“ Pretty violets!
White, with just a pinky dye,
Blue as little baby's eye,—
So like violets.
Though the rough wind shakes the house,
Knocks about the budding boughs,
There are violets.
Though the passing snow-storms come,
And the frozen birds sit dumb,
Up spring violets.
One by one among the grass,
Saying "Pluck me!" as we pass,—
Scented violets.
By and by there'll be so many,
We'll pluck dozens nor miss any:
Sweet, sweet violets!
Children, when you go to play,
Look beneath the hedge to-day:—
Mamma likes violets. ”

“ Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be;
Rest, little young one, rest; what is't that aileth thee?
"What is it thou would'st seek? What is wanting to thy heart?
Thy limbs, are they not strong? and beautiful thou art.
This grass is tender grass, these flowers they have no peers,
And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears.
"If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy woollen chain,—
This beech is standing by,—its covert thou canst gain.
For rain and mountain storms, the like thou need'st not fear;
The rain and storm are things that scarcely can come here. ”

“ Wild Geese
The wild wind blows, the sun shines, the birds sing loud,
The blue, blue sky is flecked with fleecy dappled cloud,
Over earth's rejoicing fields the children dance and sing,
And the frogs pipe in chorus, "It is spring! It is spring!"
The grass comes, the flower laughs where lately lay the snow,
O'er the breezy hill-top hoarsely calls the crow,
By the flowing river the alder catkins swing,
And the sweet song-sparrow cries, "Spring! It is spring!" ”

“ Makes music, going round and round;
And dusty-white with flour and meal,
The miller whistles to its sound.
The brook that flows beside the mill,
As happy as a brook can be,
Goes singing its old song until
It learns the singing of the sea.
For every wave upon the sands
Sings songs you never tire to hear,
Of laden ships from sunny lands
Where it is summer all the year.
And if you listen to the rain
Where leaves and birds and bees are dumb,
You hear it pattering on the pane
Like Andrew beating on his drum.
The coals beneath the kettle croon,
And clap their hands and dance in glee ”

“ Your udders are full, and the milkmaid is there,
And the children are waiting their supper to share.
I have let the long bars down,—why don't you pass through?"
The mooly cow only said, "Moo-o-o!"
"Mooly cow, mooly cow, have you not been
Regaling all day where the pastures are green?
No doubt it was pleasant, dear mooly, to see
The clear running brook and the wide-spreading tree,
The clover to crop and the streamlet to wade,
To drink the cool water and lie in the shade;
But now it is night: they are waiting for you." ”

“ Upon the mountain-tops no kinder could have been.
"Thou know'st that twice a day I have brought thee in this can
Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran;
And twice in the day, when the ground was wet with dew,
I bring thee draughts of milk,—warm milk it is, and new.
"Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they are now;
Then I'll yoke thee to my cart, like a pony to the plough,
My playmate thou shalt be, and when the wind is cold,
Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be thy fold. ”

“ Above the trees, the honey-bees swarm by with buzz and boom,
[208] And in the field and garden a thousand blossoms bloom.
Within the farmer's meadow a brown-eyed daisy blows,
And down at the edge of the hollow a red and thorny rose.
But Polly!—Polly!—The cows are in the corn!
Oh, where's Polly?
How strange at such a time of day the mill should stop its clatter!
The farmer's wife is listening now, and wonders what's the matter.
Oh, wild the birds are singing in the wood and on the hill,
While whistling up the hollow goes the boy that minds the mill. ”

“ Where the merry leaves dance in the summer air!"
And the birds below give back the cry,
"We come, we come to the branches high!"
How pleasant the life of the birds must be,
Living above in a leafy tree!
And away through the air what joy to go,
[66] And to look on the green, bright earth below!
How pleasant the life of a bird must be,
Skimming about on the breezy sea,
Cresting the billows like silvery foam,
Then wheeling away to its cliff-built home! ”

“ The world's a very happy place,
Where every child should dance and sing,
And always have a smiling face,
And never sulk for anything.
I waken when the morning's come,
And feel the air and light alive
With strange sweet music like the hum
Of bees about their busy hive.
The linnets play among the leaves
At hide-and-seek, and chirp and sing;
While, flashing to and from the eaves,
[147] The swallows twitter on the wing.
And twigs that shake, and boughs that sway;
And tall old trees you could not climb;
And winds that come, but cannot stay,
Are singing gayly all the time. ”

“ Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown,
As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town.
From sunny beaches far away—
Yes, in another land—
He gathers up at break of day
His store of shining sand.
No tempests beat that shore remote,
No ships may sail that way;
His little boat alone may float
Within that lovely bay.
Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown,
As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town.
He smiles to see the eyelids close
Above the happy eyes;
And every child right well he knows,—
Oh, he is very wise! ”

“ But seven feet deep the snow-wreaths sleep,
And the year hath not worn to March.
John Addington Symonds.
[6]
March
The cock is crowing,
The stream is flowing,
The small birds twitter,
The lake doth glitter,
The green field sleeps in the sun;
The oldest and youngest
Are at work with the strongest;
The cattle are grazing,
Their heads never raising;
There are forty feeding like one.
Like an army defeated
The snow hath retreated,
And now doth fare ill
On the top of the bare hill;
The ploughboy is whooping—anon—anon!
There's joy on the mountains;
There's life in the fountains ”

“ Thrives the red rose crop,
Every day fresh blossoms blow
While the first leaves drop;
White rose and yellow rose
And moss rose choice to find,
And the cottage cabbage-rose
Not one whit behind.
On the blast of scorched July
[22] Drives the pelting hail,
From thunderous lightning-clouds, that blot
Blue heaven grown lurid-pale.
Weedy waves are tossed ashore,
Sea-things strange to sight
Gasp upon the barren shore
And fade away in light.
In the parching August wind
Corn-fields bow the head,
Sheltered in round valley depths,
On low hills outspread. ”

“ Sleep, oh sleep!
[225] Down on the mother-world sleep!
Rockaby, lullaby, dew on the clover!
Dew on the eyes that will sparkle at dawn!
Rockaby, lullaby, dear little rover!
Into the stilly world!
Into the lily world,
Gone! oh gone!
Into the lily world, gone!
Josiah Gilbert Holland.
Sleep, My Treasure
Sleep, sleep, my treasure,
The long day's pleasure
Has tired the birds, to their nests they creep;
The garden still is
Alight with lilies,
But all the daisies are fast asleep.
Sleep, sleep, my darling,
Dawn wakes the starling,
The sparrow stirs when he sees day break ”

“ Each little bird that sings,
He made their glowing colours,
He made their tiny wings.
The rich man in his castle,
The poor man at his gate,
God made them, high or lowly,
And order'd their estate.
The purple-headed mountain,
The river running by,
The sunset and the morning,
That brightens up the sky;—
The cold wind in the winter,
[238] The pleasant summer sun,
The ripe fruits in the garden,—
He made them every one;
The tall trees in the greenwood,
The meadows where we play,
The rushes by the water
We gather every day ”

“ Said the Tree, while his leaflets quivering hung.
The Tree bore his fruit in the mid-summer glow:
Said the girl, "May I gather thy berries now?"
"Yes, all thou canst see:
Take them; all are for thee,"
Said the Tree, while he bent down his laden boughs low.
Björnstjerne Björnson.
The Daisy's Song
(A Fragment)
The sun, with his great eye,
Sees not so much as I;
And the moon, all silver-proud
[104] Might as well be in a cloud.
And O the spring—the spring!
I lead the life of a king!
Couch'd in the teeming grass,
I spy each pretty lass. ”

“ She ran to a brook that was flowing by,
She made of her two hands a nice round cup,
And washed the roots of the rose-tree high,
Till it lifted its languid blossoms up.
"O happy brook!" thought little Christel,
"You have done some good this summer's day,
You have made the flowers look fresh and well!"
Then she rose and went on her way.
. . . . . . . .
William Brighty Rands.
A Child's Prayer
God make my life a little light,
Within the world to glow—
A tiny flame that burneth bright,
Wherever I may go. ”

