Image unavailable: GOOD-CHILDREN STREET.THERE’s a dear little home in Good-Children street—My heart turneth fondly to-dayWhere tinkle of tongues and patter of feetMake sweetest of music at play;Where the sunshine of love illumines each faceAnd warms every heart in that old-fashioned place.For dear little children go romping aboutWith dollies and tin tops and drums,And, my! how they frolic and scamper and shoutTill bedtime too speedily comes!Oh, days they are golden and days they are fleetWith little folk living in Good-Children street.See, here comes an army with guns painted red,And swords, caps, and plumes of all sorts;The captain rides gaily and proudly aheadOn a stick-horse that prances and snorts!Oh, legions of soldiers you’re certain to meet—Nice make-believe soldiers—in Good-Children street.And yonder Odette wheels her dolly about—Poor dolly! I’m sure she is ill,For one of her blue china eyes has dropped outAnd her voice is asthmatic’ly shrill.Then, too, I observe she is minus her feet,Which causes much sorrow in Good-Children street.’Tis so the dear children go romping aboutWith dollies and banners and drums,And I venture to say they are sadly put outWhen an end to their jubilee comes:Oh, days they are golden and days they are fleetWith little folk living in Good-Children street!
Image unavailable: GOOD-CHILDREN STREET.
THERE’s a dear little home in Good-Children street—My heart turneth fondly to-dayWhere tinkle of tongues and patter of feetMake sweetest of music at play;Where the sunshine of love illumines each faceAnd warms every heart in that old-fashioned place.For dear little children go romping aboutWith dollies and tin tops and drums,And, my! how they frolic and scamper and shoutTill bedtime too speedily comes!Oh, days they are golden and days they are fleetWith little folk living in Good-Children street.See, here comes an army with guns painted red,And swords, caps, and plumes of all sorts;The captain rides gaily and proudly aheadOn a stick-horse that prances and snorts!Oh, legions of soldiers you’re certain to meet—Nice make-believe soldiers—in Good-Children street.And yonder Odette wheels her dolly about—Poor dolly! I’m sure she is ill,For one of her blue china eyes has dropped outAnd her voice is asthmatic’ly shrill.Then, too, I observe she is minus her feet,Which causes much sorrow in Good-Children street.’Tis so the dear children go romping aboutWith dollies and banners and drums,And I venture to say they are sadly put outWhen an end to their jubilee comes:Oh, days they are golden and days they are fleetWith little folk living in Good-Children street!
THERE’s a dear little home in Good-Children street—My heart turneth fondly to-dayWhere tinkle of tongues and patter of feetMake sweetest of music at play;Where the sunshine of love illumines each faceAnd warms every heart in that old-fashioned place.
For dear little children go romping aboutWith dollies and tin tops and drums,And, my! how they frolic and scamper and shoutTill bedtime too speedily comes!
Oh, days they are golden and days they are fleetWith little folk living in Good-Children street.
See, here comes an army with guns painted red,And swords, caps, and plumes of all sorts;The captain rides gaily and proudly aheadOn a stick-horse that prances and snorts!Oh, legions of soldiers you’re certain to meet—Nice make-believe soldiers—in Good-Children street.
And yonder Odette wheels her dolly about—Poor dolly! I’m sure she is ill,For one of her blue china eyes has dropped outAnd her voice is asthmatic’ly shrill.Then, too, I observe she is minus her feet,Which causes much sorrow in Good-Children street.
’Tis so the dear children go romping aboutWith dollies and banners and drums,And I venture to say they are sadly put outWhen an end to their jubilee comes:Oh, days they are golden and days they are fleetWith little folk living in Good-Children street!
ABOTTLE TREE bloometh in Winkyway land—Heigh-ho for a bottle, I say!A snug little berth in that ship I demandThat rocketh the Bottle-Tree babies awayWhere the Bottle Tree bloometh by night and by dayAnd reacheth its fruit to each wee, dimpled hand;You take of that fruit as much as you list,For colic’s a nuisance that doesn’t exist!So cuddle me close, and cuddle me fast,And cuddle me snug in my cradle away,For I hunger and thirst for that precious repast—Heigh-ho for a bottle, I say!Image unavailable: THE BOTTLE TREE.The Bottle Tree bloometh by night and by day!Heigh-ho for Winkyway land!And Bottle-Tree fruit (as I’ve heard people say)Makes bellies of Bottle-Tree babies expand—And that is a trick I would fain understand!Heigh-ho for a bottle to-day!And heigh-ho for a bottle to-night—A bottle of milk that is creamy and white!So cuddle me close, and cuddle me fast,And cuddle me snug in my cradle away,For I hunger and thirst for that precious repast—Heigh-ho for a bottle, I say!
ABOTTLE TREE bloometh in Winkyway land—Heigh-ho for a bottle, I say!A snug little berth in that ship I demandThat rocketh the Bottle-Tree babies awayWhere the Bottle Tree bloometh by night and by dayAnd reacheth its fruit to each wee, dimpled hand;You take of that fruit as much as you list,For colic’s a nuisance that doesn’t exist!So cuddle me close, and cuddle me fast,And cuddle me snug in my cradle away,For I hunger and thirst for that precious repast—Heigh-ho for a bottle, I say!Image unavailable: THE BOTTLE TREE.The Bottle Tree bloometh by night and by day!Heigh-ho for Winkyway land!And Bottle-Tree fruit (as I’ve heard people say)Makes bellies of Bottle-Tree babies expand—And that is a trick I would fain understand!Heigh-ho for a bottle to-day!And heigh-ho for a bottle to-night—A bottle of milk that is creamy and white!So cuddle me close, and cuddle me fast,And cuddle me snug in my cradle away,For I hunger and thirst for that precious repast—Heigh-ho for a bottle, I say!
