Children's Literature Part 110

SPINNING TOP

FRANK DEMPSTER SHERMAN

When I spin round without a stop And keep my balance like the top, I find that soon the floor will swim Before my eyes; and then, like him, I lie all dizzy on the floor Until I feel like spinning more.

297

FLYING KITE

FRANK DEMPSTER SHERMAN

I often sit and wish that I Could be a kite up in the sky, And ride upon the breeze, and go Whatever way it chanced to blow.

Then I could look beyond the town, And see the river winding down, And follow all the s.h.i.+ps that sail Like me before the merry gale, Until at last with them I came To some place with a foreign name.

298

KING BELL

FRANK DEMPSTER SHERMAN

Long ago there lived a King A mighty man and bold, Who had two sons, named Dong and Ding, Of whom this tale is told.

Prince Ding was clear of voice, and tall, A Prince in every line; Prince Dong, his voice was very small, And he but four feet nine.

Now both these sons were very dear To Bell, the mighty King.

They always hastened to appear When he for them would ring.

Ding never failed the first to be, But Dong, he followed well, And at the second summons he Responded to King Bell.

This promptness of each royal Prince Is all of them we know, Except that all their kindred since Have done exactly so.

And if you chance to know a King Like this one of the dong, Just listen once--and there is Ding; Again--and there is Dong.

299

DAISIES

FRANK DEMPSTER SHERMAN

At evening when I go to bed I see the stars s.h.i.+ne overhead; They are the little daisies white That dot the meadows of the Night.

And often while I'm dreaming so, Across the sky the Moon will go; It is a lady, sweet and fair, Who comes to gather daisies there.

For, when at morning I arise, There's not a star left in the skies; She's picked them all and dropped them down Into the meadows of the town.

The three poems by Eugene Field (Nos. 300-302) are used by special permission of the publishers, Charles Scribner's Sons, New York City. Field was born at St. Louis in 1850, and died at Chicago in 1895. The quaint fantastical conceptions in these poems have made them supreme favorites with children. No. 300 belongs to the list of the world's great lullabies.

300

WYNKEN, BLYNKEN, AND NOD

EUGENE FIELD

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night Sailed off in a wooden shoe,-- Sailed on a river of crystal light Into a sea of dew.

"Where are you going, and what do you wish?"

The old moon asked the three.

"We have come to fish for the herring fish That live in this beautiful sea; Nets of silver and gold have we!"

Said Wynken, Blynken, And Nod.

The old moon laughed and sang a song, As they rocked in the wooden shoe; And the wind that sped them all night long Ruffled the waves of dew.

The little stars were the herring fish That lived in that beautiful sea-- "Now cast your nets wherever you wish, Never afeard are we!"

So cried the stars to the fishermen three, Wynken, Blynken, And Nod.

All night long their nets they threw To the stars in the twinkling foam,-- Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe, Bringing the fishermen home: 'Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed As if it could not be; And some folk thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed Of sailing that beautiful sea; But I shall name you the fishermen three: Wynken, Blynken, And Nod.

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes, And Nod is a little head, And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies Is a wee one's trundle-bed; So shut your eyes while Mother sings Of wonderful sights that be, And you shall see the beautiful things As you rock in the misty sea Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:-- Wynken, Blynken, And Nod.

301

THE SUGAR-PLUM TREE

EUGENE FIELD

Have you ever heard of the Sugar-Plum Tree?

'Tis a marvel of great renown!

It blooms on the sh.o.r.e of the Lollypop sea In the garden of Shut-Eye Town; The fruit that it bears is so wondrously sweet (As those who have tasted it say) That good little children have only to eat Of that fruit to be happy next day.

When you've got to the tree, you would have a hard time To capture the fruit which I sing; The tree is so tall that no person could climb To the boughs where the sugar-plums swing!

But up in that tree sits a chocolate cat, And a gingerbread dog prowls below-- And this is the way you contrive to get at Those sugar-plums tempting you so:

You say but the word to that gingerbread dog And he barks with such terrible zest That the chocolate cat is at once all agog, As her swelling proportions attest.

And the chocolate cat goes cavorting around From this leafy limb unto that, And the sugar-plums tumble, of course, to the ground-- Hurrah for that chocolate cat!