A FAREWELL.
My fairest child, I have no song to give you; No lark could pipe in skies 
so dull and grey; Yet, if you will, one quiet
hint I'll leave you, For every day.
I'll tell you how to sing a clearer carol
Than lark who hails the dawn or breezy down;
To earn yourself a purer poet's laurel Than Shakespeare's crown.
Be, good, sweet maid, and let who can be clever;
Do noble things, not dream them, all day long; And so make Life, and Death, 
and that For Ever, One grand sweet
song.
- CHARLES KINGSLEY.

TARTARY.
If I were Lord of Tartary,  Myself and me alone, My bed should be of ivory,
Of beaten gold my throne;
And in my court should peacocks flaunt, And in my forest tigers haunt, And 
in my pools great fishes slant
Their fins athwart the sun.
If I were Lord of Tartary,  Trumpeters every day To every meal should 
summon me,
And in my courtyard bray;
And in the evening lamps would shine Yellow as honey, red as wine, While 
harp, and flute, and mandoline,
Made music sweet and gay.
If I were Lord of Tartary,  I'd wear a robe of beads, White, and gold, and 
green they'd be--
And clustered thick as seeds;
And ere should wane the morning -star, I'd don my robe and scimitar, And 
zebras seven should draw my car
Through Tartary's dark glades.
Lord of the fruits of Tartary,  Her rivers silver-pale! Lord of the hills 
of Tartary,  Glen, thicket, wood, and dale! Her
flashing stars, her scented breeze, Her trembling lakes, like foamless 
seas, Her bird-delighting citron-trees
In every purple vale!
-WALTER DE LA MARE, in " Songs of Childhood." (Longmans, Green, and Co.)

COLOUR.
Colour is a lovely thing Given to soothe our sight Blue for sky, green for 
grass, And brown for roads where wee folk
pass; Silver for moon, for sunset, red, Soft cool black for night!

PETS.
We had a cat, but that is gone -  'Twas always getting trodden on; It ate 
(this was its favourite vice) All it could get
(excepting mice). And nightly it would prowl and roam And make a most 
terrific row; We had to give it to a Home: We
only keep a goldfish now.
We had a dog - a charming pup - He liked to sleep upon my bed; He rooted all 
the roses up And planted all his bones
instead. The toughest tramp that begs at doors To pat his back he would 
allow, And yet he bit our visitors: We only
keep a goldfish now.
We once had hens - they wouldn't lay, Although for hours they sat and sat; 
Our tame canary, sad to say, Was eaten
by the neighbour's cat. Mice, rabbits, squirrels, birds, we've had - Quite 
everything (except a cow) But disillusioned,
wise, and sad, We only keep a goldfish now.
-MARGARET F. MILLER, in "Blackie's Children's Annual."

SEA FEVER.
I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship, and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And the grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant
 gipsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.
--JOHN MASEFIELD, in "Collected Poems." (Heinemann.)

A BOY'S SONG.
Where the pools are bright and deep, Where the grey trout lies asleep, Up 
the river and over the lea, That's the way
for Billy and me.
Where the blackbird sings the latest, Where the hawthorn blooms the 
sweetest, Where the nestlings chirp and flee,
That's the way for Billy and me.
Where the mowers mow the cleanest, Where the hay lies thick and greenest, 
There to track the homeward bee,
That's the way for Billy and me.
Oh! this I know: I love to play, Through the meadow, among the hay; Up the 
water and over the lea, That's the way for
Billy and me.
-JAMES HOGG.

A CAT GROWING OLD.
Life will go on for ever, With all that cat can wish: Warmth and the glad possession Of fish and milk 
and fish.
Only - the thought disturbs him - He's noticed once or twice, The times are somehow breeding A nimbler 
race of mice.
-PROFESSOR GRAY.

