Ihave a secret to myself,That no one else can see.I hum it over to myself,And no one hears but me.—Something You don't know!I knew long ago.—And the more I never tell you it,The more it gets to be.It makes me feel as purryAs the Kitten on your knee.It makes me feel as round and warmAs the Sparrow on that tree;It makes me puff my feathers outThe way he puffs out his.—And if you think I haven't one,I'll tell you what it Is,—Maybe!
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have a secret to myself,That no one else can see.I hum it over to myself,And no one hears but me.—Something You don't know!I knew long ago.—And the more I never tell you it,The more it gets to be.
It makes me feel as purryAs the Kitten on your knee.It makes me feel as round and warmAs the Sparrow on that tree;It makes me puff my feathers outThe way he puffs out his.—And if you think I haven't one,I'll tell you what it Is,—Maybe!
Iknow you're in the house;I know you are in there;I feel the green and breathingAll around the air.I know you're safe and warm;I know you're very near.Oh, darling Tree,Do you hear?I promised not to look(The way I did before),But I can hear you purring—Purring, through the door:A green, soft, purring;Just as if you knew:Everybody hereLoves you.Don't feel lonely,Now you are in-doors.—Wait for all the shining thingsTo-morrow,—all yours!Then you won't know what to think!—All over Candle-light.—Oh, darling Tree,Good-night.And I love you, I love you;And everybody, too.And so does the market-manThat brought us you!And if you haven't AnythingFor me, this year,—I love you. Good-night!Do you hear?
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know you're in the house;I know you are in there;I feel the green and breathingAll around the air.I know you're safe and warm;I know you're very near.Oh, darling Tree,Do you hear?
I promised not to look(The way I did before),But I can hear you purring—Purring, through the door:A green, soft, purring;Just as if you knew:Everybody hereLoves you.
Don't feel lonely,Now you are in-doors.—Wait for all the shining thingsTo-morrow,—all yours!Then you won't know what to think!—All over Candle-light.—Oh, darling Tree,Good-night.
And I love you, I love you;And everybody, too.And so does the market-manThat brought us you!And if you haven't AnythingFor me, this year,—I love you. Good-night!Do you hear?
When I've wished on my first star,While the rest begin,And the grass is waking up,Oh, She calls us in!—Then She calls us in.But I wouldn't go, unlessI were sure there'd beSomething more like that, indoors,Something more to see,—Beautiful to see.So She lights the candle then,Where the shadows are,And it stands, and holds its breath—Then it makes a Star,—Then it makes a Star!I curl up for my good-night,Dark, where I can see.And I watch the Candle-lightTill It looks at me,Oh, It looks at me!
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hen I've wished on my first star,While the rest begin,And the grass is waking up,Oh, She calls us in!—Then She calls us in.
But I wouldn't go, unlessI were sure there'd beSomething more like that, indoors,Something more to see,—Beautiful to see.
So She lights the candle then,Where the shadows are,And it stands, and holds its breath—Then it makes a Star,—Then it makes a Star!
I curl up for my good-night,Dark, where I can see.And I watch the Candle-lightTill It looks at me,Oh, It looks at me!
Candle-LightCANDLE-LIGHT
I've followed till the Sun was down,As low as to the very brink;And still the pathway kept along,Around the world, I think.I've tried to find it, everywhereA bell would clink, and clink, and call;But someway I can never findThat Farthest One of all.I've been in all the tallest weeds,—And thistles (with the loudest bees);And once, across the stepping-stonesAnd through the cedar-trees.And now you hear it hushing up,And then you hear it clink and clink;And if you found it, it would leadAround the world, I think!It sounds so small, and gold, and far—Far-off, beyond the lily-pool;—And so, as if there must be there—Oh, something Wonderful!
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've followed till the Sun was down,As low as to the very brink;And still the pathway kept along,Around the world, I think.
I've tried to find it, everywhereA bell would clink, and clink, and call;But someway I can never findThat Farthest One of all.
I've been in all the tallest weeds,—And thistles (with the loudest bees);And once, across the stepping-stonesAnd through the cedar-trees.
And now you hear it hushing up,And then you hear it clink and clink;And if you found it, it would leadAround the world, I think!
It sounds so small, and gold, and far—Far-off, beyond the lily-pool;—And so, as if there must be there—Oh, something Wonderful!
Excepting when they're very loud,And then, when they're almost too bright,I love to see a Thunder-Storm,Excepting when it's in the night.It's harder to remember, then:It's Very Wicked not to trustA Thunder-Storm. Because it's SureTo know!—And then, besides, you Must.For it will light your Heart up.—Yes;The Deepest Darkness ever MadeCould Never Hide the Guilty One...Who feels At All Afraid.The thunder is the best of all,—Except the wading for the Birds;And then, the Shining in the wet;—Oh, and the Rainbow, afterwards!