“ On Christmas day, on Christmas day;
And all the souls on earth shall sing
On Christmas day in the morning.
Old Carol.
Santa Claus
He comes in the night! He comes in the night!
He softly, silently comes;
While the little brown heads on the pillows so white
[270] Are dreaming of bugles and drums.
He cuts through the snow like a ship through the foam,
While the white flakes around him whirl;
Who tells him I know not, but he findeth the home
Of each good little boy and girl.
His sleigh it is long, and deep, and wide ”

“ Hunting Song
Up, up! ye dames and lasses gay!
To the meadows trip away.
'Tis you must tend the flocks this morn,
And scare the small birds from the corn,
Not a soul at home may stay:
For the shepherds must go
With lance and bow
To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day.
Leave the hearth and leave the house
To the cricket and the mouse:
Find grannam out a sunny seat,
With babe and lambkin at her feet.
Not a soul at home may stay:
For the shepherds must go
With lance and bow
To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
Hie Away
Hie away, hie away! ”

“ Their buds against the snow.
So, silently but swift,
Above the wintry drift,
The long days gain and gain,
Until on hill and plain,—
Once more, and yet once more,
Returning as before,
We see the bloom of birth
Make young again the earth.
Nora Perry.
[13]
May
May shall make the world anew;
Golden sun and silver dew,
Money minted in the sky,
Shall the earth's new garments buy.
May shall make the orchards bloom;
And the blossoms' fine perfume
Shall set all the honey-bees
Murmuring among the trees. ”

“ Pretty joy!
Sweet joy but two days old!
Sweet joy I call thee.
Thou dost smile,
I sing the while.
Sweet joy befall thee!
William Blake
A Blessing for the Blessed
When the sun has left the hill-top
And the daisy fringe is furled,
When the birds from wood and meadow
[130] In their hidden nests are curled,
Then I think of all the babies
That are sleeping in the world.
There are babies in the high lands
And babies in the low,
There are pale ones wrapped in furry skins
On the margin of the snow,
And brown ones naked in the isles
Where all the spices grow. ”

“ It calls but the warders that guard thy repose;
Their bows would be bended, their blades would be red,
Ere the step of a foeman draws near to thy bed.
Oh, hush thee, my babie, the time will soon come,
When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and drum;
Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while you may,
For strife comes with manhood, and waking with day. ”

“ And birds would house among the boughs,
And sweetly sing.
Oh—no! I wish I were a Robin,—
[128] A Robin, or a little Wren, everywhere to go,
Through forest, field, or garden,
And ask no leave or pardon,
Till winter comes with icy thumbs
To ruffle up our wing!
Well,—tell! where should I fly to,
Where go sleep in the dark wood or dell?
Before the day was over,
Home must come the rover,
For mother's kiss,—sweeter this
Than any other thing. ”

“ You shiver in the misty grass
[116] And bleat at all the winds that pass;
Wait! when I'm big—some day—
I'll build a roof to every fold.
But now that I am small I'll pray
At mother's knee for you;
Perhaps the angels with their wings;
Will come and warm you, little things;
I'm sure that, if God knew,
He'd let the lambs be born in May.
Laurence Alma Tadema.
The Pet Lamb
The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink;
I heard a voice; it said, "Drink, pretty creature, drink!"
And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied
A snow-white mountain-lamb, with a maiden at its side. ”

“ Drift the flying snow!
Send it twirling, whirling overhead!
There's a bedroom in a tree
Where, snug as snug can be,
The squirrel nests in his cosey bed.
Shriek, wind, shriek!
Make the branches creak!
Battle with the boughs till break o' day!
In a snow-cave warm and tight,
Through the icy winter night
The rabbit sleeps the peaceful hours away.
Call, wind, call,
In entry and in hall,
Straight from off the mountain white and wild!
Soft purrs the pussy-cat
On her little fluffy mat,
And beside her nestles close her furry child. ”

“ They use to stuff their feather beds;
And yellow snapdragons supply
The nightcaps that the Fairies buy,
To which some blades of grass they pin,
And tie them 'neath each little chin.
Then, shopping done, the Fairies cry,
[206] "Our Summer's gone! oh sweet, good-bye!"
And sadly to their caves they go,
To hide away from Winter's snow—
And then, though winds and storms may beat,
The Fairies' sleep is warm and sweet! ”