 | Childhood songs |  |
TO PRINCE HAL AND LITTLE QUEEN MAUDE This Book is Dedicated BY THEIR LOYAL AND LOVING FRIEND.
23
NEW-YEAR SONG.
There's a New Year coming, coming
Out of some beautiful sphere,
His baby-eyes bright
With hope and delight:
We welcome you, Happy New Year!
Out of some beautiful sphere,
His baby-eyes bright
With hope and delight:
We welcome you, Happy New Year!
There 's an Old Year going, going
Away in the winter drear;
His beard is like snow,
And his footsteps are slow:
Good by to you, weary Old Year!
Away in the winter drear;
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And his footsteps are slow:
Good by to you, weary Old Year!
The New Year comes smiling, smiling,
While the Old Year hastens away,
Unwilling to be
The one sorrow to see,
In a world so enchanting and gay.
While the Old Year hastens away,
Unwilling to be
The one sorrow to see,
In a world so enchanting and gay.
The Old Year goes sighing, sighing;
Once he was a baby Year;
His welcome was glad;
But his farewell is sad;
He has nothing to stay for here.
Once he was a baby Year;
His welcome was glad;
But his farewell is sad;
He has nothing to stay for here.
There is always a New Year coming;
There is always an Old Year to go;
And never a tear
Drops the happy New Year,
As he scatters his gifts on the snow.
There is always an Old Year to go;
And never a tear
Drops the happy New Year,
As he scatters his gifts on the snow.
42
BABY'S DAY.
Open your eyes, mamma;
Day soon will begin.
Open your eyes, mamma!
I want to look in.
Yesterday, dear mamma,
Out of your eyes
There peeped two little boys
Just of my size.
Are they in there now, mamma?
Whose can they be?
And do you love those boys
As you love me?
Day soon will begin.
Open your eyes, mamma!
I want to look in.
Yesterday, dear mamma,
Out of your eyes
There peeped two little boys
Just of my size.
Are they in there now, mamma?
Whose can they be?
And do you love those boys
As you love me?
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Don't feed me any longer,—
Not another minute!
Does my mouth look pretty, think,
With a great spoon in it?
If you people speak the truth,
I am sweet enough;
There 's no need of choking me
With your sugary stuff.
Not another minute!
Does my mouth look pretty, think,
With a great spoon in it?
If you people speak the truth,
I am sweet enough;
There 's no need of choking me
With your sugary stuff.
Mamma, where are you?
You are the sweet!
Nicer than all
They can give me to eat.
Here I am coming,—
Toes, fingers, and feet!
Have you a kiss or two
Growing for me?
Where do you hide them?
Please let me see!
Now I shall steal them,—
One, two, and three.
You are the sweet!
Nicer than all
They can give me to eat.
Here I am coming,—
Toes, fingers, and feet!
Have you a kiss or two
Growing for me?
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Please let me see!
Now I shall steal them,—
One, two, and three.
What is the next thing
For baby to do?
Duckie, I think,
I'll go swimming with you.
Doggie, look sharp,
And if we get drowned,
Fish us both out,
You friendly old hound!
For baby to do?
Duckie, I think,
I'll go swimming with you.
Doggie, look sharp,
And if we get drowned,
Fish us both out,
You friendly old hound!
Dick, we'll on our travels go,
I 've two feet, don't hold me so!
O, my shoes won't walk a bit!
Down upon the floor I'll sit.
If you think I 've had a fall,
You 're mistaken, that is all!
But why will this old house shake,
Every single step I take?
I 've two feet, don't hold me so!
O, my shoes won't walk a bit!
Down upon the floor I'll sit.
If you think I 've had a fall,
You 're mistaken, that is all!
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Every single step I take?
Now get out my pony, Dick!
Whoa! gee up there! where 's my stick?
Over the world and away to the moon,
Clever old Dick, we must get there soon,
Or the barley-candy will all be sold,
And we can't buy a ginger-bread horse for gold.
Whoa! gee up there! where 's my stick?
Over the world and away to the moon,
Clever old Dick, we must get there soon,
Or the barley-candy will all be sold,
And we can't buy a ginger-bread horse for gold.
