AT THE SEASIDE When I was down beside the seaA wooden spade they gave to meTo dig the sandy shore.My holes were empty like a cup,In every hole the sea came up,Till it could come no more. IV YOUNG NIGHT THOUGHT All night long and every night,When my mamma puts out the light,I see the people marching by,As plain as day, before my eye. Armies and emperors and kings,All carrying different kinds of things,And marching in so grand a... more...

BED IN SUMMER In winter I get up at nightAnd 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 seeThe birds still hopping on the tree,Or hear the grown-up people's feetStill 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? Mary Hans A THOUGHT It is very nice... more...

BED IN SUMMER In winter I get up at nightAnd 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 seeThe birds still hopping on the tree,Or hear the grown-up people's feetStill 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?     A Thought. It... more...

Robert Lewis Balfour Stevenson, or Robert Louis Stevenson, as the world knows him, was still a boy when he published this rare volume of "A Child's Garden of Verses," although by the calendar he was thirty-five years old. You and I have sighed, no doubt, to be a boy again, but here was one who, while he outgrew his knickerbockers, never outgrew the quick sympathy, the brave heart, the fresh outlook, the confident faith and buoyant spirit of the... more...

BED IN SUMMER IN winter I get up at nightAnd 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 seeThe birds still hopping on the tree,Or hear the grown-up people's feetStill 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? II A THOUGHT IT is very nice to thinkThe world... more...

A CHANNEL PASSAGE 1855 Forth from Calais, at dawn of night, when sunset summer on autumn shone,Fared the steamer alert and loud through seas whence only the sun was gone:Soft and sweet as the sky they smiled, and bade man welcome: a dim sweet hourGleamed and whispered in wind and sea, and heaven was fair as a field in flower.Stars fulfilled the desire of the darkling world as with music: the starbright airMade the face of the sea, if aught... more...

THE ISLE OF THE HAPPY (From the Early Irish) Once when Bran, son of Feval, was with his warriors in his royal fort, they suddenly saw a woman in strange raiment upon the floor of the house. No one knew whence she had come or how she had entered, for the ramparts were closed. Then she sang these quatrains of Erin, the Isle of the Happy, to Bran while all the host were listening: A branch I bear from Evin's apple-treesWhose shape... more...

Into My Own ONE of my wishes is that those dark trees,So old and firm they scarcely show the breeze,Were not, as 'twere, the merest mask of gloom,But stretched away unto the edge of doom.I should not be withheld but that some dayInto their vastness I should steal away,Fearless of ever finding open land,Or highway where the slow wheel pours the sand.I do not see why I should e'er turn back,Or those should not set forth upon my trackTo overtake... more...

THE DIARY OF AN OLD SOUL. JANUARY. 1.LORD, what I once had done with youthful might,Had I been from the first true to the truth,Grant me, now old, to do—with better sight,And humbler heart, if not the brain of youth;So wilt thou, in thy gentleness and ruth,Lead back thy old soul, by the path of pain,Round to his best—young eyes and heart and brain.2.A dim aurora rises in my east,Beyond the line of jagged questions hoar,As if the... more...

There was an Old Man with a nose,Who said, "If you choose to supposeThat my nose is too long, you are certainly wrong!"That remarkable Man with a nose. There was a Young Person of Smyrna,Whose Grandmother threatened to burn her;But she seized on the Cat, and said, "Granny, burn that!You incongruous Old Woman of Smyrna!" There was an Old Man on a hill,Who seldom, if ever, stood still;He ran up and down in his Grandmother's gown,Which adorned... more...