Kitabı oku: «Rhymes for the Young Folk», sayfa 2

ROBIN REDBREAST

 
Good-bye, good-bye to Summer!
For Summer's nearly done;
The garden smiling faintly,
Cool breezes in the sun;
Our Thrushes now are silent,
Our Swallows flown away, —
But Robin's here, in coat of brown,
With ruddy breast-knot gay.
Robin, Robin Redbreast,
O Robin dear!
Robin singing sweetly
In the falling of the year.
 
 
Bright yellow, red, and orange,
The leaves come down in hosts;
The trees are Indian Princes,
But soon they'll turn to Ghosts;
The scanty pears and apples
Hang russet on the bough,
It's Autumn, Autumn, Autumn late,
'Twill soon be Winter now.
Robin, Robin Redbreast,
O Robin dear!
And welaway! my Robin,
For pinching times are near.
 
 
The fireside for the Cricket,
The wheatstack for the Mouse,
When trembling night-winds whistle
And moan all round the house;
The frosty ways like iron,
The branches plumed with snow, —
Alas! in Winter, dead and dark,
Where can poor Robin go?
Robin, Robin Redbreast,
O Robin dear,
And a crumb of bread for Robin,
His little heart to cheer.
 

AMY MARGARET

 
Amy Margaret's five years old,
Amy Margaret's hair is gold,
Dearer twenty-thousand-fold
Than gold, is Amy Margaret.
 
 
"Amy" is friend, is "Margaret"
The pearl for crown or carkanet?
Or peeping daisy, Summer's pet?
Which are you, Amy Margaret?
 
 
A friend, a daisy, and a pearl;
A kindly, simple, precious girl, —
Such, howsoe'er the world may twirl,
Be ever, – Amy Margaret!
 

JINGLE, JANGLE!

 
Jingle, jangle!
Riot and wrangle!
What shall we do
With people like you?
Here's Jingle!
There's Jangle!
Here's Riot!
There's Wrangle!
Never was seen such a turbulent crew!
 
 
You, north must go
To a hut of snow;
You, south, in a trice,
To an island of spice;
You, off to Persia
And sit on a hill,
You, to that chair
And be five minutes' still!
 

DREAMING

 
A strange little Dream
On a long star-beam
Ran down from the midnight skies,
To curly-hair'd Fred
Asleep in his bed,
With the lids on his merry blue eyes.
 
 
Under each lid
The thin Dream slid,
And spread to a picture inside,
A new World there,
Most strange and rare,
Tho' just by our garden-side.
 
 
Rivers and Rocks,
And a Treasure-Box,
And Floating in Air without wings,
And the Speaking Beast,
And a Royal Feast,
My chair beside the King's;
 
 
A Land of Flowers,
And of lofty Towers
Carved over in marble white
With living Shapes
Of Panthers and Apes
That gambol in ceaseless flight;
 
 
And a Cellar small
With its Cave in the Wall
Stretching many a mile underground!
And the Rope from the Moon! —
Fred woke too soon,
For its end could never be found.
 

I LOVE YOU, DEAR

 
I love you, Dear, I love you, Dear,
You can't think how I love you, Dear!
Supposing I
Were a Butterfly,
I'd waver around and above you, Dear.
 
 
A long way off I spied you, Dear,
No bonnet or hat could hide you, Dear,
If I were a Bird,
Believe my word,
I'd sing every day beside you, Dear.
 
 
When you're away I miss you, Dear,
And now you're here I'll kiss you, Dear,
And beg you will take
This flow'r for my sake,
And my love along with this, you Dear!
 

SEASONS

 
In Spring-time, the Forest,
In Summer, the Sea,
In Autumn, the Mountains,
In Winter, – ah me!
 
 
How gay, the old branches
A-swarm with new buds,
The primrose and bluebell
Fresh-blown in the woods,
All green things unfolding,
Where merry birds sing!
I love in the Woodlands
To wander in Spring.
 
 
What joy, when the Sea-waves,
In mirth and in might,
Spread purple in shadow,
Flash white into light!
The gale fills the sail,
And the gull flies away;
In crimson and gold
Sets the long Summer Day.
 
 
O pride! on the Mountains
To leave earth below;
The great slopes of heather,
One broad purple glow;
The loud-roaring torrent
Leaps, bound after bound,
To plains of gold Autumn,
With mist creeping round
 
 
Ah, Wind, is it Winter?
Yes, Winter is here;
With snow on the meadow,
And ice on the mere.
The daylight is short,
But the firelight is long;
Our skating's good sport;
Then story and song.
 
 
In Spring-time, the Forest,
In Summer, the Sea,
In Autumn, the Mountains, —
And Winter has glee.