILDREN OF THE WIND

My little dresses are alive—
See, out upon the line,
How full and free they’re blowing there,
Those crumpled gowns of mine!
I never thought ’twould happen, when
Nurse put them out to air them;
The little children of the wind
Have crept inside, to wear them!

And now they’re swaying to and fro—
With lifted arms they’re clinging
Fast holding to the friendly rope
And swinging, swinging, swinging!
The pink gown and the blue gown, too,
The white one trimmed with laces,
O, little children of the wind,
Why can’t I see your faces?

THE SOLEMN FROG

I think he’s judge of all the rest,
My friend, the solemn frog;
He’s judge of all the water things,
The skimming bugs with dripping wings,
The turtle on the log;
He sits upon a lily pad
And if he ever sees them bad
With sternness he will say:
“Go hide among the darkest weeds
Down deep, among the dungeon reeds,
And there repent your wicked deeds,
Away, young thing, away!”

SUMMER WEATHER

Sing of summer weather
Wind and sky together,
Clover-top and berry-bloom,
And haycocks in the sun;
All the forest places
Spread with shaded laces,
Oh, I breathe a sorry sigh
When summer time is done!

Fleets of clouds are floating
On the sky a-boating;
Meadow birds are flying past,
With wings of red and blue.
All my heart keeps saying,
As I go a-playing:
“Summer-time, ’tis summer-time,
The world is all for you!”

A WARNING

We drop our stones upon the lake
And watch them how they sink,
The circles little ripples make
All faster than a wink;
You fishes, swimming down below,
Where coolest peace prevails,
Look out, unless these stones we throw,
Drop down upon your tails!

THE MOON IN THE POOL

The moon is drowned in the little brown pool
Where the water is ever so deep.
I must help her out of the shadowy cool
Before I can go to sleep;
I must help her out with my friendly hands,
(If I saw her, how could I pass?)
Where the drooping tree on the hillside stands
I will put her to rest on the grass.

The stars must be weeping, and hiding their eyes,
And wondering where she can be;
And sending the clouds to hunt over the skies,
I am glad that she fell to me!
For now I may help her, and smooth her hair;
On the grass she shall rest, and then
When the little night wind finds her sleeping there
He will carry her home again.

THE FLYING HOURS

Twelve little birds fly by in a row—
Bright little birds are they—
Shining and free, and as blue as can be,
And these are the hours of the day;
The sun shines warmly across their wings
As they hurry their way along;
And now and again, in their joy of things,
They carol a daytime song.

Twelve little owls fly by in a row,
Silent and dark their flight;
Gray little things, with shadowy wings,
And these are the hours of the night;
But the last of them all, as he hovers low,
Is flushed with a radiant pink;
This is the good little sunrise owl;
I like him the best, I think.

THE COMMON THINGS

The things that happen every day
Are common things, so the grown folks say,
But I am a child, and I can see
Most wonderful happenings, all for me;
The flower can grow, and the bird can sing,
But each of these is a wonderful thing!

Away to the south, where the air rests sweet
On meadows of clover and fields of wheat,
Lives the Prince of the Wind, in a castle hewn
From a gray rock-hill that touches the moon;
And now and again, when the sky is bright
And the clouds of summer are floating white
The gates of the castle are opened wide
And the Prince of the Wind comes out to ride;
’Tis something just a child can see
And not for grown-ups, but for me.

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;
’Tis 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.

When the night has come, and the lights are out,
And the shuddering shadows creep about
The moon shines in through the curtain lace
With her gentle eyes, and her quiet face,
And says with a smile that calms me, quite,
“I am God’s bright angel over the night,
So go to sleep; don’t be afraid;
For a child’s sweet comfort was I made”;
’Tis something just a child can see
And not for grown-ups, but for me.

I’m glad I’m a child, for it seems too bad
To miss so much that would make you glad.

THE HEN

The hen is such a funny fowl
For all she has to do
Is walk around all day, and eat,
And cock her eye at you;

And always, when she’s being fed
She quickly singles out
The choicest bit, and seizing it
She rushes all about

And eats it far from other hens
With quite a show of greed;
Then cocks her eye and walks about—
Oh, what a life to lead!

BLUNDERING BENJAMIN BUMBLE BEE

Over a meadow of flowers came he,
Blundering Benjamin Bumble Bee,
And he buzzed with his wings, and grumbled low
That the dew on the flowers annoyed him so.

“My feet are wet and I’ve caught a cold,
I’ve ruined completely my suit of gold.
The use of dewdrops I cannot see,”
Growled 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

Over miles of ocean blue
Straight my ship sails home to you,
For I know you’re sure to wait
In the orchard, by the gate.

When I go to fight the bear
In the woodpile, growling there,
Kind and bravely near you sit
Begging me beware of it.

