A Light Exists in Spring
A Light exists in Spring
Not present on the Year
At any other period —
When March is scarcely here
A Color stands abroad
On Solitary Fields
That Science cannot overtake
But Human Nature feels.
It waits upon the Lawn,
It shows the furthest Tree
Upon the furthest Slope you know
It almost speaks to you.
Then as Horizons step
Or Noons report away
Without the Formula of sound
It passes and we stay —
A quality of loss
Affecting our Content
As Trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a Sacrament.
Edward Lear
Edward Lear (12 May 1812 – 29 January 1888) was an English artist, illustrator, author and poet. He is most well known for his “nonsense” works, which use both real and inverted English words.
In An Alphabet, Lear celebrates the glorious fun of wordplay while introducing children to the sounds of the letters we use each day.
The Owl and the Pussycat is probably Lear’s most famous nonsense work. It tells the story of a sea voyage complete with bong trees, the Piggy-Wig and his ring, the Turkey Vicar and the wedding feast eaten with a runcible spoon.
An Alphabet
A was once an apple pie,
Pidy
Widy
Tidy
Pidy
Nice insidy
Apple Pie!
B was once a little bear,
Beary!
Wary!
Hairy!
Beary!
Taky cary!
Little Bear!
C was once a little cake,
Caky
Baky
Maky
Caky
Taky Caky,
Little Cake!
D was once a little doll,
Dolly
Molly
Polly
Nolly
Nursy Dolly
Little Doll!
E was once a little eel,
Eely,
Weely
Peely
Eely
Twirly, Tweedy
Little Eel!
F was once a little fish,
Fishy
Wishy
Squishy
Fishy
In a Dishy
Little Fish!
G was once a little goose,
Goosy
Moosy
Boosy
Goosey
Waddly-woosy
Little Goose!
H was once a little hen,
Henny
Chenny
Tenny
Henny
Eggsy-any
Little Hen?
I was once a bottle of ink,
Inky
Dinky
Thinky
Inky
Black Minky
Bottle of Ink!
J was once a jar of jam,
Jammy
Mammy
Clammy
Jammy
Sweety-Swammy
Jar of Jam!
K was once a little kite,
Kity
Whity
Flighty
Kity
Out of sighty-
Little Kite!
L was once a little lark,
Larky!
Marky!
Harky!
Larky!
In the Parky,
Little Lark!
M was once a little mouse,
Mousey
Bousey
Sousy
Mousy
In the Housy
Little Mouse!
N was once a little needle,
Needly
Tweedly
Threedly
Needly
Wisky-wheedly
Little Needle!
O was once a little owl,
Owly
Prowly
Howly
Owly
Browny fowly
Little Owl!
P was once a little pump,
Pumpy
Slumpy
Flumpy
Pumpy
Dumpy, Thumpy
Little Pump!
Q was once a little quail,
Quaily
Faily
Daily
Quaily
Stumpy-taily
Little Quail!
R was once a little rose,
Rosy
Posy
Nosy
Rosy
Bows-y - grows-y
Little Rose!
S was once a little shrimp,
Shrimpy
Nimpy
Flimpy
Shrimpy
Jumpy-jimpy
Little Shrimp!
T was once a little thrush,
Thrushy!
Hushy!
Bushy!
Thrushy!
Flitty-Flushy
Little Thrush!
U was once a little urn,
Urny
Burny
Turny
Urny
Bubbly-burny
Little Urn!
V was once a little vine,
Viny
Winy
Twiny
Viny
Twisty-twiny
Little Vine!
W was once a whale,
Whaly
Scaly
Shaly
Whaly
Tumbly-taily
Mighty Whale!
X was once a great king Xerxes,
Xerxy
Perxy
Turxy
Xerxy
Linxy Lurxy
Great King Xerxes!
Y was once a little yew,
Yewdy
Fewdy
Crudy
Yewdy
Growdy, grewdy,
Little Yew!
Z was once a piece of zinc,
Tinky
Winky
Blinky
Tinky
Tinkly Minky
Piece of Zinc!
Charles and Mary Lamb
Mary Ann Lamb (3 December 1764 – 20 May 1847) and her brother, Charles (10 February 1775 – 27 December 1834) were part of London's famous literary network in the early 19th century.
Their poem, The First Tooth explains the interaction between a jealous sister and her mature brother regarding their infant sibling.
The First Tooth
Sister:
Through the house what busy joy,
Just because the infant boy
Has a tiny tooth to show!
I have got a double row,
All as white and all as small;
Yet no one cares for mine at all.
He can say but half a word,
Yet that single sound’s preferred
To all the words that I can say
In the longest summer day.
He cannot walk, yet if he put
With mimic motion out his foot,
As if he thought he were advancing,
It’s prized more than my best dancing.
Brother:
Sister, I know jesting you are,
Yet O! of jealousy beware.
If the smallest seed should be
In your mind of jealousy,
It will spring, and it will shoot,
Till it bear the baneful fruit.
I remember you, my dear,
Young as is this infant here.
There was not a tooth of those
Your pretty, even ivory rows,
But as anxiously was watch’d
Till it burst its shell new hatch’d,
As if it a Phoenix were,
Or some other wonder rare.
So when you began to walk?
??
So when you began to talk—
As now, the same encomiums pass’d.
‘Tis not fitting this should last
Longer than our infant days,
A child is fed with milk and praise.
Robert Louis Stevenson
Robert Louis Balfour Stevenson (13 November 1850 – 3 December 1894) was a Scottish novelist, poet, essayist, and travel writer. He is most famed for his fictional Treasure Island and The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
His children’s poetry published in A Child’s Garden of Verses is thought to express happy memories of his sickly childhood.
