Chapter 10 THE PALACE GARDEN

The Garden Year

January brings the snow,

Makes our feet and fingers glow.

February brings the rain,

Thaws the frozen lake again.

March brings breezes, loud and shrill,

To stir the dancing daffodil.

April brings the primrose sweet,

Scatters daisies at our feet.

May brings flocks of pretty lambs,

Skipping by their fleecy dams.

June brings tulips, lilies, roses,

Fills the children's hands with posies.

Hot July brings cooling showers,

Apricots, and gillyflowers.

August brings the sheaves of corn,

Then the harvest home is borne.

Warm September brings the fruit;

Sportsmen then begin to shoot.

Fresh October brings the pheasant;

Then to gather nuts is pleasant.

Dull November brings the blast;

Then the leaves are whirling fast.

Chill December brings the sleet,

Blazing fire, and Christmas treat.

Unknown.

The Child and the World

I see a nest in a green elm-tree

With little brown sparrows,-one, two, three!

The elm-tree stretches its branches wide,

And the nest is soft and warm inside.

At morn the sun, so golden bright,

Climbs up to fill the world with light;

It opens the flowers, it wakens me,

And wakens the birdies,-one, two, three.

And leaning out of my window high,

I look far up at the blue, blue sky,

And then far out at the earth so green,

And think it the loveliest ever seen,-

The loveliest world that ever was seen!

But by and by, when the sun is low,

And birds and babies sleepy grow,

I peep again from my window high,

And look at the earth and clouds and sky.

The night dew falls in silent showers,

To cool the hearts of thirsty flowers;

The moon comes out,-the slender thing,

A crescent yet, but soon a ring,-

And brings with her one yellow star;

How small it looks, away so far!

But soon, in the heaven's shining blue,

A thousand twinkle and blink at you,

Like a thousand lamps in the sky so blue.

And hush! a light breeze stirs the tree,

And rocks the birdies,-one, two, three.

What a beautiful cradle, that soft, warm nest!

What a dear little coverlid, mother-bird's breast!

She's hugging them close to her, tight, so tight

That each downy head is hid from sight;

But out from under her sheltering wings

Their bright eyes glisten, the darling things!

I lean far out from my window's height

And say, "Dear, lovely world, good-night!

Good-night, dear, pretty, baby moon!

Your cradle you'll outgrow quite soon,

And then, perhaps, all night you'll shine,

A grown-up lady moon, so fine

And bright that all the stars

Will want to light their lamps from yours.

Sleep sweetly, birdies, never fear,

For God is always watching near!

And you, dear, friendly world above,

The same One holds us in His love;

Both you so great, and I so small,

Are safe,-He sees the sparrows fall,

The dear God watcheth over all!"

Kate Douglas Wiggin.

The Gravel Path

Baby mustn't frown,

When she tumbles down;

If the wind should change-Ah me,

What a face her face would be!

Rub away the dirt,

Say she wasn't hurt;

What a world 'twould be-O my,

If all who fell began to cry!

Laurence Alma Tadema.

A Dewdrop

Little drop of dew,

Like a gem you are;

I believe that you

Must have been a star.

When the day is bright,

On the grass you lie;

Tell me then, at night

Are you in the sky?

Frank Dempster Sherman.

Who Has Seen the Wind?

Who has seen the wind?

Neither I nor you:

But when the leaves hang trembling,

The wind is passing through.

Who has seen the wind?

Neither you nor I:

But when the trees bow down their heads,

The wind is passing by.

Christina G. Rossetti

The Wind's Song

O winds that blow across the sea,

What is the story that you bring?

Leaves clap their hands on every tree

And birds about their branches sing.

You sing to flowers and trees and birds

Your sea-songs over all the land.

Could you not stay and whisper words

A little child might understand?

The roses nod to hear you sing;

But though I listen all the day,

You never tell me anything

Of father's ship so far away.

Its masts are taller than the trees;

Its sails are silver in the sun;

There's not a ship upon the seas

So beautiful as father's one.

With wings spread out it flies so fast

It leaves the waves all white with foam.

Just whisper to me, blowing past,

If you have seen it sailing home.

I feel your breath upon my cheek,

And in my hair, and on my brow.

Dear winds, if you could only speak,

I know what you would tell me now.

My father's coming home, you'd say,

With precious presents, one, two, three;

A shawl for mother, beads for May,

And eggs and shells for Rob and me.