THE CLOTHES-LINE.
Hand in hand they dance in a row, Hither and thither, and to and fro, Flip! 
Flap! Flop! and away they go – Flutt'ring
creatures as white as snow. Like restive horses they caper and prance; Like 
fairy-tale witches they wildly dance;
Rounded in front, but hollow behind, They shiver and skip in the merry 
March wind. One I saw dancing excitedly,
Struggling so wildly till she was free, Then, leaving pegs and clothes-line 
behind her, She flew like a bird, and no one
can find her. I saw her gleam like a sail in the sun, Flipping and flapping 
and flopping for fun. Nobody knows where
she now can be, Hid in a ditch, or drowned in the sea. She was my 
handkerchief not long ago. But she'll never come
back to my pocket I know. -CHARLOTTE DRUITT COLE. (Methuens' copyright.)

RICH DAYS
Welcome to you, rich Autumn days,
Ere comes the cold, leaf-picking wind;
When golden stooks are seen in  fields,
All standing arm-in-arm entwined;
And gallons of sweet elder seen
On trees, in apples red and green.
With mellow pears that cheat our teeth,
Which melt that tongues may suck them in;
With cherries red, and blue black plums,
Now sweet and soft from stone to skin;
And wood-nuts rich, to make us go
Into the loveliest lanes we know.
-W. H. DAVIES, in "Poems." (Jonathon Cape.)

THE BELFRY OF MONS.
At Mons there is a belfry tall  That chimes from noon to noon; At every 
quarter of the hour It scatters forth a lovely
shower Of little notes that from the tower
All flutter down in tune.
At Mons from out the Market Place  The streets rise up the hill
Where ring the chimes that year by year Cry out, " Look upwards, lads, and 
cheer!
For God's own Kingdom now and here
And peace and right good will."
At Mons there lie a mort o' lads  A-row and underground, That will not hear 
the belfry ring, Nor human voice nor
anything, Until at the last summoning
They hear the trumpet sound.
-WILFRID THORLEY.

MERCHANTMEN.
These were the ships that kept on going
When the seas were thick with the War's black sowing
Great ocean liners in white paint and gold, Shabby little colliers, all 
grime and green mould, Up-to-date cargo-boats
ugly as sin, Old seven-knotters with their plates rusted thin, Has-been 
clipper ships, laid up for ages,
Fitted out and rigged new and sent to earn their wages,
Coal-ships and cotton-ships,
Sound ships and rotten ships From Thames and Clyde and Merseyside that 
fetched their ports no more
Tyne ships and Humber ships,
Grain-ships and lumber-ships - Ships that went down in the War.
These were the men that knew no shirking The hungry waters where death lay 
lurking - Grizzled old skippers that had
grown grey in ships, Young brass-bounders with the down on their lips, 
White-faced black squad and tanned A.B.'s In
oil-stained boiler-suits and torn dungarees, That dropped beside the wheel 
on the deck all  bloodied,
That drowned in the darkness when the stokehold flooded,
That froze on the rafts in the bitter Atlantic, That drifted in boats till 
thirst drove them frantic, Some with wives and
youngsters to cry their eyes red,
Some with neither chick nor child to care that they were dead, Not reckoned 
greatly daring men, But every-day
seafaring men,
Who stood their trick and earned their whack and took their fun ashore, 
Until on every tide for us They took their
chance and died for us
Men that went down in the War.
-C. FOX SMITH.