O, the sand blows in my eye,
Here is Noddy's Isle close by;
And,—don't tell me that I fib!—
Dick, it looks just like my crib.
Good night, pony! Trot away!
I 've done riding for to-day,
And I hear my mother sing,
Sweet, O sweet as anything!—
Here is Noddy's Isle close by;
And,—don't tell me that I fib!—
Dick, it looks just like my crib.
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I 've done riding for to-day,
And I hear my mother sing,
Sweet, O sweet as anything!—
My baby shall go
To the Island of Sleep,
Where soft little dream-waves
Around him will creep.
And when the moon rises,
Away in her boat,
With the stars rowing races
All night he shall float.
And when morning's red horses
Spring out of the sea,
As swift as a sunbeam
He'll come back to me.
To the Island of Sleep,
Where soft little dream-waves
Around him will creep.
And when the moon rises,
Away in her boat,
With the stars rowing races
All night he shall float.
And when morning's red horses
Spring out of the sea,
As swift as a sunbeam
He'll come back to me.
47
THE BABY'S THOUGHTS.
“I wonder what the baby thinks.
Just see how wide awake she lies,
And crows at me, and chirps, and winks,
With laughing wonder in her eyes.”
Just see how wide awake she lies,
And crows at me, and chirps, and winks,
With laughing wonder in her eyes.”
I'll answer for her, little girl.—
“Whose can it be, that merry face,
With hair like sunbeams in a curl,
That hangs around my nestling-place?
“Whose can it be, that merry face,
With hair like sunbeams in a curl,
That hangs around my nestling-place?
“At three months old I've much to learn,
For everything looks strange to me.
But then I know enough to turn
To all the brightest things I see.
For everything looks strange to me.
But then I know enough to turn
To all the brightest things I see.
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“Red roses on the curtain grow,
Once, when 't was up, I saw a star.
I wonder, Brown Eyes, if you know
How many splendid things there are?
Once, when 't was up, I saw a star.
I wonder, Brown Eyes, if you know
How many splendid things there are?
“Now don't you wish you were n't so tall?
Then you 'd live in a cradle, too,
And talk to shadows on the wall,
And think you heard them talk to you.
Then you 'd live in a cradle, too,
And talk to shadows on the wall,
And think you heard them talk to you.
“But, then, I could n't spare you, dear;
For when I wake from pretty dreams,
And that great sun goes by, so near,
You seem like one of his soft beams.
For when I wake from pretty dreams,
And that great sun goes by, so near,
You seem like one of his soft beams.
“I guess that you, and mother too,
Are pieces broken from the sun.
No; she 's the sun, a sunbeam you;
For when she goes, away you run.
Are pieces broken from the sun.
No; she 's the sun, a sunbeam you;
For when she goes, away you run.
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“I lie here guessing every day
What all the things around can be;
This four-walled world in which I stay
Is full of wonders, dear, to me.”—
What all the things around can be;
This four-walled world in which I stay
Is full of wonders, dear, to me.”—
There, little girl, your sunny face
Will give the baby thoughts like these;
Then let no frown your brow disgrace,
But be the loveliest thing she sees.
Will give the baby thoughts like these;
Then let no frown your brow disgrace,
But be the loveliest thing she sees.
50
SPRING WHISTLES.
Down by the gate of the orchard
This Saturday afternoon,
Harry and Arthur and Willie
Are getting their whistles in tune.
Different notes they are playing;
Different echoes they hear:
Always the best of the music
Is in the musician's ear.
This Saturday afternoon,
Harry and Arthur and Willie
Are getting their whistles in tune.
Different notes they are playing;
Different echoes they hear:
Always the best of the music
Is in the musician's ear.
Harry says, “Hark! when I whistle,
March winds are wild on the hills;
Waterfalls break from the snow-drifts;
Their thunder the forest fills.
Thousands of bluebirds and sparrows
Sing on the branches bare;
Oceans of musical murmurs
Ripple and stir in the air.”
March winds are wild on the hills;
Waterfalls break from the snow-drifts;
Their thunder the forest fills.
