ALL day long they come and go—Pittypat and Tippytoe;Footprints up and down the hall,Playthings scattered on the floor,
ALL day long they come and go—Pittypat and Tippytoe;Footprints up and down the hall,Playthings scattered on the floor,
ALL day long they come and go—Pittypat and Tippytoe;Footprints up and down the hall,Playthings scattered on the floor,
Image unavailable: ‘Only buttered bread will do,’
Image unavailable: ‘Inches thick with sugar too.’
Finger-marks along the wall,Tell-tale smudges on the door—By these presents you shall knowPittypat and Tippytoe.How they riot at their play!And a dozen times a dayIn they troop, demanding bread—Only buttered bread will do,And the butter must be spreadInches thick with sugar too!And I never can say “No,Pittypat and Tippytoe!”Sometimes there are griefs to soothe,Sometimes ruffled brows to smooth;For (I much regret to say)Tippytoe and PittypatSometimes interrupt their playWith an internecine spat;Fie, for shame! to quarrel so—Pittypat and Tippytoe!Oh the thousand worrying thingsEvery day recurrent brings!Hands to scrub and hair to brush,Search for playthings gone amiss,Many a wee complaint to hush,Many a little bump to kiss;Life seems one vain, fleeting showTo Pittypat and Tippytoe!And when day is at an end,There are little duds to mend:Little frocks are strangely torn,Little shoes great holes reveal,Little hose, but one day worn,Rudely yawn at toe and heel!Who butyoucould work such woe,Pittypat and Tippytoe!On the floor and down the hall,Rudely smutched upon the wall,There are proofs in every kindOf the havoc they have wrought,And upon my heart you’d findJust such trade-marks, if you sought;Oh, how glad I am ’tis so,Pittypat and Tippytoe!
Finger-marks along the wall,Tell-tale smudges on the door—By these presents you shall knowPittypat and Tippytoe.How they riot at their play!And a dozen times a dayIn they troop, demanding bread—Only buttered bread will do,And the butter must be spreadInches thick with sugar too!And I never can say “No,Pittypat and Tippytoe!”Sometimes there are griefs to soothe,Sometimes ruffled brows to smooth;For (I much regret to say)Tippytoe and PittypatSometimes interrupt their playWith an internecine spat;Fie, for shame! to quarrel so—Pittypat and Tippytoe!Oh the thousand worrying thingsEvery day recurrent brings!Hands to scrub and hair to brush,Search for playthings gone amiss,Many a wee complaint to hush,Many a little bump to kiss;Life seems one vain, fleeting showTo Pittypat and Tippytoe!And when day is at an end,There are little duds to mend:Little frocks are strangely torn,Little shoes great holes reveal,Little hose, but one day worn,Rudely yawn at toe and heel!Who butyoucould work such woe,Pittypat and Tippytoe!On the floor and down the hall,Rudely smutched upon the wall,There are proofs in every kindOf the havoc they have wrought,And upon my heart you’d findJust such trade-marks, if you sought;Oh, how glad I am ’tis so,Pittypat and Tippytoe!
Finger-marks along the wall,Tell-tale smudges on the door—By these presents you shall knowPittypat and Tippytoe.
How they riot at their play!And a dozen times a dayIn they troop, demanding bread—Only buttered bread will do,And the butter must be spreadInches thick with sugar too!And I never can say “No,Pittypat and Tippytoe!”
Sometimes there are griefs to soothe,Sometimes ruffled brows to smooth;For (I much regret to say)Tippytoe and PittypatSometimes interrupt their playWith an internecine spat;Fie, for shame! to quarrel so—Pittypat and Tippytoe!
Oh the thousand worrying thingsEvery day recurrent brings!Hands to scrub and hair to brush,Search for playthings gone amiss,Many a wee complaint to hush,Many a little bump to kiss;Life seems one vain, fleeting showTo Pittypat and Tippytoe!
And when day is at an end,There are little duds to mend:Little frocks are strangely torn,Little shoes great holes reveal,Little hose, but one day worn,Rudely yawn at toe and heel!Who butyoucould work such woe,Pittypat and Tippytoe!
On the floor and down the hall,Rudely smutched upon the wall,There are proofs in every kindOf the havoc they have wrought,And upon my heart you’d findJust such trade-marks, if you sought;Oh, how glad I am ’tis so,Pittypat and Tippytoe!
SLEEP, little pigeon, and fold your wings—Little blue pigeon with velvet eyes;Sleep to the singing of mother-bird swinging—Swinging the nest where her little one lies.Away out yonder I see a star—Silvery star with a tinkling song;To the soft dew falling I hear it calling—Calling and tinkling the night along.In through the window a moonbeam comes—Little gold moonbeam with misty wings;All silently creeping, it asks: “Is he sleeping—Sleeping and dreaming while mother sings?”Up from the sea there floats the sobOf the waves that are breaking upon the shore,As though they were groaning in anguish, and moaning—Bemoaning the ship that shall come no more.But sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings—Little blue pigeon with mournful eyes;Am I not singing?—see, I am swinging—Swinging the nest where my darling lies.