The winds sing songs where'er they roam;

The leaves all clap their little hands;

For father's ship is coming home

With wondrous things from foreign lands.

Gabriel Setoun.

Who Likes the Rain?

"I," said the duck. "I call it fun,

For I have my pretty red rubbers on;

They make a little three-toed track,

In the soft, cool mud,-quack! quack!"

"I!" cried the dandelion, "I!

My roots are thirsty, my buds are dry."

And she lifted a towsled yellow head

Out of her green and grassy bed.

"I hope 'twill pour! I hope 'twill pour!"

Purred the tree-toad at his gray bark door,

"For, with a broad leaf for a roof,

I am perfectly weather-proof."

Sang the brook: "I laugh at every drop,

And wish they never need to stop

Till a big, big river I grew to be,

And could find my way to the sea."

"I," shouted Ted, "for I can run,

With my high-top boots and rain-coat on,

Through every puddle and runlet and pool

I find on the road to school."

Clara Doty Bates.

Rain[3]

The rain is raining all around,

It falls on field and tree,

It rains on the umbrellas here,

And on the ships at sea.

Robert Louis Stevenson.

[3] From "Poems and Ballads," copyright, 1895, 1896, by· Chas. Scribner's Sons.

Rain in Spring

So soft and gentle falls the rain,

You cannot hear it on the pane;

For if it came in pelting showers,

'Twould hurt the budding leaves and flowers.

Gabriel Setoun.

Sun and Rain

If all were rain and never sun,

No bow could span the hill;

If all were sun and never rain,

There'd be no rainbow still.

Christina G. Rossetti.

Bees

Bees don't care about the snow;

I can tell you why that's so:

Once I caught a little bee

Who was much too warm for me.

Frank Dempster Sherman.

Annie's Garden

In little Annie's garden

Grew all sorts of posies;

There were pinks, and mignonette,

And tulips, and roses.

Sweet peas, and morning glories,

A bed of violets blue,

And marigolds, and asters,

In Annie's garden grew.

There the bees went for honey,

And the humming-birds too;

And there the pretty butterflies

And the lady-birds flew.

And there among her flowers,

Every bright and pleasant day,

In her own pretty garden

Little Annie went to play.

Eliza Lee Follen.

The Daisy

I'm a pretty little thing,

Always coming with the spring;

In the meadows green I'm found,

Peeping just above the ground;

And my stalk is covered flat

With a white and yellow hat.

Little lady, when you pass

Lightly o'er the tender grass,

Skip about, but do not tread

On my meek and lowly head;

For I always seem to say,

Surely winter's gone away.

Unknown.

Pussy Willow

Pussy Willow wakened

From her Winter nap,

For the frolic Spring Breeze

On her door would tap.

"It is chilly weather

Though the sun feels good;

I will wrap up warmly;

Wear my furry hood."

Mistress Pussy Willow

Opened wide her door;

Never had the sunshine

Seemed so bright before.

Never had the brooklet

Seemed so full of cheer;

"Good morning, Pussy Willow,

Welcome to you, dear!"

Never guest was quainter:-

Pussy came to town

In a hood of silver gray

And a coat of brown.

Happy little children

Cried with laugh and shout,

"Spring is coming, coming,

Pussy Willow's out."

Kate L. Brown.

Spring Questions

How do the pussy-willows grow?

How do the meadow violets blow?

How do the brooklet's waters flow?

Gold-Locks wants to know.

Long and gray,

The willows sway,

And the catkins come the first spring day.

Plenty of them

On every stem,

All dressed in fur,

As if they were

Prepared to keep the cold away.

The violets, too,

In bonnets blue,

And little crooked necks askew,

Stand, sweet and small,

Where the grass is tall,

Content to spy

But a bit of sky,

Nor ever to know the world at all.

The waters run

In shade and sun,

And laugh because the winter's done.

Now swift, now slow,

The pace they go,

Shining between

Their banks of green,

Whither, they neither care nor know.

Clara Doty Bates.

Snowdrops

Great King Sun is out in the cold,

His babies are sleeping, he misses the fun;

So he knocks at their door with fingers of gold:

"Time to get up," says Great King Sun.

Though the garden beds are sprinkled with snow,

It's time to get up in the earth below.

Who wakes first? A pale little maid,

All in her nightgown opens the door,

Peering round as if half afraid

Before she steps out on the wintry floor.