Thousands of bluebirds and sparrows
Sing on the branches bare;
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Ripple and stir in the air.”
Arthur is whispering, “Listen!
Dropping of April showers,—
Dripping of rainy rosebuds,—
Flight of the rustling hours;—
And a speckled lark in the meadow,
That utters one long sad note,
As if all the sorrow of gladness
Were hid in his little throat.”
Dropping of April showers,—
Dripping of rainy rosebuds,—
Flight of the rustling hours;—
And a speckled lark in the meadow,
That utters one long sad note,
As if all the sorrow of gladness
Were hid in his little throat.”
“Whistle, O whistle!” cries Willie.
“Never such echoes could be
Coaxed from a twig of the willow
As wait in my whistle for me.
When I shape at last the mouth-piece
And let the rich music out,
You will think that Pan or Apollo
Is wandering hereabout:
“Never such echoes could be
Coaxed from a twig of the willow
As wait in my whistle for me.
When I shape at last the mouth-piece
And let the rich music out,
You will think that Pan or Apollo
Is wandering hereabout:
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“You will dream of orchards in blossom,
Of lambs in the grass at play;
And of birds that warble all summer
The wonderful songs of May.”
No doubt of it, Will! in the whistle
That nobody yet has played,
Is sleeping a melody sweeter
Than ever on earth was made.
Of lambs in the grass at play;
And of birds that warble all summer
The wonderful songs of May.”
No doubt of it, Will! in the whistle
That nobody yet has played,
Is sleeping a melody sweeter
Than ever on earth was made.
82
GIPSY CHILDREN'S SONG
White little housed-up things,
Why don't you run
Out in the sun?
Beauty that blossoms and sings
Never was made
Strong in the shade.
Why don't you run
Out in the sun?
Beauty that blossoms and sings
Never was made
Strong in the shade.
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Why do you shadow the face
Pale as a doll's,
Now the wind calls,
“Hurry, and give us a chase”?
Where the winds blow
Roses will grow.
Pale as a doll's,
Now the wind calls,
“Hurry, and give us a chase”?
Where the winds blow
Roses will grow.
Here we swing high on the bough!
Down comes the rain,
Blackberry stain
Washing from bare cheek and brow,
Fresh as a flower
After the shower.
Down comes the rain,
Blackberry stain
Washing from bare cheek and brow,
Fresh as a flower
After the shower.
We and the pine-trees are glad
When the winds talk
Through a split rock
Till they go merrily mad,
Making us shake,—
Laugh till we ache.
When the winds talk
Through a split rock
Till they go merrily mad,
Making us shake,—
Laugh till we ache.
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Then in the warm lull of noon
Sleepy we slide
Down the rill-side,
Dropping away to its tune
Into a dream
Bright as the stream.
Sleepy we slide
Down the rill-side,
Dropping away to its tune
Into a dream
Bright as the stream.
Always at home with you, Sun!—
Mother, so high
Up in the sky,
Smiling out full on our fun,—
Paint us with tan
Brown as you can!
Mother, so high
Up in the sky,
Smiling out full on our fun,—
Paint us with tan
Brown as you can!
O little housed-up things!
Blue is the air,
Breezy and fair;
Borrow a bird's idle wings;
Then you may be
Merry as we!
Blue is the air,
Breezy and fair;
Borrow a bird's idle wings;
Then you may be
Merry as we!
85
MANITOU'S GARDEN.
Come, play in my garden!”
Called flaxen-haired Fred,
Peeping out from the edge
Of a hyacinth-bed,
Through the stout oaken rails
At a Chippewa boy
Who ran along, dragging
A snake, for a toy.
Called flaxen-haired Fred,
Peeping out from the edge
Of a hyacinth-bed,
Through the stout oaken rails
At a Chippewa boy
Who ran along, dragging
A snake, for a toy.
“I'll give you some flowers
To twist in your hair.”
“The son of a sachem
No blossoms will wear
That the white man has planted;
Nor yet will he go
Where roses and lilies
Like pale captives grow.
To twist in your hair.”
“The son of a sachem
No blossoms will wear
That the white man has planted;
Nor yet will he go
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Like pale captives grow.
