RHYMES OF A CHILD’S WORLD
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.
CONTENTS
’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,
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!”