All in their nightgowns, snowdrops stand,

White little waifs in a lonely land.

Great King Sun with a smile looks down,-

"Where are your sisters? I want them, too!"

Each baby is hurrying into her gown,

Purple and saffron, orange and blue,

Great King Sun gives a louder call,-

"Good morning, Papa!" cry the babies all.

W. Graham Robertson.

A Mystery

Flowers from clods of clay and mud!

Flowers so bright, and grass so green!

Tell me, blade, and leaf, and bud,

How it is you're all so clean.

If my fingers touch these sods,

See, they're streaked with sticky earth;

Yet you spring from clayey clods,

Pure, and fresh, and fair from birth.

Do you wash yourselves at night,

In a bath of diamond dew,

That you look so fresh and bright

When the morning dawns on you?

God, perhaps, sends summer showers,

When the grass grows grey for rain,

To wash the faces of His flowers,

And bid His fields be green again.

Tell me, blade, and leaf, and bud;

Flowers so fair, and grass so green,

Growing out of clay and mud,

How it is you're all so clean.

Gabriel Setoun.

Meadow Talk

"Don't pick all the flowers!" cried Daisy one day

To a rosy-cheeked boy who was passing her way;

"If you take every one, you will very soon see

That when next summer comes, not a bud will there be!"

"Quite true!" said the Clover,

"And over and over

I've sung that same song

To whoe'er came along."

Quoth the Buttercup, "I

Have not been at all shy

In impressing that rule

On each child of the school."

"I've touched the same subject,"

Said Timothy Grass.

"'Leave just a few flowers!'

I beg, as they pass."

Sighed a shy little Fern,

From her home in the shade,

"About pulling up roots,

What a protest I've made!"

"The children are heedless!"

The Gentian declared,

"When my blossom-time comes,

Not a bud will be spared."

"Take courage, sweet neighbor!"

The Violet said;

And raised in entreaty

Her delicate head.

"The children are thoughtless,

I own, in my turn;

But if we all teach them,

They cannot but learn."

"The lesson," said the Alders,

"Is a simple one, indeed,

Where no root is, blooms no flower,

Where no flower is, no seed."

"'Tis very well said!" chirped the Robin,

From the elm tree fluttering down;

"If you'll write on your leaves such a lesson,

I'll distribute them over the town."

"Oh, write it, dear Alders!" the Innocents cried,

Their pretty eyes tearfully blue;

"You are older than we are; you're strong and you're wise-

There's none but would listen to you!"

But, ah! the Alders could not write;

And though the Robin knew

The art as well as any bird-

Or so he said-he flew

Straight up the hill and far away,

Remarking as he went,

He had a business errand

And was not on pleasure bent.

Did the children learn the lesson,

Though 'twas never written down?

We shall know when, gay and blithesome,

Lady Summer comes to town.

Nora Archibald Smith.

Twenty Froggies

Twenty froggies went to school

Down beside a rushy pool.

Twenty little coats of green,

Twenty vests all white and clean.

"We must be in time," said they,

"First we study, then we play;

That is how we keep the rule,

When we froggies go to school."

Master Bull-frog, brave and stern,

Called his classes in their turn,

Taught them how to nobly strive,

Also how to leap and dive;

Taught them how to dodge a blow,

From the sticks that bad boys throw.

Twenty froggies grew up fast,

Bull-frogs they became at last;

Polished in a high degree,

As each froggie ought to be,

Now they sit on other logs,

Teaching other little frogs.

George Cooper.

The Snail

The Snail he lives in his hard round house,

In the orchard, under the tree:

Says he, "I have but a single room;

But it's large enough for me."

The Snail in his little house doth dwell

All the week from end to end,

You're at home, Master Snail; that's all very well,

But you never receive a friend.

Unknown.

The Worm

No, little worm, you need not slip

Into your hole, with such a skip;

Drawing the gravel as you glide

On to your smooth and slimy side.

I'm not a crow, poor worm, not I,

Peeping about your holes to spy,

And fly away with you in air,

To give my young ones each a share.

No, and I'm not a rolling-stone,

Creaking along with hollow groan;

Nor am I of the naughty crew,

Who don't care what poor worms go through,

But trample on them as they lie,

Rather than pass them gently by;

Or keep them dangling on a hook,

Choked in a dismal pond or brook,

Till some poor fish comes swimming past,

And finishes their pain at last.