“In Manitou's garden
Are gay flowers to see:
Come out, little pale-face,
And play here with me!
The fawn will play with us,—
The squirrel and hare;
No fences to stop us,—
We 're free as the air.
Are gay flowers to see:
Come out, little pale-face,
And play here with me!
The fawn will play with us,—
The squirrel and hare;
No fences to stop us,—
We 're free as the air.
“In Manitou's garden
How bright is the dawn!
We know where his trail
Through the deer-path has gone.
The moccasin-flower
Springs up where he stopped;
And the dewdrops are beads,
From his blanket's edge dropped.”
How bright is the dawn!
We know where his trail
Through the deer-path has gone.
The moccasin-flower
Springs up where he stopped;
And the dewdrops are beads,
From his blanket's edge dropped.”
87
“I'm afraid, little Indian,
To come out to you.
I'm afraid of the snakes,
And the barking wolves, too.”
“Ugh! white-hearted pale-face,
They 're Manitou's snakes;
And the wolves are the hounds
That a-hunting he takes.
To come out to you.
I'm afraid of the snakes,
And the barking wolves, too.”
“Ugh! white-hearted pale-face,
They 're Manitou's snakes;
And the wolves are the hounds
That a-hunting he takes.
“We, too, on wild mustangs
Chase bisons and deer.
We are Manitou's hunters,
A race without fear.
Our arrow's flight leaves
The swift eagle behind.
Whoop! after them, quick
As the rushing north-wind!”
Chase bisons and deer.
We are Manitou's hunters,
A race without fear.
Our arrow's flight leaves
The swift eagle behind.
Whoop! after them, quick
As the rushing north-wind!”
But the son of the Chippewa
Stands there alone,
At his whoop timid Fred
To his mother has flown.
Off the red boy runs, shouting,
“Whoop! whoop! let him be!
In Manitou's garden
Are playmates for me!”
Stands there alone,
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To his mother has flown.
Off the red boy runs, shouting,
“Whoop! whoop! let him be!
In Manitou's garden
Are playmates for me!”
89
DUMPY DUCKY.
Quack, quack, quack,
Three white and four black.
Your coat, you saucy fellow,
Shades off to green and yellow:
Do you think I like you best
Because you are prettiest?
Three white and four black.
Your coat, you saucy fellow,
Shades off to green and yellow:
Do you think I like you best
Because you are prettiest?
Quack, quack, quack!
White spots on his back,
Chasing his long-necked brothers,
I see him, old duck-mothers;—
You need not quack so loud,
Nor look so stiff and proud.
White spots on his back,
Chasing his long-necked brothers,
I see him, old duck-mothers;—
You need not quack so loud,
Nor look so stiff and proud.
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Quack, quack, quack!
Ducks, you have a knack
Of talking and saying nothing,
And showing off fine clothing
Like many folks I see
Who wiser ought to be.
Ducks, you have a knack
Of talking and saying nothing,
And showing off fine clothing
Like many folks I see
Who wiser ought to be.
Quack, quack, quack!
Please to stop your clack!
They call me Dumpy Ducky;
Do you not think you are lucky,
You, ducklings all, to be
Named for a girl like me?
Please to stop your clack!
They call me Dumpy Ducky;
Do you not think you are lucky,
You, ducklings all, to be
Named for a girl like me?
Quack, quack, quack!
What is there that we lack,—
You with a pond for swimming,
I with my bucket brimming,—
You with your web-toes neat,
I with my stout bare feet?
What is there that we lack,—
You with a pond for swimming,
I with my bucket brimming,—
You with your web-toes neat,
I with my stout bare feet?
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Quack, quack, quack!
You make a funny track
When you waddle through the garden.
And, ducks, I beg your pardon,
But I do not choose to try
A swim in your pond; not I!
You make a funny track
When you waddle through the garden.
And, ducks, I beg your pardon,
But I do not choose to try
A swim in your pond; not I!
Quack, quack, quack!
Now you may all turn back,
Your home is in the water;
I am the Dutchman's daughter,
And my plump little sisters cry,
“We want a drink!” Good b'ye!