ABOTTLE TREE bloometh in Winkyway land—Heigh-ho for a bottle, I say!A snug little berth in that ship I demandThat rocketh the Bottle-Tree babies awayWhere the Bottle Tree bloometh by night and by dayAnd reacheth its fruit to each wee, dimpled hand;You take of that fruit as much as you list,For colic’s a nuisance that doesn’t exist!
So cuddle me close, and cuddle me fast,And cuddle me snug in my cradle away,For I hunger and thirst for that precious repast—Heigh-ho for a bottle, I say!
The Bottle Tree bloometh by night and by day!Heigh-ho for Winkyway land!And Bottle-Tree fruit (as I’ve heard people say)Makes bellies of Bottle-Tree babies expand—And that is a trick I would fain understand!Heigh-ho for a bottle to-day!And heigh-ho for a bottle to-night—A bottle of milk that is creamy and white!So cuddle me close, and cuddle me fast,And cuddle me snug in my cradle away,For I hunger and thirst for that precious repast—Heigh-ho for a bottle, I say!
WHEN the busy day is done,And my weary little oneRocketh gently to and fro;When the night winds softly blow,And the crickets in the glenChirp and chirp and chirp again;When upon the haunted greenFairies dance around their queen—Then from yonder misty skiesCometh Lady Button-EyesThrough the murk and mist and gloamTo our quiet, cozy home,Where to singing, sweet and low,Rocks a cradle to and fro;Where the clock’s dull monotoneTelleth of the day that’s done;Where the moonbeams hover o’erPlaythings sleeping on the floor—Where my weary wee one liesCometh Lady Button-Eyes.Cometh like a fleeting ghostFrom some distant eerie coast;Never footfall can you hearAs that spirit fareth near—
WHEN the busy day is done,And my weary little oneRocketh gently to and fro;When the night winds softly blow,And the crickets in the glenChirp and chirp and chirp again;When upon the haunted greenFairies dance around their queen—Then from yonder misty skiesCometh Lady Button-EyesThrough the murk and mist and gloamTo our quiet, cozy home,Where to singing, sweet and low,Rocks a cradle to and fro;Where the clock’s dull monotoneTelleth of the day that’s done;Where the moonbeams hover o’erPlaythings sleeping on the floor—Where my weary wee one liesCometh Lady Button-Eyes.Cometh like a fleeting ghostFrom some distant eerie coast;Never footfall can you hearAs that spirit fareth near—
WHEN the busy day is done,And my weary little oneRocketh gently to and fro;When the night winds softly blow,And the crickets in the glenChirp and chirp and chirp again;When upon the haunted greenFairies dance around their queen—Then from yonder misty skiesCometh Lady Button-Eyes
Through the murk and mist and gloamTo our quiet, cozy home,Where to singing, sweet and low,Rocks a cradle to and fro;Where the clock’s dull monotoneTelleth of the day that’s done;Where the moonbeams hover o’erPlaythings sleeping on the floor—Where my weary wee one liesCometh Lady Button-Eyes.
Cometh like a fleeting ghostFrom some distant eerie coast;Never footfall can you hearAs that spirit fareth near—
Image unavailable: “THEN FROM YONDER MISTY SKIES COMETH LADY BUTTON-EYES”
Never whisper, never wordFrom that shadow-queen is heard.In ethereal raiment dight,From the realm of fay and spriteIn the depth of yonder skiesCometh Lady Button-Eyes.Layeth she her hands uponMy dear weary little one,And those white hands overspreadLike a veil the curly head,Seem to fondle and caressEvery little silken tress;Then she smooths the eyelids downOver those two eyes of brown—In such soothing, tender wiseCometh Lady Button-Eyes.Dearest, feel upon your browThat caressing magic now;For the crickets in the glenChirp and chirp and chirp again,While upon the haunted greenFairies dance around their queen,And the moonbeams hover o’erPlaythings sleeping on the floor—Hush, my sweet! from yonder skiesCometh Lady Button-Eyes!
Never whisper, never wordFrom that shadow-queen is heard.In ethereal raiment dight,From the realm of fay and spriteIn the depth of yonder skiesCometh Lady Button-Eyes.Layeth she her hands uponMy dear weary little one,And those white hands overspreadLike a veil the curly head,Seem to fondle and caressEvery little silken tress;Then she smooths the eyelids downOver those two eyes of brown—In such soothing, tender wiseCometh Lady Button-Eyes.Dearest, feel upon your browThat caressing magic now;For the crickets in the glenChirp and chirp and chirp again,While upon the haunted greenFairies dance around their queen,And the moonbeams hover o’erPlaythings sleeping on the floor—Hush, my sweet! from yonder skiesCometh Lady Button-Eyes!
Never whisper, never wordFrom that shadow-queen is heard.In ethereal raiment dight,From the realm of fay and spriteIn the depth of yonder skiesCometh Lady Button-Eyes.
Layeth she her hands uponMy dear weary little one,And those white hands overspreadLike a veil the curly head,Seem to fondle and caressEvery little silken tress;Then she smooths the eyelids downOver those two eyes of brown—In such soothing, tender wiseCometh Lady Button-Eyes.
Dearest, feel upon your browThat caressing magic now;For the crickets in the glenChirp and chirp and chirp again,While upon the haunted greenFairies dance around their queen,And the moonbeams hover o’erPlaythings sleeping on the floor—Hush, my sweet! from yonder skiesCometh Lady Button-Eyes!