SLEEP, little pigeon, and fold your wings—Little blue pigeon with velvet eyes;Sleep to the singing of mother-bird swinging—Swinging the nest where her little one lies.Away out yonder I see a star—Silvery star with a tinkling song;To the soft dew falling I hear it calling—Calling and tinkling the night along.In through the window a moonbeam comes—Little gold moonbeam with misty wings;All silently creeping, it asks: “Is he sleeping—Sleeping and dreaming while mother sings?”Up from the sea there floats the sobOf the waves that are breaking upon the shore,As though they were groaning in anguish, and moaning—Bemoaning the ship that shall come no more.But sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings—Little blue pigeon with mournful eyes;Am I not singing?—see, I am swinging—Swinging the nest where my darling lies.
SLEEP, little pigeon, and fold your wings—Little blue pigeon with velvet eyes;Sleep to the singing of mother-bird swinging—Swinging the nest where her little one lies.
Away out yonder I see a star—Silvery star with a tinkling song;To the soft dew falling I hear it calling—Calling and tinkling the night along.
In through the window a moonbeam comes—Little gold moonbeam with misty wings;All silently creeping, it asks: “Is he sleeping—Sleeping and dreaming while mother sings?”
Up from the sea there floats the sobOf the waves that are breaking upon the shore,As though they were groaning in anguish, and moaning—Bemoaning the ship that shall come no more.
But sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings—Little blue pigeon with mournful eyes;Am I not singing?—see, I am swinging—Swinging the nest where my darling lies.
EVERY evening, after tea,Teeny-Weeny comes to me.And, astride my willing knee,Plies his lash and rides away;Though that palfrey, all too spare,Finds his burden hard to bear,Teeny-Weeny doesn’t care;He commands, and I obey!First it’s trot, and gallop then;Now it’s back to trot again;Teeny-Weeny likes it whenHe is riding fierce and fast.Then his dark eyes brighter growAnd his cheeks are all aglow:“More!” he cries, and never “Whoa!”Till the horse breaks down at last.Oh, the strange and lovely sightsTeeny-Weeny sees of nights,As he makes those famous flightsOn that wondrous horse of his!Oftentimes before he knows,Wearylike his eyelids close,And, still smiling, off he goesWhere the land of By-low is.
EVERY evening, after tea,Teeny-Weeny comes to me.And, astride my willing knee,Plies his lash and rides away;Though that palfrey, all too spare,Finds his burden hard to bear,Teeny-Weeny doesn’t care;He commands, and I obey!First it’s trot, and gallop then;Now it’s back to trot again;Teeny-Weeny likes it whenHe is riding fierce and fast.Then his dark eyes brighter growAnd his cheeks are all aglow:“More!” he cries, and never “Whoa!”Till the horse breaks down at last.Oh, the strange and lovely sightsTeeny-Weeny sees of nights,As he makes those famous flightsOn that wondrous horse of his!Oftentimes before he knows,Wearylike his eyelids close,And, still smiling, off he goesWhere the land of By-low is.
EVERY evening, after tea,Teeny-Weeny comes to me.And, astride my willing knee,Plies his lash and rides away;Though that palfrey, all too spare,Finds his burden hard to bear,Teeny-Weeny doesn’t care;He commands, and I obey!
First it’s trot, and gallop then;Now it’s back to trot again;Teeny-Weeny likes it whenHe is riding fierce and fast.Then his dark eyes brighter growAnd his cheeks are all aglow:“More!” he cries, and never “Whoa!”Till the horse breaks down at last.
Oh, the strange and lovely sightsTeeny-Weeny sees of nights,As he makes those famous flightsOn that wondrous horse of his!Oftentimes before he knows,Wearylike his eyelids close,And, still smiling, off he goesWhere the land of By-low is.
There he sees the folk of fayHard at ring-a-rosie play,And he hears those fairies say:“Come, let’s chase him to and fro!”But, with a defiant shout,Teeny puts that host to rout;Of this tale I make no doubt,Every night he tells it so.So I feel a tender prideIn my boy who dares to rideThat fierce horse of his astride,Off into those misty lands;And as on my breast he lies,Dreaming in that wondrous wise,I caress his folded eyes,Pat his little dimpled hands.
There he sees the folk of fayHard at ring-a-rosie play,And he hears those fairies say:“Come, let’s chase him to and fro!”But, with a defiant shout,Teeny puts that host to rout;Of this tale I make no doubt,Every night he tells it so.So I feel a tender prideIn my boy who dares to rideThat fierce horse of his astride,Off into those misty lands;And as on my breast he lies,Dreaming in that wondrous wise,I caress his folded eyes,Pat his little dimpled hands.