For my part, I could never bear

Your tender flesh to hack and tear,

Forgetting that poor worms endure

As much as I should, to be sure,

If any giant should come and jump

On to my back, and kill me plump,

Or run my heart through with a scythe,

And think it fun to see me writhe!

O no, I'm only looking about,

To see you wriggle in and out,

And drawing together your slimy rings,

Instead of feet, like other things:

So, little worm, don't slide and slip

Into your hole, with such a skip.

Ann Taylor.

The City Mouse and the Garden Mouse

The city mouse lives in a house;-

The garden mouse lives in a bower,

He's friendly with the frogs and toads,

And sees the pretty plants in flower.

The city mouse eats bread and cheese;-

The garden mouse eats what he can;

We will not grudge him seeds and stocks,

Poor little timid furry man.

Christina G. Rossetti.

The Robin to His Mate

Said Robin to his pretty mate,

"Bring here a little hay;

Lay here a stick and there a straw,

And bring a little clay.

"And we will build a little nest,

Wherein you soon shall lay

Your little eggs, so smooth, so blue;

Come, let us work away.

"And you shall keep them very warm;

And only think, my dear,

'Twill not be long before we see

Four little robins here.

"They'll open wide their yellow mouths,

And we will feed them well;

For we shall love the little dears,

Oh, more than I can tell!

"And while the sun is shining warm

Up in the summer sky,

I'll sit and sing to them and you,

Up in the branches high.

"And all night long, my love, you'll sit

Upon the pretty nest,

And keep the little robins warm

Beneath your downy breast."

Mrs. Carter.

The Brown Thrush

There's a merry brown thrush sitting up in the tree.

He's singing to me! He's singing to me!

And what does he say, little girl, little boy?

"Oh, the world's running over with joy!

Don't you hear? Don't you see?

Hush! Look! In my tree,

I'm as happy as happy can be!"

And the brown thrush keeps singing, "A nest do you see

And five eggs, hid by me in the juniper tree?

Don't meddle! Don't touch! little girl, little boy,

Or the world will lose some of its joy!

Now I'm glad! now I'm free!

And I always shall be,

If you never bring sorrow to me."

So the merry brown thrush sings away in the tree,

To you and to me, to you and to me;

And he sings all the day, little girl, little boy,

"Oh, the world's running over with joy!

But long it won't be,

Don't you know? Don't you see?

Unless we're as good as can be."

Lucy Larcom.

The Little Doves

High on the top of an old pine-tree,

Broods a mother dove with her young ones three;

Warm over them is her soft downy breast,

And they sing so sweetly in their nest:

"Coo," say the little ones, "Coo," says she,

All in their nest in the old pine-tree.

Soundly they sleep through the moonshiny night,

Each young one covered and tucked in tight;

Morn wakes them up with the first blush of light,

And they sing to each other with all their might:

"Coo," say the little ones, "Coo," says she,

All in their nest in the old pine-tree.

When in the nest they are all left alone,

While their mother dear for their food has flown,

Quiet and gentle they all remain,

Till their mother they see come home again:

Then "Coo," say the little ones, "Coo," says she,

All in their nest in the old pine-tree.

When they are fed by their tender mother,

One never will push nor crowd another:

Each opens widely his own little bill,

And he patiently waits, and gets his fill:

Then "Coo," say the little ones, "Coo," says she,

All in their nest in the old pine-tree.

Wisely the mother begins, by and by,

To make her young ones learn to fly;

Just for a little way over the brink,

Then back to the nest as quick as a wink:

And "Coo," say the little ones, "Coo," says she,

All in their nest in the old pine-tree.

Fast grow the young ones, day and night,

Till their wings are plumed for a longer flight;

Till unto them at the last draws nigh

The time when they all must say good-by:

Then "Coo," say the little ones, "Coo," says she,

And away they fly from the old pine-tree.

Unknown.

The Other Side of the Sky

A pool in a garden green,

And the sky hung over all;

Down to the water we lean-

What if I let you fall?

A little splash and a cry,

A little gap in the blue,

And you'd fall right into the sky-

Into the sky-and through.

What do you think they'd think?

How do you think they'd greet

A little wet baby in pink

Tumbling down at their feet?

I wonder if they'd be shy,

Those folk of the Far Away:

On the other side of the Sky,

Do you think you'd be asked to stay?

I think they would say-"No, no"

(Peeping down through a crack),

"For they seem to want her below,

And so we must send her back."