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xcepting when they're very loud,And then, when they're almost too bright,I love to see a Thunder-Storm,Excepting when it's in the night.
It's harder to remember, then:It's Very Wicked not to trustA Thunder-Storm. Because it's SureTo know!—And then, besides, you Must.
For it will light your Heart up.—Yes;The Deepest Darkness ever MadeCould Never Hide the Guilty One...Who feels At All Afraid.
The thunder is the best of all,—Except the wading for the Birds;And then, the Shining in the wet;—Oh, and the Rainbow, afterwards!
It feels Forever without End,The time I have to stay.It's even harder to keep stillThan pray and pray and pray.The reading happens all the time;The praying rolls along;And something makes them always singA long, long song.So when I've nearly gone to sleep,I make my Penny walk.—I walk it up and down, to hearThe talk and talk and talk.And if I lose it on the floorBefore they pass the Plate,Why then there's nothing more to doBut wait—wait—wait.—Till, when you'd have to go to sleepOr else you'd have to die,They let you Out,—and straight intoThe Sky!With nests all hiding up the Trees,And Roads to make you Run:—And everything like Squirrels!—In the Sun—the Sun!
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t feels Forever without End,The time I have to stay.It's even harder to keep stillThan pray and pray and pray.
The reading happens all the time;The praying rolls along;And something makes them always singA long, long song.
So when I've nearly gone to sleep,I make my Penny walk.—I walk it up and down, to hearThe talk and talk and talk.
And if I lose it on the floorBefore they pass the Plate,Why then there's nothing more to doBut wait—wait—wait.—
Till, when you'd have to go to sleepOr else you'd have to die,They let you Out,—and straight intoThe Sky!
With nests all hiding up the Trees,And Roads to make you Run:—And everything like Squirrels!—In the Sun—the Sun!
They are more shy than Snow.You may look up and try to see one there,Just when you feel It breathing on your hair;But then It has to go.—Somehow, I know.They want you to believeHow bright they are, and never try to seeWhether they keep their word. For that would beAs if they could deceive.That makes them grieve.So, if you want Yours near,And hide your eyes and keep quite still; and say,"Oh, I have Wanted you all day—all day;Shine at me, Angel, dear!"It will be Here.
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hey are more shy than Snow.You may look up and try to see one there,Just when you feel It breathing on your hair;But then It has to go.—Somehow, I know.
They want you to believeHow bright they are, and never try to seeWhether they keep their word. For that would beAs if they could deceive.That makes them grieve.
So, if you want Yours near,And hide your eyes and keep quite still; and say,"Oh, I have Wanted you all day—all day;Shine at me, Angel, dear!"It will be Here.
He only looked like a Beggar-man,As ragged, just, as any.But he might have been an Angel, too.So I gave him my penny.I waited, till I thought I sawHim shining through. And when heHeld out his hand, I watched for whatWould happen to my penny.He might have been an Angel, too!But I know he wasn't any.For he frowned at me, like that, you see,When it wasn't but One penny.And now that's gone; and I don't care.I'd rather not have any,Than keep it, if an Angel cameAnd asked me for my penny.
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e only looked like a Beggar-man,As ragged, just, as any.But he might have been an Angel, too.So I gave him my penny.
I waited, till I thought I sawHim shining through. And when heHeld out his hand, I watched for whatWould happen to my penny.
He might have been an Angel, too!But I know he wasn't any.For he frowned at me, like that, you see,When it wasn't but One penny.
And now that's gone; and I don't care.I'd rather not have any,Than keep it, if an Angel cameAnd asked me for my penny.
Idon't know how to read the words,Nor how the black things go.But if you stand it up, and sing,You never have to know.The music sounds alike each timeWhen grown-up people play;But every time I sing, myself,It sounds a different way.And when I've sung the book all through,And every page, around,I stand it upside down and sing,To see how that will sound.I sing how all the things outsideThe window look to me;The shiny wrinkles in the road,And then, about my Tree;
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don't know how to read the words,Nor how the black things go.But if you stand it up, and sing,You never have to know.
The music sounds alike each timeWhen grown-up people play;But every time I sing, myself,It sounds a different way.
And when I've sung the book all through,And every page, around,I stand it upside down and sing,To see how that will sound.