There he sees the folk of fayHard at ring-a-rosie play,And he hears those fairies say:“Come, let’s chase him to and fro!”But, with a defiant shout,Teeny puts that host to rout;Of this tale I make no doubt,Every night he tells it so.
So I feel a tender prideIn my boy who dares to rideThat fierce horse of his astride,Off into those misty lands;And as on my breast he lies,Dreaming in that wondrous wise,I caress his folded eyes,Pat his little dimpled hands.
On a time he went away,Just a little while to stay,And I’m not ashamed to sayI was very lonely then;Life without him was so sad,You can fancy I was gladAnd made merry when I hadTeeny-Weeny back again!So of evenings, after tea,When he toddles up to meAnd goes tugging at my knee,You should hear his palfrey neigh!You should see him prance and shy,When, with an exulting cry,Teeny-Weeny, vaulting high,Plies his lash and rides away!
On a time he went away,Just a little while to stay,And I’m not ashamed to sayI was very lonely then;Life without him was so sad,You can fancy I was gladAnd made merry when I hadTeeny-Weeny back again!So of evenings, after tea,When he toddles up to meAnd goes tugging at my knee,You should hear his palfrey neigh!You should see him prance and shy,When, with an exulting cry,Teeny-Weeny, vaulting high,Plies his lash and rides away!
On a time he went away,Just a little while to stay,And I’m not ashamed to sayI was very lonely then;Life without him was so sad,You can fancy I was gladAnd made merry when I hadTeeny-Weeny back again!
So of evenings, after tea,When he toddles up to meAnd goes tugging at my knee,You should hear his palfrey neigh!You should see him prance and shy,When, with an exulting cry,Teeny-Weeny, vaulting high,Plies his lash and rides away!
BUTTERCUP, Poppy, Forget-me-not—These three bloomed in a garden spot;And once, all merry with song and play,A little one heard three voices say:“Shine and shadow, summer and spring,O thou child with the tangled hairAnd laughing eyes! we three shall bringEach an offering passing fair.”The little one did not understand,But they bent and kissed the dimpled hand.Buttercup gamboled all day long,Sharing the little one’s mirth and song;Then, stealing along on misty gleams,Poppy came bearing the sweetest dreams.Playing and dreaming—and that was allTill once a sleeper would not awake;Kissing the little face under the pall,We thought of the words the third flower spake;And we found betimes in a hallowed spotThe solace and peace of Forget-me-not.Buttercup shareth the joy of day,Glinting with gold the hours of play;Bringeth the poppy sweet repose,When the hands would fold and the eyes would close;And after it all—the play and the sleepOf a little life—what cometh then?To the hearts that ache and the eyes that weepA new flower bringeth God’s peace again.Each one serveth its tender lot—Buttercup, Poppy, Forget-me-not.
BUTTERCUP, Poppy, Forget-me-not—These three bloomed in a garden spot;And once, all merry with song and play,A little one heard three voices say:“Shine and shadow, summer and spring,O thou child with the tangled hairAnd laughing eyes! we three shall bringEach an offering passing fair.”The little one did not understand,But they bent and kissed the dimpled hand.Buttercup gamboled all day long,Sharing the little one’s mirth and song;Then, stealing along on misty gleams,Poppy came bearing the sweetest dreams.Playing and dreaming—and that was allTill once a sleeper would not awake;Kissing the little face under the pall,We thought of the words the third flower spake;And we found betimes in a hallowed spotThe solace and peace of Forget-me-not.Buttercup shareth the joy of day,Glinting with gold the hours of play;Bringeth the poppy sweet repose,When the hands would fold and the eyes would close;And after it all—the play and the sleepOf a little life—what cometh then?To the hearts that ache and the eyes that weepA new flower bringeth God’s peace again.Each one serveth its tender lot—Buttercup, Poppy, Forget-me-not.
BUTTERCUP, Poppy, Forget-me-not—These three bloomed in a garden spot;And once, all merry with song and play,A little one heard three voices say:“Shine and shadow, summer and spring,O thou child with the tangled hairAnd laughing eyes! we three shall bringEach an offering passing fair.”The little one did not understand,But they bent and kissed the dimpled hand.
Buttercup gamboled all day long,Sharing the little one’s mirth and song;Then, stealing along on misty gleams,Poppy came bearing the sweetest dreams.Playing and dreaming—and that was allTill once a sleeper would not awake;Kissing the little face under the pall,We thought of the words the third flower spake;And we found betimes in a hallowed spotThe solace and peace of Forget-me-not.
Buttercup shareth the joy of day,Glinting with gold the hours of play;Bringeth the poppy sweet repose,When the hands would fold and the eyes would close;And after it all—the play and the sleepOf a little life—what cometh then?To the hearts that ache and the eyes that weepA new flower bringeth God’s peace again.Each one serveth its tender lot—Buttercup, Poppy, Forget-me-not.