Now you may all turn back,
Your home is in the water;
I am the Dutchman's daughter,
And my plump little sisters cry,
“We want a drink!” Good b'ye!
121
JESSIE'S BOOK.
Here lingering, Jessie?
And what is your book?
And what the gay picture
That fastens your look?
I cannot guess, Jessie;
Still seems it to me
A lovelier picture
Your raised eyes would see.
And what is your book?
And what the gay picture
That fastens your look?
I cannot guess, Jessie;
Still seems it to me
A lovelier picture
Your raised eyes would see.
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The late birds are flying
Through sunshine's soft floods;
Cool shadows are lying
Beside the warm woods;
There are gentians and frost-flowers
In dim dingles hid;
Sleeps beauty the bowers
Of autumn amid.
Through sunshine's soft floods;
Cool shadows are lying
Beside the warm woods;
There are gentians and frost-flowers
In dim dingles hid;
Sleeps beauty the bowers
Of autumn amid.
To sit here and read
On the pleasant old stile
Is a fine thing indeed;
Yet those pages may wile
Your thoughts from a story
More wonderful still,
That hangs a wild glory
Round meadow and hill.
On the pleasant old stile
Is a fine thing indeed;
Yet those pages may wile
Your thoughts from a story
More wonderful still,
That hangs a wild glory
Round meadow and hill.
For Nature, dear Jessie,
Has something to say
She will not say over
Again, any day.
And if I were Jessie
My book I would close,
And read the fresh marvels
Her latest page shows.
Has something to say
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Again, any day.
And if I were Jessie
My book I would close,
And read the fresh marvels
Her latest page shows.
When angry November
Has torn the bright leaves,
You will not remember
What tints Autumn weaves.
Go, con the blue river,
The torrent, the brook,
Ere winter forever
Seal up this year's book!
Has torn the bright leaves,
You will not remember
What tints Autumn weaves.
Go, con the blue river,
The torrent, the brook,
Ere winter forever
Seal up this year's book!
130
THE CLOCK-TINKER.
Tinker, may I learn the trick,—
How you cure a clock that's sick,
Peeping in her face behind,
(Are those wheels her brains?) to find
Why her pulses do not go
Regular and sure and slow?
How you cure a clock that's sick,
Peeping in her face behind,
(Are those wheels her brains?) to find
Why her pulses do not go
Regular and sure and slow?
Tinker, have you learned Time's trick,—
How it is he makes clocks tick?
Is there such a thing as knowing
What it was first set them going?
Do you, sir, suppose they had 'em
In their garden, Eve and Adam?
How it is he makes clocks tick?
Is there such a thing as knowing
What it was first set them going?
Do you, sir, suppose they had 'em
In their garden, Eve and Adam?
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Is there, up among the suns,—
Father of these other ones,—
Some great timepiece that can show
All the small clocks how to go?
Are the stars set right by some
Mighty swinging pendulum?
Father of these other ones,—
Some great timepiece that can show
All the small clocks how to go?
Are the stars set right by some
Mighty swinging pendulum?
Tinker, where's the loosened screw
That the juggler Time creeps through
When he slips into his place,
Up behind the old clock's face?
Have you ever seen that feat?
Or does Time even graybeards cheat?
That the juggler Time creeps through
When he slips into his place,
Up behind the old clock's face?
Have you ever seen that feat?
Or does Time even graybeards cheat?
“Boy, I've tried through Time to see,
But he played strange tricks with me.
While I gave the wizard chase,
He was dancing on my face.
Look you! like a crow he flies;
Here 's his track around my eyes.”
But he played strange tricks with me.
While I gave the wizard chase,
He was dancing on my face.
Look you! like a crow he flies;
Here 's his track around my eyes.”
132
CAT-QUESTIONS.
Dozing, and dozing, and dozing!
Pleasant enough,
Dreaming of sweet cream and mouse-meat,—
Delicate stuff!
Pleasant enough,
Dreaming of sweet cream and mouse-meat,—
Delicate stuff!
Of raids on the pantry and hen-coop,—
Or light, stealthy tread
Of cat-gossips, meeting by moonlight
On ridge-pole or shed.—
Or light, stealthy tread
Of cat-gossips, meeting by moonlight
On ridge-pole or shed.—
Waked by a somerset, whirling
From cushion to floor;
Waked to a wild rush for safety
From window to door.