PLAY that my knee was a calico mareSaddled and bridled for Bumpville;Leap to the back of this steed if you dare,And gallop away to Bumpville!I hope you’ll be sure to sit fast in your seat,For this calico mare is prodigiously fleet,And many adventures you’re likely to meetAs you journey along to Bumpville.
PLAY that my knee was a calico mareSaddled and bridled for Bumpville;Leap to the back of this steed if you dare,And gallop away to Bumpville!I hope you’ll be sure to sit fast in your seat,For this calico mare is prodigiously fleet,And many adventures you’re likely to meetAs you journey along to Bumpville.
PLAY that my knee was a calico mareSaddled and bridled for Bumpville;Leap to the back of this steed if you dare,And gallop away to Bumpville!I hope you’ll be sure to sit fast in your seat,For this calico mare is prodigiously fleet,And many adventures you’re likely to meetAs you journey along to Bumpville.
This calico mare both gallops and trotsWhile whisking you off to Bumpville;She paces, she shies, and she stumbles, in spots,In the tortuous road to Bumpville;And sometimes this strangely mercurial steedWill suddenly stop and refuse to proceed,Which, all will admit, is vexatious indeed,When one isen routeto Bumpville!She’s scared of the cars when the engine goes “Toot!”Down by the crossing at Bumpville;You’d better look out for that treacherous bruteBearing you off to Bumpville!With a snort she rears up on her hindermost heels,And executes jigs and Virginia reels—Words fail to explain how embarrassed one feelsDancing so wildly to Bumpville!It’s bumpytybump and it’s jiggityjog,Journeying on to Bumpville;It’s over the hilltop and down through the bogYou ride on your way to Bumpville;It’s rattletybang over boulder and stump,There are rivers to ford, there are fences to jump,And the corduroy road it goes bumpytybump,Mile after mile to Bumpville!Perhaps you’ll observe it’s no easy thingMaking the journey to Bumpville,So I think, on the whole, it were prudent to bringAn end to this ride to Bumpville;For, though she has uttered no protest or plaint,The calico mare must be blowing and faint—What’s more to the point, I’m blowed if I ain’t!So play we have got to Bumpville!
This calico mare both gallops and trotsWhile whisking you off to Bumpville;She paces, she shies, and she stumbles, in spots,In the tortuous road to Bumpville;And sometimes this strangely mercurial steedWill suddenly stop and refuse to proceed,Which, all will admit, is vexatious indeed,When one isen routeto Bumpville!She’s scared of the cars when the engine goes “Toot!”Down by the crossing at Bumpville;You’d better look out for that treacherous bruteBearing you off to Bumpville!With a snort she rears up on her hindermost heels,And executes jigs and Virginia reels—Words fail to explain how embarrassed one feelsDancing so wildly to Bumpville!It’s bumpytybump and it’s jiggityjog,Journeying on to Bumpville;It’s over the hilltop and down through the bogYou ride on your way to Bumpville;It’s rattletybang over boulder and stump,There are rivers to ford, there are fences to jump,And the corduroy road it goes bumpytybump,Mile after mile to Bumpville!Perhaps you’ll observe it’s no easy thingMaking the journey to Bumpville,So I think, on the whole, it were prudent to bringAn end to this ride to Bumpville;For, though she has uttered no protest or plaint,The calico mare must be blowing and faint—What’s more to the point, I’m blowed if I ain’t!So play we have got to Bumpville!
This calico mare both gallops and trotsWhile whisking you off to Bumpville;She paces, she shies, and she stumbles, in spots,In the tortuous road to Bumpville;And sometimes this strangely mercurial steedWill suddenly stop and refuse to proceed,Which, all will admit, is vexatious indeed,When one isen routeto Bumpville!
She’s scared of the cars when the engine goes “Toot!”Down by the crossing at Bumpville;You’d better look out for that treacherous bruteBearing you off to Bumpville!With a snort she rears up on her hindermost heels,And executes jigs and Virginia reels—Words fail to explain how embarrassed one feelsDancing so wildly to Bumpville!
It’s bumpytybump and it’s jiggityjog,Journeying on to Bumpville;It’s over the hilltop and down through the bogYou ride on your way to Bumpville;It’s rattletybang over boulder and stump,There are rivers to ford, there are fences to jump,And the corduroy road it goes bumpytybump,Mile after mile to Bumpville!
Perhaps you’ll observe it’s no easy thingMaking the journey to Bumpville,So I think, on the whole, it were prudent to bringAn end to this ride to Bumpville;For, though she has uttered no protest or plaint,The calico mare must be blowing and faint—What’s more to the point, I’m blowed if I ain’t!So play we have got to Bumpville!
SHUFFLE-SHOON and Amber-LocksSit together, building blocks;Shuffle-Shoon is old and grey,Amber-Locks a little child,But together at their playAge and Youth are reconciled,And with sympathetic gleeBuild their castles fair to see.“When I grow to be a man”(So the wee one’s prattle ran),“I shall build a castle so—With a gateway broad and grand;Here a pretty vine shall grow,There a soldier guard shall stand;And the tower shall be so high,Folks will wonder, by-and-by!”
SHUFFLE-SHOON and Amber-LocksSit together, building blocks;Shuffle-Shoon is old and grey,Amber-Locks a little child,But together at their playAge and Youth are reconciled,And with sympathetic gleeBuild their castles fair to see.“When I grow to be a man”(So the wee one’s prattle ran),“I shall build a castle so—With a gateway broad and grand;Here a pretty vine shall grow,There a soldier guard shall stand;And the tower shall be so high,Folks will wonder, by-and-by!”
SHUFFLE-SHOON and Amber-LocksSit together, building blocks;Shuffle-Shoon is old and grey,Amber-Locks a little child,But together at their playAge and Youth are reconciled,And with sympathetic gleeBuild their castles fair to see.