WYNKEN, Blynken, and Nod one nightSailed off in a wooden shoe—Sailed on a river of crystal light,Into a sea of dew.“Where are you going, and what do you wish?”The old moon asked the three.“We have come to fish for the herring fishThat live in this beautiful sea;Nets of silver and gold have we!”Said Wynken,Blynken,And Nod.The old moon laughed and sang a song,As they rocked in the wooden shoe,And the wind that sped them all night longRuffled the waves of dew.The little stars were the herring fishThat lived in that beautiful sea—“Now cast your nets wherever you wish—Never afeard are we”;So cried the stars to the fishermen three:Wynken,Blynken,And Nod.
WYNKEN, Blynken, and Nod one nightSailed off in a wooden shoe—Sailed on a river of crystal light,Into a sea of dew.“Where are you going, and what do you wish?”The old moon asked the three.“We have come to fish for the herring fishThat live in this beautiful sea;Nets of silver and gold have we!”Said Wynken,Blynken,And Nod.The old moon laughed and sang a song,As they rocked in the wooden shoe,And the wind that sped them all night longRuffled the waves of dew.The little stars were the herring fishThat lived in that beautiful sea—“Now cast your nets wherever you wish—Never afeard are we”;So cried the stars to the fishermen three:Wynken,Blynken,And Nod.
WYNKEN, Blynken, and Nod one nightSailed off in a wooden shoe—Sailed on a river of crystal light,Into a sea of dew.
“Where are you going, and what do you wish?”The old moon asked the three.“We have come to fish for the herring fishThat live in this beautiful sea;Nets of silver and gold have we!”Said Wynken,Blynken,And Nod.
The old moon laughed and sang a song,As they rocked in the wooden shoe,And the wind that sped them all night longRuffled the waves of dew.The little stars were the herring fishThat lived in that beautiful sea—“Now cast your nets wherever you wish—Never afeard are we”;So cried the stars to the fishermen three:Wynken,Blynken,And Nod.
All night long their nets they threwTo the stars in the twinkling foam—Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe,Bringing the fishermen home;’Twas all so pretty a sail it seemedAs if it could not be,And some folks thought ’twas a dream they’d dreamedOf sailing that beautiful sea—But I shall name you the fishermen three:Wynken,Blynken,And Nod.Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,And Nod is a little head,And the wooden shoe that sailed the skiesIs a wee one’s trundle-bed.So shut your eyes while mother singsOf wonderful sights that be,And you shall see the beautiful things
All night long their nets they threwTo the stars in the twinkling foam—Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe,Bringing the fishermen home;’Twas all so pretty a sail it seemedAs if it could not be,And some folks thought ’twas a dream they’d dreamedOf sailing that beautiful sea—But I shall name you the fishermen three:Wynken,Blynken,And Nod.Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,And Nod is a little head,And the wooden shoe that sailed the skiesIs a wee one’s trundle-bed.So shut your eyes while mother singsOf wonderful sights that be,And you shall see the beautiful things
All night long their nets they threwTo the stars in the twinkling foam—Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe,Bringing the fishermen home;’Twas all so pretty a sail it seemedAs if it could not be,And some folks thought ’twas a dream they’d dreamedOf sailing that beautiful sea—But I shall name you the fishermen three:Wynken,Blynken,And Nod.
Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,And Nod is a little head,And the wooden shoe that sailed the skiesIs a wee one’s trundle-bed.So shut your eyes while mother singsOf wonderful sights that be,And you shall see the beautiful things
As you rock in the misty sea,Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:Wynken,Blynken,And Nod.
As you rock in the misty sea,Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:Wynken,Blynken,And Nod.
As you rock in the misty sea,Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:Wynken,Blynken,And Nod.
LITTLE Mistress Sans-MerciFareth world-wide, fancy free:Trotteth cooing to and fro,And her cooing is command—Never ruled there yet, I trow,Mightier despot in the land.And my heart it lieth whereMistress Sans-Merci doth fare.
LITTLE Mistress Sans-MerciFareth world-wide, fancy free:Trotteth cooing to and fro,And her cooing is command—Never ruled there yet, I trow,Mightier despot in the land.And my heart it lieth whereMistress Sans-Merci doth fare.
LITTLE Mistress Sans-MerciFareth world-wide, fancy free:Trotteth cooing to and fro,And her cooing is command—Never ruled there yet, I trow,Mightier despot in the land.And my heart it lieth whereMistress Sans-Merci doth fare.
Little Mistress Sans-Merci—She hath made a slave of me!“Go,” she biddeth, and I go—“Come,” and I am fain to come—Never mercy doth she show,Be she wroth or frolicsome,Yet am I content to beSlave to Mistress Sans-Merci!Little Mistress Sans-MerciHath become so dear to meThat I count as passing sweetAll the pain her moods impart,And I bless the little feetThat go trampling on my heart:Ah, how lonely life would beBut for little Sans-Merci!Little Mistress Sans-Merci,Cuddle close this night to me,And the heart, which all day longRuthless thou hast trod upon,Shall outpour a soothing songFor its best belovèd one—All its tenderness for thee,Little Mistress Sans-Merci!
