Child-world, by the Authors of 'Poems Written for a Child'.

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Strahan & Company, 1869 - 263 páginas

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Página 232 - What May Happen to a Thimble Come about the meadow, Hunt here and there, Where's mother's thimble? Can you tell where? Jane saw her wearing it, Fan saw it fall, Ned isn't sure That she dropp'd it at all. Has a mouse carried it Down to her hole — Home full of twilight, Shady, small soul? Can she be darning there, Ere the light fails, Small ragged stockings — Tiny torn tails? Did a finch fly with it Into the hedge, Or a reed-warbler Down in the sedge? Are they carousing there, All the night through?...
Página 79 - The Child and the Fairies The woods are full of fairies ! The trees are all alive : The river overflows with them, See how they dip and dive ! What funny little fellows ! What dainty little dears ! They dance and leap, and prance and peep, And utter fairy cheers ! ****** I'd like to tame a fairy, To keep it on a shelf, To see it wash its little face, And dress its little self. I'd teach it pretty manners, It always should say
Página 236 - Did spiders snatch at it, Wanting to look At the bright pebbles Which lie in the brook ? Now are they using it, (Nobody knows ! ) Safe little diving-bell Shutting so close ? " Did a rash squirrel there, Wanting to dine, Think it some foreign nut, Dainty and fine ? Can he have swallowed it, Up in that oak ? We, if we listen, Shall soon hear him choke. " Has it been buried by Cross imps and hags, Wanting to see us Like beggars in rags...
Página 19 - To feel as only horses can, When matters take their proper course, And no one notices the man, While loud applauses greet the horse ! He canters fast or ambles slow, And either is a pretty game ; His duties are but pleasures— oh, I wish that mine were just the same ! Lessons would be another thing If I might turn from book and scroll, And learn to gallop round a ring, As he did when a little foal. It must be charming to be shod, And beautiful beyond my praise, When tired of rolling on the sod,...
Página 5 - Oh ! the brow of my son is as smooth as a rose ; I kissed it last night in my dream. I have heard Two legends of fame from the land of our foes ; But you said there were three : you must tell me the third.
Página 8 - Oh, dig him a graTe by the red rowan tree, Where the spring moss grows softer than fringes of foam ! And lay his bed smoothly, and leave room for me, For I shall be ready before he comes home. " And carve on his tombstone a name and a wreath, And a tale to touch hearts through the slow-spreading years — How he died his noble and beautiful death, And his mother, who longed for him, died of her tears.

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