From cushion to floor;
Waked to a wild rush for safety
From window to door.
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Waking to hands that first smooth us,
And then pull our tails;
Punished with slaps when we show them
The length of our nails!
And then pull our tails;
Punished with slaps when we show them
The length of our nails!
These big mortal tyrants even grudge us
A place on the mat.
Do they think we enjoy for our music
Staccatoes of “scat”?
A place on the mat.
134
Staccatoes of “scat”?
What in the world were we made for?
Man, do you know?
By you to be petted, tormented?—
Are you friend or foe?
Man, do you know?
By you to be petted, tormented?—
Are you friend or foe?
To be treated, now, just as you treat us,—
The question is pat,—
To take just our chances in living,
Would you be a cat?
The question is pat,—
To take just our chances in living,
Would you be a cat?
152
SISTER AND BLUEBIRDS.
The bluebirds, the bluebirds,
Are out there in the snow;
The meaning of their music
No heedless ear may know.
The violet's forerunner
Is that faint bud of song,
And after it the harebells
Will troop, a blue-eyed throng.
Are out there in the snow;
The meaning of their music
No heedless ear may know.
The violet's forerunner
Is that faint bud of song,
And after it the harebells
Will troop, a blue-eyed throng.
They drift their fluttering azure
Across the snow-sheets white;
And underneath, the daisies
Are stirring toward the light.
And soon the purple crane-bill
And golden buttercup
For overbrimming sunshine
Will hold their goblets up.
Across the snow-sheets white;
And underneath, the daisies
Are stirring toward the light.
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And golden buttercup
For overbrimming sunshine
Will hold their goblets up.
The bluebirds, the bluebirds!
'T is but the fifth of March,
Yet, though there hangs no tassel
On alder, birch, or larch,
They never have deceived us:
If summer always came
Too slowly for our wishes,
Their song was not to blame.
'T is but the fifth of March,
Yet, though there hangs no tassel
On alder, birch, or larch,
They never have deceived us:
If summer always came
Too slowly for our wishes,
Their song was not to blame.
This earliest May-day herald,
This prophet of the spring
Has brought celestial color
Upon his breezy wing.
Heaven loves to scatter earthward
Flakes of its own soft hue;
The first bird, the last blossom,
Wear the same shade of blue.
This prophet of the spring
Has brought celestial color
Upon his breezy wing.
Heaven loves to scatter earthward
Flakes of its own soft hue;
154
Wear the same shade of blue.
The bluebirds, the bluebirds!
We heard them through the snow,
When we were baby playmates,
A long, long time ago.
Our birthday slid in music
Down the sky's reddening arch;
We came here with the bluebirds,
'Mid snow and song, in March.
We heard them through the snow,
When we were baby playmates,
A long, long time ago.
Our birthday slid in music
Down the sky's reddening arch;
We came here with the bluebirds,
'Mid snow and song, in March.
The world slips through its changes,
And we change year by year;
But childhood lives within us
Forever fresh and dear.
All miracles and visions
That used the earth to fill,
When life was one great sunrise,
Are in the bluebird's trill.
And we change year by year;
But childhood lives within us
Forever fresh and dear.
All miracles and visions
That used the earth to fill,
When life was one great sunrise,
Are in the bluebird's trill.
175
BRING BACK MY FLOWERS.
A child beside a rivulet
With half-blown flowers
Sat garlanded:
She scattered them, with dewdrops wet,
While noiseless hours
Unnoticed sped.
With half-blown flowers
Sat garlanded:
She scattered them, with dewdrops wet,
While noiseless hours
Unnoticed sped.
She threw them on the sparkling stream,—
Her blossoms bright,—
Till all were gone.
She saw her rosebuds' eddying gleam,
As out of sight
They drifted on.
Her blossoms bright,—
Till all were gone.
She saw her rosebuds' eddying gleam,
As out of sight
They drifted on.
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“Bring back my flowers!” aloud she cried.
