NOT IN CLASSIC LOOK, BUT RICH IN THE CHILD-SAGAS OF THE KITCHEN
KNEEL, ALL GLOWING, TO THE COOL SPRING
NO BOY KNOWS WHEN HE GOES TO SLEEP
JAMESY ON THE SLACK-ROPE
ACROSS THE ORCHARD
WHILE ALL THE ARMY, FOLLOWING, IN CHORUS CHEERS AND SINGS
WHERE IT GOES WHEN THE FIRE GOES OUT?
THE FAIRY QUEEN OF THE SEASONS
PORE PA! PORE PA!
SQUINT' OUR EYES AN' LAUGH' AGAIN
HE'S A-MARCHIN' ROUND THE ROOM
THE OLD TREE SAYS HE'S ALL OUR TREE
THEREFORE READ NO LONGER
SHE'S BUT A RACING SCHOOL-GIRL
[xiv] THEY WAS GOD'S PEOPLE
THEM WUZ THE BEST TIMES EVER WUZ
HE'S GO' HITCH UP, CHRIS'MUS-DAY, AN' COME TAKE ME BACK AGAIN
WHEN WE DROVE TO HARMONY
A BIG, HOLLOW, OLD OAK-TREE, WHICH HAD BEEN BLOWN DOWN BY A STORM
THE YOUNG FOXES IN IT, ON THE HEARTH BESIDE HER
AN' ALL BE POETS AN' ALL RECITE
ALONG THE BRINK OF WILD BROOK-WAYS
I LIKE TO WATCH HIM
WHILE KATE PICKS BY, YET LOOKS NOT THERE
LEND ME THE BREATH OF A FRESHENING GALE
BOW TO ME IN THE WINDER THERE
OUR "OLD-KRISS"-MILKMAN
THE CHILDISH DREAMS IN HIS WISE OLD HEAD
Bound and bordered in leaf-green,
Edged with trellised buds and flowers
And glad Summer-gold, with clean
White and purple morning-glories
Such as suit the songs and stories
Of this book of ours,
Unrevised in text or scene—
The Book of Joyous Children.
Wild and breathless in their glee—
Lawless rangers of all ways
Winding through lush greenery
Of Elysian vales—the viny,
Bowery groves of shady, shiny
Haunts of childish days.
Spread and read again with me
The Book of Joyous Children.
What a whir of wings, and what
Sudden drench of dews upon
The young brows, wreathed, all unsought,
With the apple-blossom garlands
Of the poets of those far lands
Whence all dreams are drawn
Set herein and soiling not
The Book of Joyous Children.
In their blithe companionship
Taste again, these pages through,
The hot honey on your lip
Of the sun-smit wild strawberry,
Or the chill tart of the cherry;
Kneel, all glowing, to
The cool spring, and with it sip
The Book of Joyous Children.
As their laughter needs no rule,
So accept their language, pray.—
Touch it not with any tool:
Surely we may understand it—
As the heart has parsed or scanned it
Is a worthy way,
Though found not in any School
The Book of Joyous Children.
"Kneel, all glowing, to the cool spring."
Be a truant—know no place
Of prison under heaven's rim!
Front the Father's smiling face—
Smiling, that you smile the brighter
For the heavy hearts made lighter,
Since you smile with Him.
Take—and thank Him for His grace—
The Book of Joyous Children.
When I wuz ist a little bit
o' weenty-teenty kid
I maked up a Fairy-tale,
all by myse'f, I did:—
Wunst upon a time wunst
They wuz a Fairy King,
An' ever'thing he have wuz gold—,
His clo'es, an' ever'thing!
An' all the other Fairies
In his goldun Palace-hall
Had to hump an' hustle—
'Cause he wuz bosst of all!
He have a goldun trumput,
An' when he blow' on that,
It's a sign he want' his boots,
Er his coat er hat:
[9]
They's a sign fer ever'thing—
An' all the Fairies knowed
Ever' sign, an' come a-hoppin'
When the King blowed!
Wunst he blowed an' telled 'em all:
"Saddle up yer bees—
Fireflies is gittin' fat
An' sassy as you please!—
Guess we'll go a-huntin'!"
So they hunt' a little bit,
Till the King blowed "Supper-time,"
Nen they all quit.
Nen they have a Banqut
In the Palace-hall,
An' ist et! an' et! an' et!
Nen they have a Ball;
An' when the Queen o' Fairyland
Come p'omenadin' through,
The King says an' halts her—
"Guess I'll marry you!"
"Wasn't it a funny dream!—perfectly bewild'rin'!—
Last night, and night before, and night before that,
Seemed like I saw the march o' regiments o' children,
Marching to the robin's fife and cricket's rat-ta-tat!
Lily-banners overhead, with the dew upon 'em,