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Slowly she grew--till she filled the night, And shone On her throne In the sky alone, A matchless, wonderful silvery light, Radiant and lovely, the queen of the night.
Said the Wind: "What a marvel of power am I!
With my breath, Good faith!
I blew her to death-- First blew her away right out of the sky-- Then blew her in; what strength have I!
But the Moon she knew nothing about the affair; For high In the sky, With her one white eye, Motionless, miles above the air, She had never heard the great Wind blare.
George Macdonald [1824-1905]
CHILD'S SONG IN SPRING
The silver birch is a dainty lady, She wears a satin gown; The elm tree makes the old churchyard shady, She will not live in town.
The English oak is a st.u.r.dy fellow, He gets his green coat late; The willow is smart in a suit of yellow, While brown the beech trees wait.
Such a gay green gown G.o.d gives the larches-- As green as He is good!
The hazels hold up their arms for arches When Spring rides through the wood.
The chestnut's proud, and the lilac's pretty, The poplar's gentle and tall, But the plane tree's kind to the poor dull city-- I love him best of all!
Edith Nesbit [1858-1924]
BABY SEED SONG
Little brown brother, oh! little brown brother, Are you awake in the dark?
Here we lie cosily, close to each other: Hark to the song of the lark-- "Waken!" the lark says, "waken and dress you; Put on your green coats and gay, Blue sky will s.h.i.+ne on you, suns.h.i.+ne caress you-- Waken! 'tis morning--'tis May!"
Little brown brother, oh! little brown brother, What kind of flower will you be?
I'll be a poppy--all white, like my mother; Do be a poppy like me.
What! you're a sun-flower? How I shall miss you When you're grown golden and high!
But I shall send all the bees up to kiss you; Little brown brother, good-bye.
Edith Nesbit [1858-1924]
LITTLE DANDELION
Gay little Dandelion Lights up the meads, Swings on her slender foot, Telleth her beads, Lists to the robin's note Poured from above; Wise little Dandelion Asks not for love.
Cold lie the daisy banks Clothed but in green, Where, in the days agone, Bright hues were seen.
Wild pinks are slumbering, Violets delay; True little Dandelion Greeteth the May.
Brave little Dandelion!
Fast falls the snow, Bending the daffodil's Haughty head low.
Under that fleecy tent, Careless of cold, Blithe little Dandelion Counteth her gold.
Meek little Dandelion Groweth more fair, Till dies the amber dew Out from her hair.
High rides the thirsty sun, Fiercely and high; Faint little Dandelion Closeth her eye.
Pale little Dandelion, In her white shroud, Heareth the angel-breeze Call from the cloud; Tiny plumes fluttering Make no delay; Little winged Dandelion Soareth away.
Helen Barron Bostwick [1826-? ]
LITTLE WHITE LILY From "Within and Without"
Little White Lily sat by a stone, Drooping and waiting till the sun shone.
Little White Lily suns.h.i.+ne has fed; Little White Lily is lifting her head.
Little White Lily said: "It is good, Little White Lily's clothing and food."
Little White Lily dressed like a bride!
s.h.i.+ning with whiteness, and crowned beside!
Little White Lily drooping with pain, Waiting and waiting for the wet rain, Little White Lily holdeth her cup; Rain is fast falling and filling it up.
Little White Lily said: "Good again, When I am thirsty to have the nice rain.
Now I am stronger, now I am cool; Heat cannot burn me, my veins are so full."
Little White Lily smells very sweet; On her head suns.h.i.+ne, rain at her feet.
Thanks to the suns.h.i.+ne, thanks to the rain, Little White Lily is happy again.
George Macdonald [1824-1905]
WIs.h.i.+NG
Ring-ting! I wish I were a Primrose, A bright yellow Primrose, blowing in the Spring!
The stooping bough above me, The wandering bee to love me, The fern and moss to creep across, And the Elm-tree for our King!
Nay,--stay! I wish I were an Elm-tree, A great lofty Elm-tree, with green leaves gay!
The winds would set them dancing, The sun and moons.h.i.+ne glance in, The Birds would house among the boughs, And sweetly sing!
O--no! I wish I were a Robin, A Robin or a little Wren, everywhere to go; Through forest, field, or garden, And ask no leave or pardon, Till Winter comes with icy thumbs To ruffle up our wing.
Well--tell! Where should I fly to, Where go to sleep in the dark wood or dell?
Before a day was over, Home comes the rover, For Mother's kiss,--sweeter this Than any other thing!
