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, 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.

From dawn to dark the old mill-wheel 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; And even the kettle hums a tune To tell you when it's time for tea.

The world is such a happy place That children, whether big or small, Should always have a smiling face And never, never sulk at all.

Gabriel Setoun.

_The Little Land_[A]

When at home alone I sit And am very tired of it, I have just to shut my eyes To go sailing through the skies-- To go sailing far away To the pleasant Land of Play; To the fairy land afar Where the Little People are; Where the clover-tops are trees, And the rain-pools are the seas, And the leaves like little ships Sail about on tiny trips; And above the daisy tree Through the gra.s.ses, High o'erhead the b.u.mble Bee Hums and pa.s.ses.

In that forest to and fro I can wander, I can go; See the spider and the fly, And the ants go marching by Carrying parcels with their feet Down the green and gra.s.sy street.

I can in the sorrel sit Where the ladybird alit.

I can climb the jointed gra.s.s; And on high See the greater swallows pa.s.s In the sky, And the round sun rolling by Heeding no such thing as I.

Through the forest I can pa.s.s Till, as in a looking-gla.s.s, Humming fly and daisy tree And my tiny self I see, Painted very clear and neat On the rain-pool at my feet.

Should a leaflet come to land Drifting near to where I stand, Straight I'll board that tiny boat Round the rain-pool sea to float.

Little thoughtful creatures sit On the gra.s.sy coasts of it; Little things with lovely eyes See me sailing with surprise.

Some are clad in armour green-- (These have sure to battle been!) Some are pied with ev'ry hue, Black and crimson, gold and blue; Some have wings and swift are gone:-- But they all look kindly on.

When my eyes I once again Open and see all things plain; High bare walls, great bare floor; Great big k.n.o.bs on drawer and door; Great big people perched on chairs, St.i.tching tucks and mending tears, Each a hill that I could climb, And talking nonsense all the time-- O dear me, That I could be A sailor on the rain-pool sea, A climber in the clover-tree, And just come back, a sleepy-head, Late at night to go to bed.

Robert Louis Stevenson.

FOOTNOTE:

[A] _From "A Child's Garden of Verses." By permission of Charles Scribner's Sons._

_In a Garden_

Baby, see the flowers!

Baby sees Fairer things than these, Fairer though they be than dreams of ours.

Baby, hear the birds!

Baby knows Better songs than those, Sweeter though they sound than sweetest words.

Baby, see the moon!

Baby's eyes Laugh to watch it rise, Answering light with love and night with noon.

Baby, hear the sea!

Baby's face Takes a graver grace, Touched with wonder what the sound may be.

Baby, see the star!

Baby's hand Opens, warm and bland, Calm in claim of all things fair that are.

Baby, hear the bells!

Baby's head Bows as ripe for bed, Now the flowers curl round and close their cells.

Baby, flower of light, Sleep and see Brighter dreams than we, Till good day shall smile away good night.

Algernon Charles Swinburne

_Little Gustava_

I

Little Gustava sits in the sun, Safe in the porch, and the little drops run From the icicles under the eaves so fast, For the bright spring sun shines warm at last, And glad is little Gustava.

II

She wears a quaint little scarlet cap, And a little green bowl she holds in her lap, Filled with bread and milk to the brim, And a wreath of marigolds round the rim.

"Ha! ha!" laughs little Gustava.

III

Up comes her little gray coaxing cat With her little pink nose, and she mews, "What's that?"

Gustava feeds her,--she begs for more; And a little brown hen walks in at the door "Good day!" cries little Gustava.

IV