THE BUTTERFLY'S BALL AND THE  GRASSHOPPER'S FEAST.
"Come, take up your hats, and away let us haste
To the Butterfly's ball and the Grasshopper's feast! The trumpeter, Gadfly, 
has summoned the crew,
And the revels are now only waiting for you."
 So said little Robert, and, packing along, His merry companions came forth 
in a throng, And on the smooth grass,
by the side of a wood, Beneath an old oak that for ages had stood,
Saw the Children of Earth and the Tenants of Air, For an evening's 
amusement together repair.
And there came the Beetle so blind and so black,
Who carried the Emmet, his friend, on his back;
And there was the Gnat, and the Dragon-fly too, With all their relations, 
green, orange, and blue; And there came the
Moth, with his plumage of down, And the Hornet in jacket of yellow and 
brown, Who with him the Wasp, his
companion, did bring, But they promised that evening to lay by their sting, 
And the sly little Dormouse crept out of his
hole, And brought to the feast his blind brother, the Mole; And the Snail, 
with his horns peeping out of his  shell,
Came from a great distance --- the length of an ell.  A Mushroom their 
table, and on it was laid
A Water-dock Leaf, which a table-cloth made;
The viands were various, to each of his taste;
And the Bee brought her honey to crown the repast.  Then close on his 
haunches, so solemn and wise,
The Frog from a corner looked up to the skies;
And the Squirrel, well pleased such diversions to see,
Mounted high overhead, and looked down from a tree.
Then out came the Spider, with figure so fine,
To show his dexterity on the tight line,
From one branch to another, his cobwebs he slung,
Then quick as an arrow he darted along;
But just in the middle, O, shocking to tell,
From his rope, in an instant, poor Harlequin fell!
Yet he touched not the ground, but with talons outspread,
Hung suspended in air at the end of a thread.
Then the Grasshopper came with a jerk and a spring,
Very long was his leg, though but short was his wing;
He took but three leaps, and was soon out of sight, Then chirped his own 
praise all the rest of the night.
With steps so majestic, the Snail did advance,
And promised the gazers a minuet to dance;
And they all laughed so loud that he pulled in his head,
And went in his own little chamber to bed.
Then as evening gave way to the shadows of night,
Their watchman, the Glow-worm, came out with a light.
Then home let us hasten while yet we can see!
For no watchman is waiting for you and for me."
So said little Robert; and passing along,
His merry companions returned in a throng.
-WILLIAM ROSCOE.

THE TABLE AND THE CHAIR.
Said the table to the chair, " You can hardly be aware How I suffer from 
the heat, And from chilblains on my feet! If
we took a little walk, We might have a little talk! Pray let us take the 
air! " Said the table to the chair.
Said the chair unto the table, " Now you know we are not able! How 
foolishly you talk, When you know we cannot
walk! Said the table with a sigh, " It can do no harm to try; I've as 
many legs as you, Why can't we walk on two?"
So they both went slowly down, And walked about the town With a cheerful 
bumpy sound, As they toddled round and
round. And everybody cried, As they hastened to their side, " See ! the 
table and the chair Have come out to take the air!"
But in going down an alley To a castle in the valley, They completely 
lost their way, And wandered all the day, Till, to
see them safely back, They paid a Ducky-quack, And a Beetle, and a Mouse, 
Who took them to their house.
Then they whispered to each other, " O delightful little brother! What a 
lovely walk we've taken! Let us dine on beans
and bacon! So the Ducky and the leetle Browny-Mousy and the Beetle Dined, 
and danced upon their heads Till they
toddled to their beds.
-EDWARD LEAR.

I LIKE TO SIT.
I like to sit
And think and fish,
And think and fish
And sit,
And think and sit
And fish - and wish
The fish would bite a bit.

NICODEMUS NAYLOR.
Nicodemus Naylor has a little wooden shop,
A window in the front of it, a sign along the top:
Repairs are executed here. Bring along your boots."
And Nicodemus is the man that EX-E-CUTES.
All day long, with his eyes upon his last,
Nicodemus cobbles till the daylight's past.
Don't tap on his window, or if you do, run quick;  MIND OLD NICK.
Has anybody seen his eyes? Jimmy Hodge says " Aye!
Once he looked up, thinking nobody was nigh,
His lifted hammer in his hand, a-nailing of a shoe.
I heard him say, 'Now run away, or I'LL NAIL YOU."'
-WILFRED THORLEY, published in Black's  "The Adventure of Reading."

SKATING
When I try to skate,
My feet are so wary
They grit and they grate: 
And then I watch Mary
Easily gliding
Like an ice-fairy;
Skimming and curving,
Out and in,
With a turn of her head,
And a lift of her chin,
And a gleam of her eye,
And a swirl and a spin;
Sailing under
The breathless hush
Of the willows, and back
To the frozen rush;
Out to the island
And round the edge,
Skirting the rim
Of the crackling sedge,
Swerving close to the poplar root
And round the lake On a single foot,
With a three, and an eight,
And a loop, and a ring;
Where Mary glides
The lake will sing!
Out in the mist
I hear her now
Under the frost
Of the willow bough
Easily sailing,
Light and fleet,
With the song of the lake
Beneath her feet.
- HERBERT ASQUITH, published in Black's "The Adventure of Reading IV."