Little Mistress Sans-Merci—She hath made a slave of me!“Go,” she biddeth, and I go—“Come,” and I am fain to come—Never mercy doth she show,Be she wroth or frolicsome,Yet am I content to beSlave to Mistress Sans-Merci!Little Mistress Sans-MerciHath become so dear to meThat I count as passing sweetAll the pain her moods impart,And I bless the little feetThat go trampling on my heart:Ah, how lonely life would beBut for little Sans-Merci!Little Mistress Sans-Merci,Cuddle close this night to me,And the heart, which all day longRuthless thou hast trod upon,Shall outpour a soothing songFor its best belovèd one—All its tenderness for thee,Little Mistress Sans-Merci!
Little Mistress Sans-Merci—She hath made a slave of me!“Go,” she biddeth, and I go—“Come,” and I am fain to come—Never mercy doth she show,Be she wroth or frolicsome,Yet am I content to beSlave to Mistress Sans-Merci!
Little Mistress Sans-MerciHath become so dear to meThat I count as passing sweetAll the pain her moods impart,And I bless the little feetThat go trampling on my heart:Ah, how lonely life would beBut for little Sans-Merci!
Little Mistress Sans-Merci,Cuddle close this night to me,And the heart, which all day longRuthless thou hast trod upon,Shall outpour a soothing songFor its best belovèd one—All its tenderness for thee,Little Mistress Sans-Merci!
STRANGE that the city thoroughfare,Noisy and bustling all the day,Should with the night renounce its careAnd lend itself to children’s play!Oh, girls are girls, and boys are boys,And have been so since Abel’s birth,And shall be so till dolls and toysAre with the children swept from earth.The selfsame sport that crowns the dayOf many a Syrian shepherd’s son,Beguiles the little lads at playBy night in stately Babylon.I hear their voices in the street,Yet ’tis so different now from then!Come, brother! from your winding-sheet,And let us two be boys again!
STRANGE that the city thoroughfare,Noisy and bustling all the day,Should with the night renounce its careAnd lend itself to children’s play!Oh, girls are girls, and boys are boys,And have been so since Abel’s birth,And shall be so till dolls and toysAre with the children swept from earth.The selfsame sport that crowns the dayOf many a Syrian shepherd’s son,Beguiles the little lads at playBy night in stately Babylon.I hear their voices in the street,Yet ’tis so different now from then!Come, brother! from your winding-sheet,And let us two be boys again!
STRANGE that the city thoroughfare,Noisy and bustling all the day,Should with the night renounce its careAnd lend itself to children’s play!
Oh, girls are girls, and boys are boys,And have been so since Abel’s birth,And shall be so till dolls and toysAre with the children swept from earth.
The selfsame sport that crowns the dayOf many a Syrian shepherd’s son,Beguiles the little lads at playBy night in stately Babylon.
I hear their voices in the street,Yet ’tis so different now from then!Come, brother! from your winding-sheet,And let us two be boys again!
Image unavailable: 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 the musket moulds 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 BlueKissed 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 dreamt of the pretty toys;And, as he was dreaming, an angel songAwakened our Little Boy Blue—Oh! the years are many, the years are long,But the little toy friends are true!Aye, 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;
THE little toy dog is covered with dust,But sturdy and stanch he stands;And the little toy soldier is red with rust,And the musket moulds 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 BlueKissed 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 dreamt of the pretty toys;And, as he was dreaming, an angel songAwakened our Little Boy Blue—Oh! the years are many, the years are long,But the little toy friends are true!Aye, 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;
THE little toy dog is covered with dust,But sturdy and stanch he stands;And the little toy soldier is red with rust,And the musket moulds 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 BlueKissed 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 dreamt of the pretty toys;And, as he was dreaming, an angel songAwakened our Little Boy Blue—Oh! the years are many, the years are long,But the little toy friends are true!
Aye, 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 the long years throughIn the dust of that little chair,What has become of our Little Boy Blue,Since he kissed them and put them there.
And they wonder, as waiting the long years throughIn the dust of that little chair,What has become of our Little Boy Blue,Since he kissed them and put them there.
And they wonder, as waiting the long years throughIn the dust of that little chair,What has become of our Little Boy Blue,Since he kissed them and put them there.
AMOONBEAM floateth from the skies,Whispering: “Heigho, my dearie;I would spin a web before your eyes—A beautiful web of silver lightWherein is many a wondrous sightOf a radiant garden leagues away,Where the softly tinkling lilies swayAnd the snow-white lambkins are at play—Heigho, my dearie!”A brownie stealeth from the vine,Singing: “Heigho, my dearie;And will you hear this song of mine—A song of the land of murk and mistWhere bideth the bud the dew hath kist?Then let the moonbeam’s web of lightBe spun before thee silvery white,And I shall sing the livelong night—Heigho, my dearie!”The night wind speedeth from the sea,Murmuring: “Heigho, my dearie;I bring a mariner’s prayer for thee;So let the moonbeam veil thine eyes,And the brownie sing thee lullabies—But I shall rock thee to and fro,Kissing the browheloveth so.And the prayer shall guard thy bed, I trow—Heigho, my dearie!”