“When I grow to be a man”(So the wee one’s prattle ran),“I shall build a castle so—With a gateway broad and grand;Here a pretty vine shall grow,There a soldier guard shall stand;And the tower shall be so high,Folks will wonder, by-and-by!”
Shuffle-Shoon quoth: “Yes, I know;Thus I builded long ago!Here a gate and there a wall,Here a window, there a door;Here a steeple wondrous tallRiseth ever more and more!But the years have levelled lowWhat I builded long ago!”
Shuffle-Shoon quoth: “Yes, I know;Thus I builded long ago!Here a gate and there a wall,Here a window, there a door;Here a steeple wondrous tallRiseth ever more and more!But the years have levelled lowWhat I builded long ago!”
Shuffle-Shoon quoth: “Yes, I know;Thus I builded long ago!Here a gate and there a wall,Here a window, there a door;Here a steeple wondrous tallRiseth ever more and more!But the years have levelled lowWhat I builded long ago!”
So they gossip at their play,Heedless of the fleeting day;One speaks of the Long AgoWhere his dead hopes buried lie;One with chubby cheeks aglowPrattleth of the By-and-By;Side by side, they build their blocks—Shuffle-Shoon and Amber-Locks.
So they gossip at their play,Heedless of the fleeting day;One speaks of the Long AgoWhere his dead hopes buried lie;One with chubby cheeks aglowPrattleth of the By-and-By;Side by side, they build their blocks—Shuffle-Shoon and Amber-Locks.
So they gossip at their play,Heedless of the fleeting day;One speaks of the Long AgoWhere his dead hopes buried lie;One with chubby cheeks aglowPrattleth of the By-and-By;Side by side, they build their blocks—Shuffle-Shoon and Amber-Locks.
COME, my little one, with me!There are wondrous sights to seeAs the evening shadows fall;In your pretty cap and gown,Don’t detainThe Shut-Eye train—“Ting-a-ling!” the bell it goeth,“Toot-toot!” the whistle bloweth,And we hear the warning call:“All aboard for Shut-Eye Town!”Over hill and over plainSoon will speed the Shut-Eye train!Through the blue where bloom the starsAnd the Mother Moon looks downWe’ll awayTo land of Fay—Oh, the sights that we shall see there!Come, my little one, with me there—’Tis a goodly train of cars—All aboard for Shut-Eye Town!Swifter than a wild bird’s flight,Through the realms of fleecy lightWe shall speed and speed away!Let the Night in envy frown—What care weHow wroth she be!To the Balow-land above us,To the Balow-folk who love us,Let us hasten while we may—All aboard for Shut-Eye Town!
COME, my little one, with me!There are wondrous sights to seeAs the evening shadows fall;In your pretty cap and gown,Don’t detainThe Shut-Eye train—“Ting-a-ling!” the bell it goeth,“Toot-toot!” the whistle bloweth,And we hear the warning call:“All aboard for Shut-Eye Town!”Over hill and over plainSoon will speed the Shut-Eye train!Through the blue where bloom the starsAnd the Mother Moon looks downWe’ll awayTo land of Fay—Oh, the sights that we shall see there!Come, my little one, with me there—’Tis a goodly train of cars—All aboard for Shut-Eye Town!Swifter than a wild bird’s flight,Through the realms of fleecy lightWe shall speed and speed away!Let the Night in envy frown—What care weHow wroth she be!To the Balow-land above us,To the Balow-folk who love us,Let us hasten while we may—All aboard for Shut-Eye Town!
COME, my little one, with me!There are wondrous sights to seeAs the evening shadows fall;In your pretty cap and gown,Don’t detainThe Shut-Eye train—“Ting-a-ling!” the bell it goeth,“Toot-toot!” the whistle bloweth,And we hear the warning call:“All aboard for Shut-Eye Town!”
Over hill and over plainSoon will speed the Shut-Eye train!Through the blue where bloom the starsAnd the Mother Moon looks downWe’ll awayTo land of Fay—Oh, the sights that we shall see there!Come, my little one, with me there—’Tis a goodly train of cars—All aboard for Shut-Eye Town!
Swifter than a wild bird’s flight,Through the realms of fleecy lightWe shall speed and speed away!Let the Night in envy frown—What care weHow wroth she be!To the Balow-land above us,To the Balow-folk who love us,Let us hasten while we may—All aboard for Shut-Eye Town!
Image unavailable: “TO THE BALOW-FOLK WHO LOVE US”“TO THE BALOW-FOLK WHO LOVE US”
Shut-Eye Town is passing fair—Golden dreams await us there;We shall dream those dreams, my dear,Till the Mother Moon goes down—See unfoldDelights untold!And in those mysterious placesWe shall see beloved facesAnd beloved voices hearIn the grace of Shut-Eye Town.Heavy are your eyes, my sweet,Weary are your little feet—Nestle closer up to meIn your pretty cap and gown;Don’t detainThe Shut-Eye train!“Ting-a-ling!” the bell it goeth,“Toot-toot!” the whistle bloweth;Oh, the sights that we shall see!All aboard for Shut-Eye Town!
Shut-Eye Town is passing fair—Golden dreams await us there;We shall dream those dreams, my dear,Till the Mother Moon goes down—See unfoldDelights untold!And in those mysterious placesWe shall see beloved facesAnd beloved voices hearIn the grace of Shut-Eye Town.Heavy are your eyes, my sweet,Weary are your little feet—Nestle closer up to meIn your pretty cap and gown;Don’t detainThe Shut-Eye train!“Ting-a-ling!” the bell it goeth,“Toot-toot!” the whistle bloweth;Oh, the sights that we shall see!All aboard for Shut-Eye Town!