W. Graham Robertson.

The Happy World

The bee is a rover;

The brown bee is gay;

To feed on the clover,

He passes this way.

Brown bee, humming over,

What is it you say?

"The world is so happy-so happy to-day!"

The martens have nested

All under the eaves;

The field-mice have jested

And played in the sheaves;

We have played, too, and rested,

And none of us grieves,

All over the wide world, who is it that grieves?

William Brighty Rands.

Come, Little Leaves

"Come, little leaves," said the wind one day.

"Come over the meadows with me and play;

Put on your dresses of red and gold,

For summer is gone and the days grow cold."

Soon as the leaves heard the wind's loud call,

Down they came fluttering, one and all;

Over the brown fields they danced and flew,

Singing the sweet little song they knew.

"Cricket, good-by, we've been friends so long,

Little brook, sing us your farewell song;

Say you are sorry to see us go;

All, you will miss us, right well we know.

"Dear little lambs in your fleecy fold,

Mother will keep you from harm and cold;

Fondly we watched you in vale and glade,

Say, will you dream of our loving shade?"

Dancing and whirling, the little leaves went,

Winter had called them, and they were content;

Soon, fast asleep in their earthy beds,

The snow laid a coverlid over their heads.

George Cooper.

Little Jack Frost

Little Jack Frost went up the hill,

Watching the stars and the moon so still,

Watching the stars and the moon so bright,

And laughing aloud with all his might.

Little Jack Frost ran down the hill,

Late in the night when the winds were still,

Late in the fall when the leaves fell down,

Red and yellow and faded brown.

Little Jack Frost walked through the trees,

"Ah," sighed the flowers, "we freeze, we freeze."

"Ah," sighed the grasses, "we die, we die."

Said Little Jack Frost, "Good-by, Good-by."

Little Jack Frost tripped 'round and 'round,

Spreading white snow on the frozen ground,

Nipping the breezes, icing the streams,

Chilling the warmth of the sun's bright beams.

But when Dame Nature brought back the spring,

Brought back the birds to chirp and sing,

Melted the snow and warmed the sky,

Little Jack Frost went pouting by.

The flowers opened their eyes of blue,

Green buds peeped out and grasses grew;

It was so warm and scorched him so,

Little Jack Frost was glad to go.

Unknown.

The Snow-Bird's Song.

The ground was all covered with snow one day,

And two little sisters were busy at play,

When a snow-bird was sitting close by on a tree,

And merrily singing his chick-a-de-dee,

Chick-a-de-dee, chick-a-de-dee,

And merrily singing his chick-a-de-dee.

He had not been singing that tune very long

Ere Emily heard him, so loud was his song;

"Oh, sister, look out of the window," said she;

"Here's a dear little bird singing chick-a-de-dee,

Chick-a-de-dee, etc.

"Oh, mother, do get him some stockings and shoes,

And a nice little frock, and a hat, if he choose;

I wish he'd come into the parlor and see

How warm we would make him, poor chick-a-de-dee,

Chick-a-de-dee," etc.

"There is One, my dear child, though I cannot tell who,

Has clothed me already, and warm enough too.

Good-morning! Oh, who are as happy as we?"

And away he went singing his chick-a-de-dee.

Chick-a-de-dee, etc.

F. C. Woodworth.

Snow

O come to the garden, dear brother, and see,

What mischief was done in the night;

The snow has quite covered the nice apple-tree,

And the bushes are sprinkled with white.

The spring in the grove is beginning to freeze,

The pond is hard frozen all o'er;

Long icicles hang in bright rows from the trees,

And drop in odd shapes from the door.

The old mossy thatch, and the meadows so green,

Are covered all over with white;

The snowdrop and crocus no more can be seen,

The thick snow has covered them quite.

And see the poor birds how they fly to and fro,

They're come for their breakfast again;

But the little worms all are hid under the snow,

They hop about chirping in vain.

Then open the window, I'll throw them some bread,

I've some of my breakfast to spare:

I wish they would come to my hand to be fed,

But they're all flown away, I declare.

Nay, now, pretty birds, don't be frightened, I pray,

You shall not be hurt, I'll engage;

I'm not come to catch you and force you away,

And fasten you up in a cage.

I wish you could know you've no cause for alarm,

From me you have nothing to fear;

Why, my little fingers could do you no harm,

Although you came ever so near.

Jane Taylor.

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