 | The poetical works of Lucy Larcom |  |
LITTLE HUGH.
Little Hugh is awake at the breaking of day,
And out in the sunny fields beaded with dew;
Wherever I wander, I soon hear him say
From somewhere behind, “Here is Hugh!
Now where are you going? I want to go, too!”
And out in the sunny fields beaded with dew;
Wherever I wander, I soon hear him say
From somewhere behind, “Here is Hugh!
Now where are you going? I want to go, too!”
At noon, when no bird can be heard in the tree,
And the air is still as if wind never blew,
As brisk as a little red squirrel is he;
On the doorstep he cries, “Here is Hugh!
Now where shall we go? I am going with you!”
And the air is still as if wind never blew,
As brisk as a little red squirrel is he;
On the doorstep he cries, “Here is Hugh!
Now where shall we go? I am going with you!”
If I hide by the side of a tumble-down wall,
Or under a sweet-brier clump, out of view,
Or deep in the meadow, his laugh and his call
Ring close to my ear, “Here is Hugh!
Wherever you go, I am going with you!”
Or under a sweet-brier clump, out of view,
Or deep in the meadow, his laugh and his call
Ring close to my ear, “Here is Hugh!
Wherever you go, I am going with you!”
On the warm pasture-ground all around us there grow
Wild grasses, and blossoms so sweet,—not a few!
He runs hither and thither, with brown cheeks aglow,
And a flower in his hand: “Here is Hugh!
And oh! here is something so pretty, for you!”
Wild grasses, and blossoms so sweet,—not a few!
He runs hither and thither, with brown cheeks aglow,
And a flower in his hand: “Here is Hugh!
And oh! here is something so pretty, for you!”
We look into the sky, Hugh and I, and we trace
In the clouds every moment a fantasy new,—
An angel, a lamb, or a soft baby-face;
And he says, “Stay till sunset! for Hugh
Likes to look at the clouds and make pictures, with you.”
In the clouds every moment a fantasy new,—
An angel, a lamb, or a soft baby-face;
And he says, “Stay till sunset! for Hugh
Likes to look at the clouds and make pictures, with you.”
The still, lonely hillside before me lies green;
It holds in its shadow a little lake blue;
And a small, sunburnt boy always slips in between,
With a dance and a shout: “Here is Hugh!
You can't get away! I am going with you!”
It holds in its shadow a little lake blue;
And a small, sunburnt boy always slips in between,
With a dance and a shout: “Here is Hugh!
You can't get away! I am going with you!”
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And the wish that I send, little friend, far away,
Where you rove here and there in the prairie-lands new,
Is that they whom you follow may not lead astray,
When you trustingly call, “Here is Hugh!
Wherever you go, I am going with you!”
Where you rove here and there in the prairie-lands new,
Is that they whom you follow may not lead astray,
When you trustingly call, “Here is Hugh!
Wherever you go, I am going with you!”
| The poetical works of Lucy Larcom | |