AMOONBEAM floateth from the skies,Whispering: “Heigho, my dearie;I would spin a web before your eyes—A beautiful web of silver lightWherein is many a wondrous sightOf a radiant garden leagues away,Where the softly tinkling lilies swayAnd the snow-white lambkins are at play—Heigho, my dearie!”A brownie stealeth from the vine,Singing: “Heigho, my dearie;And will you hear this song of mine—A song of the land of murk and mistWhere bideth the bud the dew hath kist?Then let the moonbeam’s web of lightBe spun before thee silvery white,And I shall sing the livelong night—Heigho, my dearie!”The night wind speedeth from the sea,Murmuring: “Heigho, my dearie;I bring a mariner’s prayer for thee;So let the moonbeam veil thine eyes,And the brownie sing thee lullabies—But I shall rock thee to and fro,Kissing the browheloveth so.And the prayer shall guard thy bed, I trow—Heigho, my dearie!”
AMOONBEAM floateth from the skies,Whispering: “Heigho, my dearie;I would spin a web before your eyes—A beautiful web of silver lightWherein is many a wondrous sightOf a radiant garden leagues away,Where the softly tinkling lilies swayAnd the snow-white lambkins are at play—Heigho, my dearie!”
A brownie stealeth from the vine,Singing: “Heigho, my dearie;And will you hear this song of mine—A song of the land of murk and mistWhere bideth the bud the dew hath kist?Then let the moonbeam’s web of lightBe spun before thee silvery white,And I shall sing the livelong night—Heigho, my dearie!”
The night wind speedeth from the sea,Murmuring: “Heigho, my dearie;I bring a mariner’s prayer for thee;So let the moonbeam veil thine eyes,And the brownie sing thee lullabies—But I shall rock thee to and fro,Kissing the browheloveth so.And the prayer shall guard thy bed, I trow—Heigho, my dearie!”
OH, listen, little Dear-My-Soul,To the fairy voices calling,For the moon is high in the misty skyAnd the honey dew is falling;To the midnight feast in the clover bloomThe bluebells are a-ringing,And it’s “Come away to the land of fay”That the katydid is singing.Oh, slumber, little Dear-My-Soul,And hand in hand we’ll wander—Hand in hand to the beautiful landOf Balow, away off yonder;Or we’ll sail along in a lily leafInto the white moon’s halo—Over a stream of mist and dreamInto the land of Balow.Or, you shall have two beautiful wings—Two gossamer wings and airy,And all the while shall the old moon smileAnd think you a little fairy;
OH, listen, little Dear-My-Soul,To the fairy voices calling,For the moon is high in the misty skyAnd the honey dew is falling;To the midnight feast in the clover bloomThe bluebells are a-ringing,And it’s “Come away to the land of fay”That the katydid is singing.Oh, slumber, little Dear-My-Soul,And hand in hand we’ll wander—Hand in hand to the beautiful landOf Balow, away off yonder;Or we’ll sail along in a lily leafInto the white moon’s halo—Over a stream of mist and dreamInto the land of Balow.Or, you shall have two beautiful wings—Two gossamer wings and airy,And all the while shall the old moon smileAnd think you a little fairy;
OH, listen, little Dear-My-Soul,To the fairy voices calling,For the moon is high in the misty skyAnd the honey dew is falling;To the midnight feast in the clover bloomThe bluebells are a-ringing,And it’s “Come away to the land of fay”That the katydid is singing.
Oh, slumber, little Dear-My-Soul,And hand in hand we’ll wander—Hand in hand to the beautiful landOf Balow, away off yonder;Or we’ll sail along in a lily leafInto the white moon’s halo—Over a stream of mist and dreamInto the land of Balow.
Or, you shall have two beautiful wings—Two gossamer wings and airy,And all the while shall the old moon smileAnd think you a little fairy;
Image unavailable: “INTO THE WHITE MOON’S HALO”“INTO THE WHITE MOON’S HALO”
And you shall dance in the velvet sky,And the silvery stars shall twinkleAnd dream sweet dreams as over their beamsYour footfalls softly tinkle.
And you shall dance in the velvet sky,And the silvery stars shall twinkleAnd dream sweet dreams as over their beamsYour footfalls softly tinkle.
And you shall dance in the velvet sky,And the silvery stars shall twinkleAnd dream sweet dreams as over their beamsYour footfalls softly tinkle.
Image unavailable: Child and Mother.