I sing how all the things outsideThe window look to me;The shiny wrinkles in the road,And then, about my Tree;
The Green Singing-BookTHE GREEN SINGING-BOOK
I sing about the City, too,The noises and the wheels;And Windows blinking in the sun;—I sing the way it feels.And if a Sparrow flies across,I put him in the Song.—I sing whatever happens in,To make it last for long.I sing about the things I thinkOf almost everything.Sometimes I don't know what to Think—Till I begin to Sing.
I sing about the City, too,The noises and the wheels;And Windows blinking in the sun;—I sing the way it feels.
And if a Sparrow flies across,I put him in the Song.—I sing whatever happens in,To make it last for long.
I sing about the things I thinkOf almost everything.Sometimes I don't know what to Think—Till I begin to Sing.
It happens when the birds go byAnd leave you far behind;And you flutter, till you acheAll around your mind.—Like a Flag,Like a FlagFlapping at the wind!It happens when you catch the hillsAs blue as yesterday;You hold your heart in both your hands,Or it would fly away.Yes, it would!Yes, it would!Away—away—away!It makes your heart into a BirdThat darts, and leaps, and sings.—Oh, feel my pinafore, high up!—Oh, do you think it's Wings?Do you think—Do you think—Oh, couldn't it be Wings?
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t happens when the birds go byAnd leave you far behind;And you flutter, till you acheAll around your mind.—Like a Flag,Like a FlagFlapping at the wind!
It happens when you catch the hillsAs blue as yesterday;You hold your heart in both your hands,Or it would fly away.Yes, it would!Yes, it would!Away—away—away!
It makes your heart into a BirdThat darts, and leaps, and sings.—Oh, feel my pinafore, high up!—Oh, do you think it's Wings?Do you think—Do you think—Oh, couldn't it be Wings?
Ilike to lie and wait, to seeMy Mother braid her hair.It is as long as it can be,And yet she doesn't care.I love my Mother's hair.And then the way her fingers go;They look so quick and white,—In and out, and to and fro,And braiding in the light;And it is always right.So then she winds it, shiny brown,Around her head into a crown,Just like the day before.And then she looks, and pats it down,And looks, a minute more.—While I stay here, all still and cool.Oh, isn't Morning beautiful?
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like to lie and wait, to seeMy Mother braid her hair.It is as long as it can be,And yet she doesn't care.I love my Mother's hair.
And then the way her fingers go;They look so quick and white,—In and out, and to and fro,And braiding in the light;And it is always right.
So then she winds it, shiny brown,Around her head into a crown,Just like the day before.And then she looks, and pats it down,And looks, a minute more.—While I stay here, all still and cool.Oh, isn't Morning beautiful?
The Wind's east,—Oh, Oh!Only a little while ago,To-day was just like yesterday.But now—now, only NowThe world's all turned some silver way;—I know how,I know how!The Wind's east,The Wind's east!—Salt, salt Wind that I love so.All the things in the garden blowWavy gray;—and the Trees all know,—Trees that never, never can go,Must know how it would feel to beThere, where the Ships sail to and fro,Ships on the blue, blue Sea!And the homesick ones by the bridge up hereAre tugging to get their anchors clear,And they reach up high, to see.They catch their breath when they feel the air,And the rigging stirs, and the lanterns stare;For they know the tide is high out there,The gulls go skirling by, out there,—The gulls and the Wind go free.And they tug, and they pull, and they wonder soWhen will the Captain let them go?—Oh, Oh,—to Sea,To Sea!
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he Wind's east,—Oh, Oh!Only a little while ago,To-day was just like yesterday.But now—now, only NowThe world's all turned some silver way;—I know how,I know how!
The Wind's east,The Wind's east!—Salt, salt Wind that I love so.All the things in the garden blowWavy gray;—and the Trees all know,—Trees that never, never can go,Must know how it would feel to beThere, where the Ships sail to and fro,Ships on the blue, blue Sea!And the homesick ones by the bridge up hereAre tugging to get their anchors clear,And they reach up high, to see.
They catch their breath when they feel the air,And the rigging stirs, and the lanterns stare;For they know the tide is high out there,The gulls go skirling by, out there,—The gulls and the Wind go free.And they tug, and they pull, and they wonder soWhen will the Captain let them go?—Oh, Oh,—to Sea,To Sea!
And shall we light the candle now?And leave, since there is so much more,Our cupful, and the share of bread,Here by the open door?For some one might be wanting it,If there should chance to come this way,A very poor Man; or a Bird;—Or maybe, God, some day.
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nd shall we light the candle now?And leave, since there is so much more,Our cupful, and the share of bread,Here by the open door?
For some one might be wanting it,If there should chance to come this way,A very poor Man; or a Bird;—Or maybe, God, some day.