Once, when in the reeds we hid
Just the way the pirates did,
With your head upon my arm
Safe I guarded you from harm.

Oh, how much a man can dare
When he has a lady fair!
For your soldier I was made
All the times you are afraid.

A RIDE TO TOWN

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

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 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.

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
That 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.

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.

The little road is brown and steep, and wriggles up the hill,
And all the way the drooping trees stand shady, cool, and still;
I climbed and looked about me; and there before me lay
The great wide world I’d heard about, all shining in the day.

Close down below was Happytown, its red roofs painted new,
And all the little chimney-pots were filled with misty blue;
The children’s voices rose to me; I watched the wagons go
Along the little crooked streets, in sunshine there below.

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.

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

Some kinds of flowers are wild and free
And grow where’er they choose
Across the meadow, down the hill
Or underneath the trees.
But other kinds are caught, poor things,
As any garden shows,
And made to stand in planted beds
In straight and stupid rows;

And likewise, little children,
When morning brightest shines,
Are caught and planted down at school
In firm and even lines.

HAY COCKS

A band of giants, strong and tall,
With heavy feet and knotted hands
Came marching, with enormous stride
Across the meadow lands;
They tore the branches from the trees
They dashed the water from the brook
And often, in an angry rage
Their locks of heavy hair they shook.

“Hold!” Mother Earth in anger cried,
“Such mischief, sirs, I shall forbid!”
And reaching up she drew them down
And in her darkness they were hid
Deep, dark, and close; and now the eyes
Of country dwellers, as they pass,
See only tops of tousled heads
Above the meadow grass.

MAY

The river sings through its twisted miles
And the heaven above it smiles and smiles
The pink blooms out on the apple trees
The scent of the lilacs is on the breeze;
Oh, how has it happened? And what does it mean?
Who brightened the sunlight? Who coaxed out the green?

May was painting a bush by the garden wall
And she said in a whisper: “I did it all;
I flushed the trees to their rosy hue
I hung the banner clouds out in the blue;
I worked not a wonder in this,” said she,
’Tis only the work that was willed to me.”

THE WINDMILL COUNTRY

There is a country, so they say,
Where windmills grow like trees;
Where arms instead of branches, reach
To meet the coming breeze;
And all the little children there,
With clumping wooden shoes,
May seek their friendly shade to play
As often as they choose.

How strange ’twould be, when winter comes,
And all the other trees
Are shedding leaves of brown and red
To gather as we please,
To see the windmills drop their arms,
And all across the land
The little girls and boys come out
To find them on the sand.

THE OWL

Queer little bird of the shadowy dark
Come out, little owl, come away!
Sit on that tree
And gossip with me
Blink, in the light of day;
All other birds are awake in the sun
All other birds are glad;
Queer little bird of the shadowy dark,
Why are you always sad?

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;
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

Boy, do you know where it runs to sea?
Brown little girl, do you?
Runaway river, laughing and free,
Dappled and warm and blue?
Follow the curve of the meadow there
Over the hill, and then,
Where the marsh lilies droop in the careless wind
Look to the south again.

There you will see it running away;
Ah, it is bold and free!
Never a truant so brave has been
Never so brave will be;
Running away, with never a care
If all of the blossoming trees
Cry, “Wait, little river, stay here a while,”
Reaching their arms to tease.

Bad little shadows, who long to roam
Slip in its depths to hide
Good little ones, who are happy at home,
Sleep in the reeds at its side;
Runaway river, laughing and free,
Dappled and warm and blue
Boy, do you know where it runs to sea?
Brown little girl, do you?”

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

They say that the little March hare is mad, as mad as a beast can be,
And yet when I saw him, the other day, he seemed very calm to me;
For close by the fence in the pasture lot, where the grass grew brown and dry,
He was nibbling a bit, in a gentle way, with a sad bright tear in his eye.

“I wish they would call me The Rabbit of Spring—The Rabbit of Peace,” he said,
“I think it a shame to be known as mad, when I’m quite all right in my head.
What rageful beast, to say the least, on a meal of weeds would dine?
And how could I ever growl or lash, with a voice and a tail like mine?”

THE WATER CHILD

There is a round pool at the edge of the woods
And there I may look at the sky;
The wind goes a-sailing, the clouds come to drink,
The birds pass above it and by;

I lean down and look, in the carefulest way,
Past the tip of the straight little pine,
For down in its coolness a water child lives
With a face that is nearly like mine.

Dame Twilight comes from Sleepy Land
With Shut-Your-Eyes, her brother;
She holds a star-torch in one hand
And dew drops in the other.