SUMMER IS GONE.
Summer is gone with all its roses,  Its sun, and perfumes and sweet flowers,
Its warm air, its refreshing showers;
And even Autumn closes.
Yea! Autumn's chilly self is going,
And Winter comes which is yet colder;
Each day the hoar-frost waxes bolder,
And the last buds cease blowing.
---CHRISTINA ROSSETTI.

MICHAEL'S SONG.
BLUETIT.
Because I set no snare But leave them flying free, All the birds of the 
air Belong to me.
From the bluetit on the sloe To the eagle on the height Uncaged they come 
and go For my delight.
And so the sunward way I soar on the eagle's wings, And in my heart all 
day
The bluetit sings.  
-WILFRID GIBSON, in " Sixty-three Poems." (Macmillan.)

THE SONG OF THE KINGFISHER.
Why do you sit so dreamily, dreamily,  Kingfisher over the stream,
Silent your beak, and silent the water, What is your dream?
A falling, a flashing of blue and of silver,  Child, he is deep in the 
stream,
Prey in his beak, and fear in the water, That was his dream!
-EILEEN DUGGAN.


VICTRIX.
Here's a lady come to town
Puts us all to shame,
Walking in with noiseless feet,
Very light and very fleet,
Overnight she came.
Not a beauty in the land,
Though she have no peer
Both for comeliness and grace,
But must take a second place
The snow is here.
Never monarch wore, I swear,
Such a radiant dress;
All the whitenesses we prize
Suddenly before our eyes
Turn to dinginess.
Gone are all the shining joys
That we held so dear;
Linens, marbles, gleaming plumes
We must hide in shadowed glooms - 
The snow is here.
Veil your brows, you pretty maids,
With your falling curls;
Should you venture forth to-day
Tuck your milky throats away,
Cover up your pearls.
Naught shall match your loveliness
Later in the year
(Who so foolish as to dare
Say the lily is more fair?)
But - the snow is here.
-ROSE FYLEMAN, in "A Small Cruse." (Methuen.)

I WEEP, FOR IT REMINDS ME SO. 
I weep, for it reminds me so
Of that old man I used to know
Whose look was mild, whose speech was slow,
Whose hair was whiter than the snow,
Whose face was very like a crow,
With eyes, like cinders, all aglow,
Who seemed distracted with his woe,
Who rocked his body to and fro,
And muttered mumblingly and low,
As if his mouth were full of dough,
Who snorted like a buffalo - 
That summer evening long ago A-sitting on a gate.
-From " Through the Looking-glass," by LEWIS CARROLL.

WINDY NIGHT.
The wind runs howling  O'er hollow and hill,
The wind stands growling
At my window-sill,
The wind comes sweeping
Like a swan in flight
Oh, I do love sleeping
On a windy night!
The tall trees battle
And their branches clash,
The door-knobs rattle
And the window-sash,
There's a banshee crying
In the chimney-head - 
And here I'm lying
In my nice warm bed
And make-believing
I'm on board a ship,
Heaving, heaving
'Neath the hurricane's whip,
Her bulkheads groaning
To her lift-and-fall,
And her siren droning
On top of it all;
Or I'm skyward swooping
In a fighter plane,
Banking, looping,
Banking again,
The cold air racing
In a blast of hail
And black clouds chasing
Our tossed-up tail;
O magic-maker
In the big black sky,
Take Earth and shake her
Till dawn, say I;
For my pillow's roundest  And my sheets most soft And I sleep my soundest
When the wind's aloft!
-H. B, in "Punch."