Shut-Eye Town is passing fair—Golden dreams await us there;We shall dream those dreams, my dear,Till the Mother Moon goes down—See unfoldDelights untold!And in those mysterious placesWe shall see beloved facesAnd beloved voices hearIn the grace of Shut-Eye Town.
Heavy are your eyes, my sweet,Weary are your little feet—Nestle closer up to meIn your pretty cap and gown;Don’t detainThe Shut-Eye train!“Ting-a-ling!” the bell it goeth,“Toot-toot!” the whistle bloweth;Oh, the sights that we shall see!All aboard for Shut-Eye Town!
SEE, what a wonderful garden is here,Planted and trimmed for my Little-Oh-Dear!Posies so gaudy and grass of such brown—Search ye the country and hunt ye the townAnd never ye’ll meet with a garden so queerAs this one I’ve made for my Little-Oh-Dear!Marigolds white and buttercups blue,Lilies all dabbled with honey and dew,The cactus that trails over trellis and wall,Roses and pansies and violets—allMake proper obeisance and reverent cheerWhen into her garden steps Little-Oh-Dear!And up at the top of that lavender-treeA silver-bird singeth as only can she;For, ever and only, she singeth the song“I love you—I love you!” the happy day long;—Then the echo—the echo that smiteth me here!“I love you, I love you,” my Little-Oh-Dear!The garden may wither, the silver-bird fly—But what careth my little precious, or I?
SEE, what a wonderful garden is here,Planted and trimmed for my Little-Oh-Dear!Posies so gaudy and grass of such brown—Search ye the country and hunt ye the townAnd never ye’ll meet with a garden so queerAs this one I’ve made for my Little-Oh-Dear!Marigolds white and buttercups blue,Lilies all dabbled with honey and dew,The cactus that trails over trellis and wall,Roses and pansies and violets—allMake proper obeisance and reverent cheerWhen into her garden steps Little-Oh-Dear!And up at the top of that lavender-treeA silver-bird singeth as only can she;For, ever and only, she singeth the song“I love you—I love you!” the happy day long;—Then the echo—the echo that smiteth me here!“I love you, I love you,” my Little-Oh-Dear!The garden may wither, the silver-bird fly—But what careth my little precious, or I?
SEE, what a wonderful garden is here,Planted and trimmed for my Little-Oh-Dear!Posies so gaudy and grass of such brown—Search ye the country and hunt ye the townAnd never ye’ll meet with a garden so queerAs this one I’ve made for my Little-Oh-Dear!
Marigolds white and buttercups blue,Lilies all dabbled with honey and dew,The cactus that trails over trellis and wall,Roses and pansies and violets—allMake proper obeisance and reverent cheerWhen into her garden steps Little-Oh-Dear!
And up at the top of that lavender-treeA silver-bird singeth as only can she;For, ever and only, she singeth the song“I love you—I love you!” the happy day long;—Then the echo—the echo that smiteth me here!“I love you, I love you,” my Little-Oh-Dear!
The garden may wither, the silver-bird fly—But what careth my little precious, or I?
Image unavailable: “A SILVER-BIRD SINGETH AS ONLY CAN SHE”“A SILVER-BIRD SINGETHAS ONLY CAN SHE”
“A SILVER-BIRD SINGETHAS ONLY CAN SHE”
“A SILVER-BIRD SINGETHAS ONLY CAN SHE”
From her pathway of flowers that in spring-time upstartShe walketh the tenderer way in my heart;And, oh, it is always the summer-timehereWith that song of “I love you,” my Little-Oh-Dear!
From her pathway of flowers that in spring-time upstartShe walketh the tenderer way in my heart;And, oh, it is always the summer-timehereWith that song of “I love you,” my Little-Oh-Dear!
From her pathway of flowers that in spring-time upstartShe walketh the tenderer way in my heart;And, oh, it is always the summer-timehereWith that song of “I love you,” my Little-Oh-Dear!
OH, a wonderful horse is the Fly-Away Horse—Perhaps you have seen him before;Perhaps, while you slept, his shadow has sweptThrough the moonlight that floats on the floor.For it’s only at night, when the stars twinkle bright,That the Fly-Away Horse, with a neighAnd a pull at his rein and a toss of his mane,Is up on his heels and away!The Moon in the sky,As he gallopeth by,Cries: “Oh! what a marvellous sight!”And the Stars in dismayHide their faces awayIn the lap of old Grandmother Night.It is yonder, out yonder, the Fly-Away HorseSpeedeth ever and ever away—Over meadows and lanes, over mountains and plains,Over streamlets that sing at their play;And over the sea like a ghost sweepeth he,While the ships they go sailing below,And he speedeth so fast that the men at the mastAdjudge him some portent of woe.“What ho there!” they cry,As he flourishes by
OH, a wonderful horse is the Fly-Away Horse—Perhaps you have seen him before;Perhaps, while you slept, his shadow has sweptThrough the moonlight that floats on the floor.For it’s only at night, when the stars twinkle bright,That the Fly-Away Horse, with a neighAnd a pull at his rein and a toss of his mane,Is up on his heels and away!The Moon in the sky,As he gallopeth by,Cries: “Oh! what a marvellous sight!”And the Stars in dismayHide their faces awayIn the lap of old Grandmother Night.It is yonder, out yonder, the Fly-Away HorseSpeedeth ever and ever away—Over meadows and lanes, over mountains and plains,Over streamlets that sing at their play;And over the sea like a ghost sweepeth he,While the ships they go sailing below,And he speedeth so fast that the men at the mastAdjudge him some portent of woe.“What ho there!” they cry,As he flourishes by
OH, a wonderful horse is the Fly-Away Horse—Perhaps you have seen him before;Perhaps, while you slept, his shadow has sweptThrough the moonlight that floats on the floor.