Bed in Summer expresses a child’s frustration about having to go to bed while the sun still shines.
The Land of Counterpane expresses Stevenson’s pleasant recollection of his nurse telling stories of the Covenanters while he lay sick in bed.
At The Seaside is a simple poem using rhyme and similes to delight, while we are transported to the imaginary realm where sleepers go In The Land of Nod.
Finally in My Shadow, we are treated to the whimsical imaginings of a boy who personifies and ridicules his shadow.
Bed in Summer
In winter I get up at night
And dress by yellow candle-light.
In summer, quite the other way,
I have to go to bed by day.
I have to go to bed and see
The birds still hopping on the tree,
Or hear the grown-up people's feet
Still going past me in the street.
And does it not seem hard to you,
When all the sky is clear and blue,
And I should like so much to play,
To have to go to bed by day?
The Land of Counterpane
When I was sick and lay a-bed,
I had two pillows at my head,
And all my toys beside me lay,
To keep me happy all the day.
And sometimes for an hour or so
I watched my leaden soldiers go,
With different uniforms and drills,
Among the bed-clothes, through the hills;
And sometimes sent my ships in fleets
All up and down among the sheets;
Or brought my trees and houses out,
And planted cities all about.
I was the giant great and still
That sits upon the pillow-hill,
And sees before him, dale and plain,
The pleasant land of counterpane.
At The Seaside
When I was down beside the sea
A wooden spade they gave to me
To dig the sandy shore.
My holes were empty like a cup.
In every hole the sea came up
Till it could come no more.
The Land of Nod
From breakfast on through all the day
At home among my friends I stay,
But every night I go abroad
Afar into the land of Nod.
All by myself I have to go,
With none to tell me what to do --
All alone beside the streams
And up the mountain-sides of dreams.
The strangest things are there for me,
Both things to eat and things to see,
And many frightening sights abroad
Till morning in the land of Nod.
Try as I like to find the way,
I never can get back by day,
Nor can remember plain and clear
The curious music that I hear.
My Shadow
I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,
And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.
He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head;
And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.
The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow—
Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow;
For he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber ball,
And he sometimes gets so little that there's none of him at all.
He hasn't got a notion of how children ought to play,
And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way.
He stays so close beside me, he's a coward you can see;
I'd think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me!
One morning, very early, before the sun was up,
I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup;
But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head,
Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.
Mary Howitt
Mary Howitt (1799-1888) was an English poet; together with her husband she wrote over 180 books.
Howitt is famed as the author of The Spider and the Fly: a cautionary tale of a cunning Spider who ensnares a naive Fly through the use of seduction and flattery.
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 you when you are there."
"Oh no, no," said the Fly, "to ask me is in vain;
For who goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again."
"I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;
Will you rest upon my little bed?" said the Spider to the Fly.
"There are pretty curtains drawn around, the sheets are fine and thin;
And if you like to rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in!"
"Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "for I've often heard it said
They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!"
Said the cunning Spider to the Fly, "Dear friend, what can I do
To prove that warm affection I've always felt for you?
I have within my pantry, good store of all that's nice;
I'm sure you're very welcome - will you please take a slice?"
"Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "kind sir, that cannot be,
I've heard what's in your pantry, and I do not wish to see!"
"Sweet creature," said the Spider, "you're witty and you're wise;
How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!
I have a little looking-glass upon my parlor shelf;
If you step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself."
"I thank you, gentle sir," she said, "for what you're pleased to say;
And bidding good morning now, I'll call another day."
The Spider turned him round about, and went into his den,
For well he knew the silly Fly would soon come back again;
So he wove a subtle web in a little corner sly,
And set his table ready to dine upon the Fly.
then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing,
"Come hither, hither, pretty Fly, with the pearl and silver wing;
Your robes are green and purple, there's a crest upon your head;
Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are as dull as lead."
Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little Fly,
Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by;
With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew, -
Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue;
Thinking only of her crested head - poor foolish thing! At last,
Up jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast.
He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den
Within his
little parlor - but she ne'er came out again!
And now, dear little children, who may this story read,
To idle, silly, flattering words, I pray you ne'er heed;
Unto an evil counsellor close heart, and ear, and eye,
And take a lesson from this tale of the Spider and the Fly.
Hilaire Belloc
Joseph Hilaire Pierre René Belloc (27 July 1870 – 16 July 1953) was an Anglo-French writer and historian who became a naturalised British subject in 1902.
He was a political activist, noted for his Catholic faith who was famed for his cautionary tales. In his Introduction to The Bad Child’s Book of Beasts, for example, Belloc cautions children against behaving like animals.
We also chose to include other cautionary tales: The Vulture which warns against snacking between meals; Jim tells the tragic tale of a boy who wouldn’t hold his nurse’s hand at the zoo, while Rebecca explains what could happen to little girls who slam doors!
Introduction to The Bad Child’s Book of Beasts
I call you bad, my little child,
Upon the title page,
Because a manner rude and wild
Is common at your age.
The Moral of this priceless work
(If rightly understood)
Will make you -- from a little Turk --
Unnaturally good.
Do not as evil children do,
Who on the slightest grounds
Will imitate the Kangaroo,
With wild unmeaning bounds:
Do not as children badly bred,
Who eat like little Hogs,
And when they have to go to bed
Will whine like Puppy Dogs:
Who take their manners from the Ape,
Their habits from the Bear,
Indulge the loud unseemly jape,
And never brush their hair.
But so control your actions that
Your friends may all repeat.
"This child is dainty as the Cat,
And as the Owl discreet."
The Vulture
The Vulture eats between his meals,
And that's the reason why
He very, very, rarely feels
As well as you and I.
His eye is dull, his head is bald,
His neck is growing thinner.