THE QUANGLE WANGLE'S HAT.
On the top of the Crumpetty Tree
 The Quangle Wangle sat, But his face you could not see
On account of his Beaver Hat. For his hat was a hundred and two feet 
wide, With ribbons and bibbons on every side,
And bells, and buttons, and loops and lace, So that nobody ever could see 
the face Of the Quangle Wangle Quee.
But there came to the Crumpetty Tree
Mr. and Mrs. Canary; And they said, " Did ever you see
Any spot so charmingly airy? May we build a nest on your lovely Hat? Mr. 
Quangle Wangle, grant us that! O please
let us come and build a nest Of whatever material suits you best, Mr. 
Quangle Wangle Quee! "
And, besides, to the Crumpetty Tree,
Came the Stork, the Duck, and the Owl: The Snail and the Bumble-Bee,
The Frog and the Fimble Fowl (The Fimble Fowl with a corkscrew leg) And 
all of them said, " We humbly beg, We
may build our homes on your lovely Hat, Mr. Quangle Wangle, grant us that! 
Mr. Quangle Wangle Quee! "
And the Golden Grouse came there,
And the Pobble who has no toes, And the small Olympian Bear,
 And the Dong with the luminous nose, And the Blue Baboon who played the 
flute, And the Orient Calf from the Land
of Tute, - And the Attery Squash, and the Bisky Bat, All came and built on 
the lovely Hat  Of the Quangle Wangle
Quee.
And the Quangle Wangle said
To himself on the Crumpetty Tree, - When all these creatures move
What a wonderful noise there'll be!
And at night by the light of the Mulberry Moon They danced to the Flute 
of the Blue Baboon,
On the broad green leaves of the Crumpetty Tree, And all were as happy as 
happy could be,
With the Quangle Wangle Quee.
-EDWARD LEAR.

THE STARFISH.
The starfish is small and round and flat with a flexible skin - and that is 
that - I can add one couplet, if you wish. He's not
like a star and he's not like a fish.

THE PEDLAR.
To comfits and pomanders  A maiden may say nay
From buckles and from buttons
A lad may turn away;
For little pins and little knives
Nor he nor she may sigh;
But when I show them ribbons, my fluttering, dangling ribbons, my 
many-coloured ribbons,
Then maid and lad will buy.
My load is sometimes heavy  And hard upon my back,
But all the folks come running
When I unfold my pack;
The very geese and hens come out
To see what may be seen
When I set forth my trinkets, my beads and gauds and trinkets, my brass 
and pewter trinkets,
Upon the village green.
Now in the jocund spring-time, When waketh bud and bell,
This land is like a pedlar
With brave new wares to sell:
With little birds and daisy beads,
And blossom rosy-pearled,
It's pack is full of wonders, oh, fluttering, shining wonders, winged and 
warbling wonders,
The sweetest in the world.
-Extract from D. M. STUART'S " Historical Songs and Ballads." (Harrap.)

RILLOBY-RILL.
Grasshoppers four a-fiddling went,
Heigh-ho! never be still!
They earned but little towards their rent,
But all day long with their elbows bent
They fiddled a tune called Rilloby-rilloby,
Fiddled a tune called Rilloby-rill.
Grasshoppers soon on Fairies came,
Heigh-ho! never be still!
Fairies asked with a manner of blame,
" Where do you come from, what is your name?
What do you want with your Rilloby-rilloby,
What do you want with your Rilloby-rill? "
" Madam, you see before you stand,
Heigh-ho! never be still!
The Old Original Favourite Grand
Grasshopper's Green Herbarian Band,
And the tune we play is Rilloby-rilloby,
Madam, the tune is Rilloby-rill."
Fairies hadn't a word to say,
Heigh-ho! never be still!
Fairies seldom are sweet by day,
But the Grasshoppers merrily fiddled away,
O, but they played with a willoby-rilloby,
O, but they played with a willoby-will.
Fairies slumber and sulk at noon, Heigh-ho! never be still! But at last 
the kind old motherly moon Brought them dew in
a silver spoon, And they turned to ask for Rilloby-rilloby, One more 
round of Rilloby-rill.
Ah! but nobody now replied,
Heigh-ho! never be still! When day went down the music died - Grasshoppers 
four lay side by side,
And there was an end of their Rilloby-rilloby,
There was an end of their Rilloby-rill.
-SIR HENRY NEWBOLT.

THE COW.
I'm very sorry for A cow; 
It's clothes seem fashioned 
Anyhow; 
They never look as if they Fit; 
I wonder what is wrong With it!
And if a cow should need
A patch
It never chooses one 
To match
But makes the oddest pieces Do.
I think it's rather sad;
Don't you?