Ruth Fuller Stevens 1918

TWILIGHT TOWN

Down a drowsy, dewy hill
Leads the road away
To the walls of Twilight Town
At the close of day;
There the people wander slow
Down the shadow street
Fingers to their lips they lift
When they chance to meet.

All the houses, painted gray,
Blink their sleepy eyes;
Mothers, all along the way,
Whisper lullabyes;
Each bird-baby cuddles down
In its purple nest;
This is quiet Twilight Town;
The watchword there is Rest.

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.”

“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

All through the pasture bars of sleep
My flock of dreams come home to me,
The glad ones, and the sad ones, and the ones that bring me rest;
At twilight, when the day is done,
My slumber fairy chooses one
And brings it to me gently, by a road she knows the best.

Tonight the grass is drooped with dew;
I count the stars, and there are two
And one, and three, and two again, above the cloudy trees;
The mist-hung world a-weary seems,
Dear slumber fairy, call my dreams,
Let down the pasture bars of sleep, and bring one home to me.

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 came, 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;
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 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 yellow color fills the sky,
The time is slipping fast;
The hours of sun are all but gone;
Another day is passed.

From drowsy lands of purpleness
The winds come singing in;
The lilac bush holds shadows now
Where banded bees have been.

Come softly, little Twilight Man,
And spread the blanket down,
Tuck in the edges of the dark
Around the weary town.

THE DREAM-SHIP

A sweet little ship sailed up from the south
With a cargo of baby dreams,
Of dolls and kittens
And warm little mittens
And rose colored peppermint creams;
A wee wind wafted it on its way
And it sailed along at the close of day,
Down the sleepy streets, where the lights were lit
To leave each child some wonderful bit.
“O hush, little child, if you want a dream,
You must close your eyes,—ah yes!
For the dream-ship carries a gift for you
More lovely than you can guess;
Perhaps a moon that will shine all day
Perhaps a gown of a color gay
Or a queer little fish
In a silver dish
Sail away little boat, and away!”

A PRAYER AT EVENING

Who made the rose so sweet and red,
Who made the blue sky overhead,
Who made the river and the sea—
I thank Him now, on bended knee.

And when tomorrow’s sun is up
And shines upon the lily cup,
May I awake again, to see
Its loving brightness over me.

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;
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;
And 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

Over the meadow they’re flying low,
Bright little runaway stars,
And I sit by the window and watch them glow
Over the pasture bars;
They’re almost afraid to burn very bright
For fear they’ll be hurried back tonight;
So they shine out a minute,—then hide their light,
Wise little runaway stars!

Far up above them the other stars
(Poor little patient things!)
Sit in the sky and study the clouds
Folding their sad little wings;
With the stern moon to watch them they sit and sigh:
“Won’t lessons be over, by and by?
We want to go down to the earth and fly!”
Runaway, runaway stars!

THE LADY NIGHT

The Lady Night has come again
And all the winds are still;
I close my eyes, and lean my head
Upon the window sill;

The sky is buttoned with the stars,
The hills have hid the sun,
And through the meadow, far away,
I hear the river run;

In daytime, when the sun is out
And all the flowers are gay,
I laugh and shout, and run about,
And tumble in the hay;

But when the Lady Night has come
From lands behind the hill,
She lays her finger on my lips
And makes me very still.

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
Across 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 skies, 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, 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,
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,
Bobby, 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

Up on the waves of the great sea-sky
Where the moon island dreamily floats
Sailing about, with laughter and shout,
Are thousands of gay little boats;
And some are quite large,—they are nearer, you see,
And some very faint and afar;
Each little boat has a bright little sail
And each little sail is a star.

And “Come up and drift!” they are calling to me
“The sea is blue and so wide”;
And the little sails wink, and its pleasant to think
That each longs to take me to ride;
But sadly I say: “You are too far away”;
And their light trembles down on my face;
So hailing the brightest, far upward I send
My heart’s dearest wish in my place.

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 window 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 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.”

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.”

The 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,
Some 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.

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

Mother’s face by candlelight
Stars aglow, without,
Just my little room at night
Shadows all about;
Other places
Other faces
Never half so dear;
Lady mother, stay with me,
Very, very near.

Mother’s hands to hold mine fast
Candle burning, low,
Wind across the gable roofs
Singing sad and slow;
Other hands
In other lands
Never were so good;
I would hold them always here
If I only could.

Stay with me, dear lady mother
Sing me off to sleep;
Sing of stars and candlelight,
Love so deep, so deep.

THE ROAD TO GLAD TOMORROW

Across the hills it winds away
Between the fields of clover
The road that leads from Glad Today;
See, little child, look over;
It leaves behind your Wonder-World
Without a sigh or sorrow;
Child, beneath the apple bough
For your dear sake I name it now—
The Road to Glad Tomorrow.