With toss of spray
The idle wave
Sent mocking echoes to her side,
But bore away
The gift she gave.
With toss of spray
The idle wave
Sent mocking echoes to her side,
But bore away
The gift she gave.
O little child beside life's stream,
Love garlands you
With moments bright:
The days are wasting while you dream:
Their bloom and dew
Fade out of sight.
Love garlands you
With moments bright:
The days are wasting while you dream:
Their bloom and dew
Fade out of sight.
Let gentle thoughts and gentler deeds
With fragrance rare
Fill all your hours!
For Time glides on, and never heeds
Your weeping prayer,
Bring back my flowers!”
With fragrance rare
Fill all your hours!
For Time glides on, and never heeds
Your weeping prayer,
Bring back my flowers!”
179
NEW-YEAR'S WISHES.
New-year's morning softly broke
As a little girl awoke,
And, half rising in her bed,
To her drowsy sister said:
“Waken, Annie! Where 's the bird?
Where 's the singing that I heard?
Birds and birds went to and fro,
Thick and white as flakes of snow,
Singing sweetly as they flew;
Never came such music through
Thrush's beak or linnet's throat.
How I wished that I could float
In the air, and sing so, too!
Listen, Annie! one bird flew
In here, fluttering down to you.
How he came I could not learn;
But the white tips of the fern
Jack Frost painted on the pane
Waved in and waved out again,
As that white bird came and went.
O, I wonder what it meant!
Warm, soft wings and bubbling song;
Where, where could those birds belong,
Making all the frosty sky
Tingle, ring, as they went by?”
As a little girl awoke,
And, half rising in her bed,
To her drowsy sister said:
“Waken, Annie! Where 's the bird?
Where 's the singing that I heard?
Birds and birds went to and fro,
Thick and white as flakes of snow,
180
Never came such music through
Thrush's beak or linnet's throat.
How I wished that I could float
In the air, and sing so, too!
Listen, Annie! one bird flew
In here, fluttering down to you.
How he came I could not learn;
But the white tips of the fern
Jack Frost painted on the pane
Waved in and waved out again,
As that white bird came and went.
O, I wonder what it meant!
Warm, soft wings and bubbling song;
Where, where could those birds belong,
Making all the frosty sky
Tingle, ring, as they went by?”
Annie murmured: “Strange, you seem
Not to know it was a dream.”
“O, but, Annie! wake and hear!
Happy New Year to you, dear!
Wake up! It is New-Year's day!
On your pillow there's a ray
Of the golden morning sun.”
Not to know it was a dream.”
181
Happy New Year to you, dear!
Wake up! It is New-Year's day!
On your pillow there's a ray
Of the golden morning sun.”
Then a low voice: “Little one,
Of the birds I heard you tell,
And I know their meaning well.
New-Year's wishes, happy words,
Were the dear white singing-birds
Thronging in the snowy air.
Think how sweet, if everywhere,
When a loving word were said,
Birds went warbling overhead!
And, perhaps, to ear and eye
Of the watchers in the sky
So it is; with each kind thought
Song and flash of wing is brought
To our world from gardens bright,
Where no winter is, nor night.
Call your birds the Christ-child's doves;
For the music that he loves
Is the carol, ‘Peace! Good-will!’
Echoing from his birthday still;
And the birthday of the year
Brings again the Christ-child here.”
Of the birds I heard you tell,
And I know their meaning well.
New-Year's wishes, happy words,
Were the dear white singing-birds
Thronging in the snowy air.
Think how sweet, if everywhere,
When a loving word were said,
Birds went warbling overhead!
And, perhaps, to ear and eye
Of the watchers in the sky
So it is; with each kind thought
Song and flash of wing is brought
To our world from gardens bright,
182
Call your birds the Christ-child's doves;
For the music that he loves
Is the carol, ‘Peace! Good-will!’
Echoing from his birthday still;
And the birthday of the year
Brings again the Christ-child here.”
“Then the bird on Annie's head
Was the New-Year's wish I said,
Mother darling? This does seem
Something better than a dream.”
Was the New-Year's wish I said,
Mother darling? This does seem
Something better than a dream.”
| Childhood songs | |