DOUBLE DAFFODILS.
When crocuses are poking up, And snowdrops nod their pretty heads, And 
tulips many a golden cup Hold high above
the garden beds; Then dancing in the garden space, They shake a maze of 
yellow frills, Filling with gladsomeness the
place, My darling double daffodils !
The single ones upon their stalks Are beautiful for all to see, But 
straight and slim they line the walks As prim and
proper as may be; While bowing here and bowing there, A-pirouette on dainty 
toe, With ballet skirts that whirl and
flare, My daffodils a-dancing go!
-In "The Lucky Pedlar," by ELIZABETH FLEMING. (Nelson.)

THE OWL.
The owl took his hat and his gloves one night
His sweetheart for to see. When his daddy asked him where he went,
" On a definite object I'm intent,
To wit to woo," said he, " To wit to woo."
But he scarce had stepped outside the door,
When he could not fail to see That the sky with clouds was all o'ercast
The rain was falling hard and fast, "Too wet to woo," said he, "Too wet to 
woo. "
-JOHN B. WELLS.

CAT AND DOG.
ANY CAT TO ANY DOG.
I do not think you're any use,
You cannot climb a tree;
You cannot manage in the dark
Or smell a rat like me.
And you're no good in gardens
Except to bury bones,
Or make a simply deafening noise
When running after stones.
Is there a piece of mischief done,
Some dull folk say - " the cat";
But wiser people say - " the dog"
And put you on the mat.
ANY DOG TO ANY CAT.
When folk are not too kind to me I don't use nasty words;
I never steal my master's fish,
And I don't eat singing birds.
Though careless visitors may tread  Upon my out-stretched paws
I never dream, as you would do, Of putting out my claws.
I think a little tale I've heard  May possibly be true,
Old Nick it was that made a cat When he'd nothing else to do.
-H. ELRINGTON, in "The Observer."

A HYMN OF HONEY.
Bees, I am
Indeed your debtor; Good is jam,
But honey's better; Honeyless
What's breakfast ?- Crude stuff; Tea? - A mess
Of merely food-stuff.
"Comb" or " run "
Or dark or yellow, Honey's one
With all things mellow; Of the hill
Or of the valley, Honey still
Flows musically.
Melody
Goes to its making, Buzz of bee
Great trees awaking; Gardens old
Or hills of heather, And the gold
Of golden weather.
Flowers from June
To ripe September Join the tune
And say, " Remember, We are sweet,
Our hours are sunny, We repeat
Ourselves in honey."
Extract: P. P. CHALMERS, in Punch."

THE DRAGON-FLY.
To-day I saw a dragon-fly Come from the wells where he did lie.
An inner impulse rent the veil Of his old husk; from head to tail Came out 
clear plates of sapphire mail.
He dried his wings; like gauze they grew. Through crofts and pastures wet 
with dew A living flash of light he flew.
-TENNYSON.

PERCIVAL'S BIRTHDAY.
When Percival's birthday comes each year
The whole of the town's excited; The children skip and chatter and cheer
As they see the bonfires lighted.
Little and big, they sit up late,
It's such a very important date!
It's not on account of the boy's renown That the townsfolk all remember; 
It only happens that Master Brown
Was born on the 5th November;
Were I his mother, I think that I
Would have called young Percival, briefly, Guy!
While the crackers bang and the rockets whizz,
And the bonfire sparks and blazes, Percival's sure that the honour's his
As he throws back his head and gazes.
And just because he'd the luck, you'll say,
To be born, great fellow, on Guy Fawkes Day! -W. K. H., in "Blackie's 
Children's Annual." (Abridged and slightly altered.)

ALADDIN.

ALADDIN.
When I was a beggarly boy
And lived in a cellar damp,
I had not a friend nor a toy,
But I had Aladdin's lamp.
When I could not sleep for cold,
I had fire enough in my brain,
And builded with roofs of gold,
My beautiful castles in Spain!
Since then I have toiled day and night,
I have money and power good store,
But I'd give all my lamps of silver bright
For the one that is mine no more.
Take, Fortune, whatever you choose;
You gave and may snatch again;
I have nothing Would pain me to lose
For I own no more castles in Spain.
-JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.