For it’s only at night, when the stars twinkle bright,That the Fly-Away Horse, with a neighAnd a pull at his rein and a toss of his mane,Is up on his heels and away!The Moon in the sky,As he gallopeth by,Cries: “Oh! what a marvellous sight!”And the Stars in dismayHide their faces awayIn the lap of old Grandmother Night.
It is yonder, out yonder, the Fly-Away HorseSpeedeth ever and ever away—Over meadows and lanes, over mountains and plains,Over streamlets that sing at their play;And over the sea like a ghost sweepeth he,While the ships they go sailing below,And he speedeth so fast that the men at the mastAdjudge him some portent of woe.“What ho there!” they cry,As he flourishes by
“THE MOON IN THE SKY,AS HE GALLOPETH BY,CRIES: ‘OH! WHAT A MARVELLOUS SIGHT!’”
“THE MOON IN THE SKY,AS HE GALLOPETH BY,CRIES: ‘OH! WHAT A MARVELLOUS SIGHT!’”
“THE MOON IN THE SKY,AS HE GALLOPETH BY,CRIES: ‘OH! WHAT A MARVELLOUS SIGHT!’”
“THE MOON IN THE SKY,AS HE GALLOPETH BY,CRIES: ‘OH! WHAT A MARVELLOUS SIGHT!’”
With a whisk of his beautiful tail;And the fish in the seaAre as scared as can be,From the nautilus up to the whale!
With a whisk of his beautiful tail;And the fish in the seaAre as scared as can be,From the nautilus up to the whale!
With a whisk of his beautiful tail;And the fish in the seaAre as scared as can be,From the nautilus up to the whale!
And the Fly-Away Horse seeks those far-away landsYou little folk dream of at night—Where candy-trees grow, and honey-brooks flow,And corn-fields with popcorn are white;And the beasts in the wood are ever so goodTo children who visit them there—What glory astride of a lion to ride,Or to wrestle around with a bear!The monkeys, they say:“Come on, let us play,”And they frisk in the cocoa-nut trees:While the parrots, that clingTo the peanut-vines, singOr converse with comparative ease!
And the Fly-Away Horse seeks those far-away landsYou little folk dream of at night—Where candy-trees grow, and honey-brooks flow,And corn-fields with popcorn are white;And the beasts in the wood are ever so goodTo children who visit them there—What glory astride of a lion to ride,Or to wrestle around with a bear!The monkeys, they say:“Come on, let us play,”And they frisk in the cocoa-nut trees:While the parrots, that clingTo the peanut-vines, singOr converse with comparative ease!
And the Fly-Away Horse seeks those far-away landsYou little folk dream of at night—Where candy-trees grow, and honey-brooks flow,And corn-fields with popcorn are white;And the beasts in the wood are ever so goodTo children who visit them there—What glory astride of a lion to ride,Or to wrestle around with a bear!The monkeys, they say:“Come on, let us play,”And they frisk in the cocoa-nut trees:While the parrots, that clingTo the peanut-vines, singOr converse with comparative ease!
Off! scamper to bed—you shall ride him to-night!For, as soon as you’ve fallen asleep,With a jubilant neigh he shall bear you awayOver forest and hillside and deep!But tell us, my dear, all you see and you hearIn those beautiful lands over there,Where the Fly-Away Horse wings his far-away courseWith the wee one consigned to his care.Then grandma will cryIn amazement: “Oh, my!”And she’ll think it could never be so;And only we twoShall know it is true—You and I, little precious! shall know!
Off! scamper to bed—you shall ride him to-night!For, as soon as you’ve fallen asleep,With a jubilant neigh he shall bear you awayOver forest and hillside and deep!But tell us, my dear, all you see and you hearIn those beautiful lands over there,Where the Fly-Away Horse wings his far-away courseWith the wee one consigned to his care.Then grandma will cryIn amazement: “Oh, my!”And she’ll think it could never be so;And only we twoShall know it is true—You and I, little precious! shall know!
Off! scamper to bed—you shall ride him to-night!For, as soon as you’ve fallen asleep,With a jubilant neigh he shall bear you awayOver forest and hillside and deep!But tell us, my dear, all you see and you hearIn those beautiful lands over there,Where the Fly-Away Horse wings his far-away courseWith the wee one consigned to his care.Then grandma will cryIn amazement: “Oh, my!”And she’ll think it could never be so;And only we twoShall know it is true—You and I, little precious! shall know!
THERE once was a bird that lived up in a tree,And all he could whistle was “Fiddle-dee-dee”—A very provoking, unmusical songFor one to be whistling the summer day long!Yet always contented and busy was heWith that vocal recurrence of “Fiddle-dee-dee.”
THERE once was a bird that lived up in a tree,And all he could whistle was “Fiddle-dee-dee”—A very provoking, unmusical songFor one to be whistling the summer day long!Yet always contented and busy was heWith that vocal recurrence of “Fiddle-dee-dee.”
THERE once was a bird that lived up in a tree,And all he could whistle was “Fiddle-dee-dee”—A very provoking, unmusical songFor one to be whistling the summer day long!Yet always contented and busy was heWith that vocal recurrence of “Fiddle-dee-dee.”
