SEEIN' THINGS

I ain't afeard uv snakes, or toads, or bugs, or worms, or mice, An' things 'at girls are skeered uv I think are awful nice!

I'm pretty brave, I guess; an' yet I hate to go to bed, For, when I'm tucked up warm an' snug an' when my prayers are said, Mother tells me "Happy Dreams!" an' takes away the light, An' leaves me lyin' all alone an' seein' things at night!

Sometimes they're in the corner, sometimes they're by the door, Sometimes they're all a-standin' in the middle uv the floor; Sometimes they are a-sittin' down, sometimes they're walkin' round So softly and so creepylike they never make a sound!

Sometimes they are as black as ink, an' other times they're white-- But the color ain't no difference when you see things at night!

Once, when I licked a feller 'at had just moved on our street, An' father sent me up to bed without a bite to eat, I woke up in the dark an' saw things standin' in a row, A-lookin' at me cross-eyed an' p'intin' at me--so!

Oh, my! I wuz so skeered that time I never slep' a mite-- It's almost alluz when I'm bad I see things at night!

Lucky thing I ain't a girl, or I'd be skeered to death!

Bein' I'm a boy, I duck my head an' hold my breath; An' I am, oh, so sorry I'm a naughty boy, an' then I promise to be better an' I say my prayers again!

Gran'ma tells me that's the only way to make it right When a feller has been wicked an' sees things at night!

An' so, when other naughty boys would coax me into sin, I try to skwush the Tempter's voice 'at urges me within; An' when they's pie for supper, or cakes 'at's big an' nice, I want to--but I do not pa.s.s my plate f'r them things twice!

No, ruther let Starvation wipe me slowly out o' sight Than I should keep a-livin' on an' seein' things at night!

Eugene Field [1850-1895]

THE DUEL

The gingham dog and the calico cat Side by side on the table sat; 'Twas half past twelve, and (what do you think!) Nor one nor t'other had slept a wink!

The old Dutch clock and the Chinese plate Appeared to know as sure as fate There was going to be a terrible spat.

(I wasn't there: I simply state What was told to me by the Chinese plate!)

The gingham dog went, "Bow-wow-wow!"

And the calico cat replied, "Mee-ow!"

The air was littered, an hour or so, With bits of gingham and calico, While the old Dutch clock in the chimney-place Up with its hands before its face, For it always dreaded a family row!

(Now mind; I'm only telling you What the old Dutch clock declares is true!)

The Chinese plate looked very blue, And wailed, "Oh, dear! what shall we do!"

But the gingham dog and the calico cat Wallowed this way and tumbled that, Employing every tooth and claw In the awfullest way you ever saw-- And, oh! how the gingham and calico flew!

(Don't fancy I exaggerate-- I got my news from the Chinese plate!)

Next morning, where the two had sat They found no trace of dog or cat: And some folks think unto this day That burglars stole that pair away!

But the truth about the cat and pup Is this: they ate each other up!

Now what do you really think of that!

(The old Dutch clock it told me so, And that is how I came to know.)

Eugene Field [1850-1895]

HOLY THURSDAY

'Twas on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean, Came children walking two and two, in red, and blue, and green; Gray-headed beadles walked before, with wands as white as snow, Till into the high dome of Paul's they like Thames waters flow.

Oh what a mult.i.tude they seemed, these flowers of London town!

Seated in companies they sit, with radiance all their own.

The hum of mult.i.tudes was there, but mult.i.tudes of lambs, Thousands of little boys and girls raising their innocent hands.

Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of song, Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of heaven among: Beneath them sit the aged men, wise guardians of the poor.

Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door.

William Blake [1757-1827]

A STORY FOR A CHILD

Little one, come to my knee!

Hark, how the rain is pouring Over the roof, in the pitch-black night, And the wind in the woods a-roaring!

Hush, my darling, and listen, Then pay for the story with kisses; Father was lost in the pitch-black night, In just such a storm as this is!

High up on the lonely mountains, Where the wild men watched and waited; Wolves in the forest, and bears in the bush, And I on my path belated.

The rain and the night together Came down and the wind came after, Bending the props of the pine-tree roof, And snapping many a rafter.

I crept along in the darkness, Stunned, and bruised, and blinded,-- Crept to a fir with thick-set boughs, And a sheltering rock behind it.

There, from the blowing and raining, Crouching, I sought to hide me: Something rustled, two green eyes shone, And a wolf lay down beside me.

Little one, be not frightened; I and the wolf together, Side by side, through the long, long night, Hid from the awful weather.

His wet fur pressed against me; Each of us warmed the other; Each of us felt, in the stormy dark, That beast and man was brother.

And when the falling forest No longer crashed in warning, Each of us went from our hiding-place Forth in the wild, wet morning.

Darling, kiss me payment!

Hark, how the wind is roaring; Father's house is a better place When the stormy rain is pouring!

Bayard Taylor [1825-1878]

THE SPIDER AND THE FLY

"Will you walk into my parlor?" said the Spider to the Fly.

"'Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy; The way into my parlor is up a winding stair, And I have many curious things to show when you are there."

"Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "to ask me is in vain; For who goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again."