OMOTHER-MY-LOVE, if you’ll give me your hand,And go where I ask you to wander,I will lead you away to a beautiful land—The Dreamland that’s waiting out yonder.We’ll walk in a sweet-posie garden out there,Where moonlight and starlight are streaming,And the flowers and the birds are filling the airWith the fragrance and music of dreaming.There’ll be no little tired-out boy to undress,No questions or cares to perplex you;There’ll be no little bruises or bumps to caress,Nor patching of stockings to vex you.For I’ll rock you away on a silver-dew stream,And sing you asleep when you’re weary,And no one shall know of our beautiful dream,But you and your own little dearie.And when I am tired I’ll nestle my headIn the bosom that’s soothed me so often,And the wide-awake stars shall sing in my steadA song which our dreaming shall soften.So, Mother-My-Love, let me take your dear hand,And away through the starlight we’ll wander—Away through the mist to the beautiful land—The Dreamland that’s waiting out yonder.
OMOTHER-MY-LOVE, if you’ll give me your hand,And go where I ask you to wander,I will lead you away to a beautiful land—The Dreamland that’s waiting out yonder.We’ll walk in a sweet-posie garden out there,Where moonlight and starlight are streaming,And the flowers and the birds are filling the airWith the fragrance and music of dreaming.There’ll be no little tired-out boy to undress,No questions or cares to perplex you;There’ll be no little bruises or bumps to caress,Nor patching of stockings to vex you.For I’ll rock you away on a silver-dew stream,And sing you asleep when you’re weary,And no one shall know of our beautiful dream,But you and your own little dearie.And when I am tired I’ll nestle my headIn the bosom that’s soothed me so often,And the wide-awake stars shall sing in my steadA song which our dreaming shall soften.So, Mother-My-Love, let me take your dear hand,And away through the starlight we’ll wander—Away through the mist to the beautiful land—The Dreamland that’s waiting out yonder.
OMOTHER-MY-LOVE, if you’ll give me your hand,And go where I ask you to wander,I will lead you away to a beautiful land—The Dreamland that’s waiting out yonder.We’ll walk in a sweet-posie garden out there,Where moonlight and starlight are streaming,And the flowers and the birds are filling the airWith the fragrance and music of dreaming.
There’ll be no little tired-out boy to undress,No questions or cares to perplex you;There’ll be no little bruises or bumps to caress,Nor patching of stockings to vex you.For I’ll rock you away on a silver-dew stream,And sing you asleep when you’re weary,And no one shall know of our beautiful dream,But you and your own little dearie.
And when I am tired I’ll nestle my headIn the bosom that’s soothed me so often,And the wide-awake stars shall sing in my steadA song which our dreaming shall soften.So, Mother-My-Love, let me take your dear hand,And away through the starlight we’ll wander—Away through the mist to the beautiful land—The Dreamland that’s waiting out yonder.
IWAS just a little thingWhen a fairy came and kissed me;Floating in upon the lightOf a haunted summer night,Lo, the fairies came to singPretty slumber songs and bringCertain boons that else had missed me.From a dream I turned to seeWhat those strangers brought for me,When that fairy up and kissed me—Here, upon this cheek, he kissed me!Simmerdew was there, but sheDid not like me altogether;Daisybright and Turtledove,Pilfercurds and Honeylove,Thistleblow and AmbergleeOn that gleaming, ghostly seaFloated from the misty heather,And around my trundle-bedFrisked, and looked, and whispering said—Solemnlike and all together:“Youshall kiss him, Ganderfeather!”Ganderfeather kissed me then—Ganderfeather, quaint and merry!
IWAS just a little thingWhen a fairy came and kissed me;Floating in upon the lightOf a haunted summer night,Lo, the fairies came to singPretty slumber songs and bringCertain boons that else had missed me.From a dream I turned to seeWhat those strangers brought for me,When that fairy up and kissed me—Here, upon this cheek, he kissed me!Simmerdew was there, but sheDid not like me altogether;Daisybright and Turtledove,Pilfercurds and Honeylove,Thistleblow and AmbergleeOn that gleaming, ghostly seaFloated from the misty heather,And around my trundle-bedFrisked, and looked, and whispering said—Solemnlike and all together:“Youshall kiss him, Ganderfeather!”Ganderfeather kissed me then—Ganderfeather, quaint and merry!
IWAS just a little thingWhen a fairy came and kissed me;Floating in upon the lightOf a haunted summer night,Lo, the fairies came to singPretty slumber songs and bringCertain boons that else had missed me.From a dream I turned to seeWhat those strangers brought for me,When that fairy up and kissed me—Here, upon this cheek, he kissed me!
Simmerdew was there, but sheDid not like me altogether;Daisybright and Turtledove,Pilfercurds and Honeylove,Thistleblow and AmbergleeOn that gleaming, ghostly seaFloated from the misty heather,And around my trundle-bedFrisked, and looked, and whispering said—Solemnlike and all together:“Youshall kiss him, Ganderfeather!”