Image unavailable: ‘By our St Didy! the deed must be done’
Hard by lived a brave little soldier of four,That weird iteration repented him sore;“I prithee, Dear-Mother-Mine! fetch me my gun,For, by our St. Didy! the deed must be doneThat shall presently rid all creation and meOf that ominous bird and his ‘Fiddle-dee-dee’!”Then out came Dear-Mother-Mine, bringing her sonHis awfully truculent little red gun;The stock was of pine and the barrel of tin,The “bang” it came out where the bullet went in—The right kind of weapon I think you’ll agreeFor slaying all fowl that go “Fiddle-dee-dee”!The brave little soldier quoth never a word,But he up and he drew a straight bead on that bird;And, while that vain creature provokingly sang,The gun it went off with a terrible bang!Then loud laughed the youth—“By my Bottle,” cried he,“I’ve put a quietus on ‘Fiddle-dee-dee’!”
Hard by lived a brave little soldier of four,That weird iteration repented him sore;“I prithee, Dear-Mother-Mine! fetch me my gun,For, by our St. Didy! the deed must be doneThat shall presently rid all creation and meOf that ominous bird and his ‘Fiddle-dee-dee’!”Then out came Dear-Mother-Mine, bringing her sonHis awfully truculent little red gun;The stock was of pine and the barrel of tin,The “bang” it came out where the bullet went in—The right kind of weapon I think you’ll agreeFor slaying all fowl that go “Fiddle-dee-dee”!The brave little soldier quoth never a word,But he up and he drew a straight bead on that bird;And, while that vain creature provokingly sang,The gun it went off with a terrible bang!Then loud laughed the youth—“By my Bottle,” cried he,“I’ve put a quietus on ‘Fiddle-dee-dee’!”
Hard by lived a brave little soldier of four,That weird iteration repented him sore;“I prithee, Dear-Mother-Mine! fetch me my gun,For, by our St. Didy! the deed must be doneThat shall presently rid all creation and meOf that ominous bird and his ‘Fiddle-dee-dee’!”
Then out came Dear-Mother-Mine, bringing her sonHis awfully truculent little red gun;The stock was of pine and the barrel of tin,The “bang” it came out where the bullet went in—The right kind of weapon I think you’ll agreeFor slaying all fowl that go “Fiddle-dee-dee”!
The brave little soldier quoth never a word,But he up and he drew a straight bead on that bird;And, while that vain creature provokingly sang,The gun it went off with a terrible bang!Then loud laughed the youth—“By my Bottle,” cried he,“I’ve put a quietus on ‘Fiddle-dee-dee’!”
Image unavailable: ‘The “bang” it came out where the bullet went in-’
Out came then Dear-Mother-Mine, saying: “My son,Image unavailable: ‘“By my Bottle” cried he,’Right well have you wrought with your little red gun!Hereafter no evil at all need I fear,With such a brave soldier as You-My-Love here!”She kissed the dear boy.[The bird in the treeContinued to whistle his “Fiddle-dee-dee”!]
Out came then Dear-Mother-Mine, saying: “My son,Image unavailable: ‘“By my Bottle” cried he,’Right well have you wrought with your little red gun!Hereafter no evil at all need I fear,With such a brave soldier as You-My-Love here!”She kissed the dear boy.[The bird in the treeContinued to whistle his “Fiddle-dee-dee”!]
Out came then Dear-Mother-Mine, saying: “My son,Image unavailable: ‘“By my Bottle” cried he,’Right well have you wrought with your little red gun!Hereafter no evil at all need I fear,With such a brave soldier as You-My-Love here!”She kissed the dear boy.[The bird in the treeContinued to whistle his “Fiddle-dee-dee”!]
HAVE you ever heard of the Sugar-Plum Tree?’Tis a marvel of great renown!
HAVE you ever heard of the Sugar-Plum Tree?’Tis a marvel of great renown!
HAVE you ever heard of the Sugar-Plum Tree?’Tis a marvel of great renown!
Image unavailable: When you’ve got to the tree,
It blooms on the shore of the Lollipop seaIn the garden of Shut-Eye Town;The fruit that it bears is so wondrously sweet(As those who have tasted it say)That good little children have only to eatOf that fruit to be happy next day.When you’ve got to the tree, you would have a hard timeTo capture the fruit which I sing;The tree is so tall that no person could climbTo the boughs where the sugar-plums swing!But up in that tree sits a chocolate cat,And a gingerbread dog prowls below—And this is the way you contrive to get atThose sugar-plums tempting you so:You say but the word to that gingerbread dogAnd he barks with such terrible zestThat the chocolate cat is at once all agog,As her swelling proportions attest.And the chocolate cat goes cavorting aroundFrom this leafy limb unto that,And the sugar-plums tumble, of course, to the ground—Hurrah for that chocolate cat!There are marshmallows, gumdrops, and peppermint canes,With stripings of scarlet or gold,And you carry away of the treasure that rainsAs much as your apron can hold!
It blooms on the shore of the Lollipop seaIn the garden of Shut-Eye Town;The fruit that it bears is so wondrously sweet(As those who have tasted it say)That good little children have only to eatOf that fruit to be happy next day.When you’ve got to the tree, you would have a hard timeTo capture the fruit which I sing;The tree is so tall that no person could climbTo the boughs where the sugar-plums swing!But up in that tree sits a chocolate cat,And a gingerbread dog prowls below—And this is the way you contrive to get atThose sugar-plums tempting you so:You say but the word to that gingerbread dogAnd he barks with such terrible zestThat the chocolate cat is at once all agog,As her swelling proportions attest.And the chocolate cat goes cavorting aroundFrom this leafy limb unto that,And the sugar-plums tumble, of course, to the ground—Hurrah for that chocolate cat!There are marshmallows, gumdrops, and peppermint canes,With stripings of scarlet or gold,And you carry away of the treasure that rainsAs much as your apron can hold!
It blooms on the shore of the Lollipop seaIn the garden of Shut-Eye Town;
The fruit that it bears is so wondrously sweet(As those who have tasted it say)
That good little children have only to eatOf that fruit to be happy next day.When you’ve got to the tree, you would have a hard timeTo capture the fruit which I sing;The tree is so tall that no person could climbTo the boughs where the sugar-plums swing!But up in that tree sits a chocolate cat,And a gingerbread dog prowls below—And this is the way you contrive to get atThose sugar-plums tempting you so:
You say but the word to that gingerbread dogAnd he barks with such terrible zestThat the chocolate cat is at once all agog,As her swelling proportions attest.And the chocolate cat goes cavorting aroundFrom this leafy limb unto that,And the sugar-plums tumble, of course, to the ground—Hurrah for that chocolate cat!
There are marshmallows, gumdrops, and peppermint canes,With stripings of scarlet or gold,And you carry away of the treasure that rainsAs much as your apron can hold!
Image unavailable: “AS MUCH AS YOUR APRON CAN HOLD!”“AS MUCH AS YOUR APRON CAN HOLD!”
So come, little child, cuddle closer to meIn your dainty white nightcap and gown,And I’ll rock you away to that Sugar-Plum TreeIn the garden of Shut-Eye Town.
So come, little child, cuddle closer to meIn your dainty white nightcap and gown,And I’ll rock you away to that Sugar-Plum TreeIn the garden of Shut-Eye Town.
So come, little child, cuddle closer to meIn your dainty white nightcap and gown,And I’ll rock you away to that Sugar-Plum TreeIn the garden of Shut-Eye Town.
KRINKEN was a little child,—It was summer when he smiled,Oft the hoary sea and grimStretched its white arms out to him;Calling, “Sun-child, come to me;Let me warm my heart with thee!”But the child heard not the sea.Krinken on the beach one daySaw a maiden Nis at play;Fair, and very fair, was she,Just a little child was he.“Krinken,” said the maiden Nis,“Let me have a little kiss,—Just a kiss, and go with meTo the summer-lands that beDown within the silver sea.”Krinken was a little child,By the maiden Nis beguiled;Down into the calling seaWith the maiden Nis went he.But the sea calls out no more,It is winter on the shore,—Winter where that little childMade sweet summer when he smiled;Though ’tis summer on the seaWhere with maiden Nis went he,—Summer, summer evermore,—It is winter on the shore,Winter, winter evermore.Of the summer on the deepCome sweet visions in my sleep;Hisfair face lifts from the sea,Hisdear voice calls out to me,—These my dreams of summer be.Krinken was a little child,By the maiden Nis beguiled;Oft the hoary sea and grimReached its longing arms to him,Crying, “Sun-child, come to me;Let me warm my heart with thee!”But the sea calls out no more;It is winter on the shore,—Winter, cold and dark and wild;Krinken was a little child,—It was summer when he smiled;Down he went into the sea,And the winter bides with me.Just a little child was he.
KRINKEN was a little child,—It was summer when he smiled,Oft the hoary sea and grimStretched its white arms out to him;Calling, “Sun-child, come to me;Let me warm my heart with thee!”But the child heard not the sea.Krinken on the beach one daySaw a maiden Nis at play;Fair, and very fair, was she,Just a little child was he.“Krinken,” said the maiden Nis,“Let me have a little kiss,—Just a kiss, and go with meTo the summer-lands that beDown within the silver sea.”Krinken was a little child,By the maiden Nis beguiled;Down into the calling seaWith the maiden Nis went he.But the sea calls out no more,It is winter on the shore,—Winter where that little childMade sweet summer when he smiled;Though ’tis summer on the seaWhere with maiden Nis went he,—Summer, summer evermore,—It is winter on the shore,Winter, winter evermore.Of the summer on the deepCome sweet visions in my sleep;Hisfair face lifts from the sea,Hisdear voice calls out to me,—These my dreams of summer be.Krinken was a little child,By the maiden Nis beguiled;Oft the hoary sea and grimReached its longing arms to him,Crying, “Sun-child, come to me;Let me warm my heart with thee!”But the sea calls out no more;It is winter on the shore,—Winter, cold and dark and wild;Krinken was a little child,—It was summer when he smiled;Down he went into the sea,And the winter bides with me.Just a little child was he.
KRINKEN was a little child,—It was summer when he smiled,Oft the hoary sea and grimStretched its white arms out to him;Calling, “Sun-child, come to me;Let me warm my heart with thee!”But the child heard not the sea.
Krinken on the beach one daySaw a maiden Nis at play;Fair, and very fair, was she,Just a little child was he.“Krinken,” said the maiden Nis,“Let me have a little kiss,—Just a kiss, and go with meTo the summer-lands that beDown within the silver sea.”
Krinken was a little child,By the maiden Nis beguiled;Down into the calling seaWith the maiden Nis went he.
But the sea calls out no more,It is winter on the shore,—Winter where that little childMade sweet summer when he smiled;Though ’tis summer on the seaWhere with maiden Nis went he,—Summer, summer evermore,—It is winter on the shore,Winter, winter evermore.
Of the summer on the deepCome sweet visions in my sleep;Hisfair face lifts from the sea,Hisdear voice calls out to me,—These my dreams of summer be.
Krinken was a little child,By the maiden Nis beguiled;Oft the hoary sea and grimReached its longing arms to him,Crying, “Sun-child, come to me;Let me warm my heart with thee!”But the sea calls out no more;It is winter on the shore,—Winter, cold and dark and wild;Krinken was a little child,—It was summer when he smiled;Down he went into the sea,And the winter bides with me.Just a little child was he.