Ganderfeather kissed me then—Ganderfeather, quaint and merry!
No attenuate sprite was he,—But as buxom as could be;—Kissed me twice, and once again,And the others shouted whenOn my cheek uprose a berrySomewhat like a mole, mayhap,But the kiss-mark of that chapGanderfeather, passing merry—Humorsome, but kindly, very!
No attenuate sprite was he,—But as buxom as could be;—Kissed me twice, and once again,And the others shouted whenOn my cheek uprose a berrySomewhat like a mole, mayhap,But the kiss-mark of that chapGanderfeather, passing merry—Humorsome, but kindly, very!
No attenuate sprite was he,—But as buxom as could be;—Kissed me twice, and once again,And the others shouted whenOn my cheek uprose a berrySomewhat like a mole, mayhap,But the kiss-mark of that chapGanderfeather, passing merry—Humorsome, but kindly, very!
I was just a tiny thingWhen the prankish GanderfeatherBrought this curious gift to meWith his fairy kisses three;Yet with honest pride I singThat same gift he chose to bringOut of yonder haunted heather.Other charms and friendships fly—Constant friends this mole and I,Who have been so long together.Thank you, little Ganderfeather!
I was just a tiny thingWhen the prankish GanderfeatherBrought this curious gift to meWith his fairy kisses three;Yet with honest pride I singThat same gift he chose to bringOut of yonder haunted heather.Other charms and friendships fly—Constant friends this mole and I,Who have been so long together.Thank you, little Ganderfeather!
I was just a tiny thingWhen the prankish GanderfeatherBrought this curious gift to meWith his fairy kisses three;Yet with honest pride I singThat same gift he chose to bringOut of yonder haunted heather.Other charms and friendships fly—Constant friends this mole and I,Who have been so long together.Thank you, little Ganderfeather!
OUT of the house where the slumberer layGrandfather came one summer day,And under the pleasant orchard treesHe spake this wise to the murmuring bees:“The clover-bloom that kissed her feetAnd the posie-bed where she used to play,Have honey store, but none so sweetAs ere our little one went away.O bees, sing soft, and, bees, sing low;For she is gone who loved you so.”A wonder fell on the listening beesUnder those pleasant orchard trees,And in their toil that summer dayEver their murmuring seemed to say:“Child, O child, the grass is cool,And the posies are waking to hear the songOf the bird that swings by the shaded pool,Waiting for one that tarrieth long.”’Twas so they called to the little one then,As if to call her back again.O gentle bees, I have come to sayThat grandfather fell asleep to-day,And we know by the smile on grandfather’s faceHe has found his dear one’s biding-place.So, bees, sing soft, and, bees, sing low,As over the honey-fields you sweep—To the trees abloom and the flowers ablowSing of grandfather fast asleep;And ever beneath these orchard treesFind cheer and shelter, gentle bees.
OUT of the house where the slumberer layGrandfather came one summer day,And under the pleasant orchard treesHe spake this wise to the murmuring bees:“The clover-bloom that kissed her feetAnd the posie-bed where she used to play,Have honey store, but none so sweetAs ere our little one went away.O bees, sing soft, and, bees, sing low;For she is gone who loved you so.”A wonder fell on the listening beesUnder those pleasant orchard trees,And in their toil that summer dayEver their murmuring seemed to say:“Child, O child, the grass is cool,And the posies are waking to hear the songOf the bird that swings by the shaded pool,Waiting for one that tarrieth long.”’Twas so they called to the little one then,As if to call her back again.O gentle bees, I have come to sayThat grandfather fell asleep to-day,And we know by the smile on grandfather’s faceHe has found his dear one’s biding-place.So, bees, sing soft, and, bees, sing low,As over the honey-fields you sweep—To the trees abloom and the flowers ablowSing of grandfather fast asleep;And ever beneath these orchard treesFind cheer and shelter, gentle bees.
OUT of the house where the slumberer layGrandfather came one summer day,And under the pleasant orchard treesHe spake this wise to the murmuring bees:“The clover-bloom that kissed her feetAnd the posie-bed where she used to play,Have honey store, but none so sweetAs ere our little one went away.O bees, sing soft, and, bees, sing low;For she is gone who loved you so.”
A wonder fell on the listening beesUnder those pleasant orchard trees,And in their toil that summer dayEver their murmuring seemed to say:“Child, O child, the grass is cool,And the posies are waking to hear the songOf the bird that swings by the shaded pool,Waiting for one that tarrieth long.”’Twas so they called to the little one then,As if to call her back again.
O gentle bees, I have come to sayThat grandfather fell asleep to-day,And we know by the smile on grandfather’s faceHe has found his dear one’s biding-place.So, bees, sing soft, and, bees, sing low,As over the honey-fields you sweep—To the trees abloom and the flowers ablowSing of grandfather fast asleep;And ever beneath these orchard treesFind cheer and shelter, gentle bees.