The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Child's Garden of Verses, by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Title: A Child's Garden of Verses
Author: Robert Louis Stevenson
Illustrator: Myrtle Sheldon
Release date: November 6, 2006 [eBook #19722]
Most recently updated: August 8, 2019
Language: English
Credits: E-text prepared by Joseph R. Hauser, Sankar Viswanathan, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
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(Published in 1919; Illustrations in Color by Maria L. Kirk)
A CHILD'S
GARDEN
of VERSES
By
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSoN
ILLUSTRATED BY
MYRTLE SHELDON
M. A. DONOHUE & CO.
CHICAGO
Copyright 1916
By
M. A. DONOHUE
AND
COMPANY
BY WAY of INTRODUCTION
Nothing has ever been written that appeals to a child's nature more
than "A CHILD'S GARDEN OF VERSES." It is written in a simple verse
that a child can readily understand. It was one of the earlier efforts
of the author, Robert Louis Stevenson, a Scotchman by birth, who,
owing to ill-health, became a world traveler. During his travels he
visited the United States, spending a year among our famous resorts.
Later he visited Australia and the South Sea Islands, which climate
agreed with him to such an extent that he finally settled down and
made his home on the island of Samoa. He continued his travels from
that point, often visiting the Hawaiian Islands, Australia and New
Zealand. He formed a strong friendship for the natives of Samoa, and
did a great deal to improve their conditions. He died on the island,
and at his own request was buried on the top of one of its beautiful
mountains, with the following lines upon his tomb:
Here he lies, where he longed to be; Home is the Sailor, home from the sea, And the hunter home from the hill.
Three of us afloat in the meadow by the swing. Three of us aboard in the basket on the lea. Winds are in the air, they are blowing in the spring, And waves are on the meadow like the waves there are at sea.
Where shall we adventure, to-day that we're afloat, Wary of the weather and steering by a star? Shall it be to Africa, a-steering of the boat, To Providence, or Babylon, or off to Malabar? [13]
Hi! but here's a squadron a-rowing on the sea— Cattle on the meadow a-charging with a roar! Quick, and we'll escape them, they're as mad as they can be, The wicket is the harbor and the garden is the shore.
The lights from the parlor and kitchen shone out Through the blinds and the windows and bars; And high over head and all moving about, There were thousands of millions of stars. There ne'er were such thousands of leaves on a tree, Nor of people in church or the Park, As the crowds of the stars that looked down upon me, And that glittered and winked in the dark. [19]
The Dog, and the Plough, and the Hunter and all, And the star of the sailor, and Mars, These shone in the sky, and the pail by the wall Would be half full of water and stars. They saw me at last, and they chased me with cries, And they soon had me packed into bed; But the glory kept shining and bright in my eyes, And the stars going round in my head.
We built a ship upon the stairs All made of the back-bedroom chairs, And filled it full of sofa pillows To go a-sailing on the billows.
We took a saw and several nails, And water in the nursery pails; And Tom said, "Let us also take An apple and a slice of cake;"— Which was enough for Tom and me To go a-sailing on, till tea.
We sailed along for days and days, And had the very best of plays; But Tom fell out and hurt his knee, So there was no one left but me.
The moon has a face like the clock in the hall; She shines on thieves on the garden wall, On streets and fields and harbor quays, And birdies asleep in the forks of the trees.
The squalling cat and the squeaking mouse, The howling dog by the door of the house, The bat that lies in bed at noon, All love to be out by the light of the moon.
But all of the things that belong to the day Cuddle to sleep to be out of her way; And flowers and children close their eyes Till up in the morning the sun shall rise.
When I was down beside the sea, A wooden spade they gave to me To dig the sandy shore. My holes were hollow like a cup, In every hole the sea came up, Till it could hold no more.
Whenever the moon and stars are set, Whenever the wind is high, All night long in the dark and wet, A man goes riding by. Late in the night when the fires are out,
Why does he gallop and gallop about? Whenever the trees are crying aloud, And ships are tossed at sea, By, on the highway, low and loud, By at the gallop goes he. By at the gallop he goes, and then By he comes back at the gallop again.
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.
My tea is nearly ready and the sun has left the sky; It's time to take the window to see Leerie going by; For every night at teatime and before you take your seat, With lantern and with ladder he comes posting up the street.
Now Tom would be a driver and Maria go to sea, And my papa's a banker and as rich as he can be; But I, when I am stronger and can choose what I'm to do, O Leerie, I'll go round at night and light the lamps with you!
For we are very lucky, with a lamp before the door, And Leerie stops to light it as he lights so many more; And O, before you hurry by with ladder and with light, O Leerie, see a little child and nod to him to-night!
I should like to rise and go Where the golden apples grow;— Where below another sky Parrot Islands anchored lie, And, watched by cockatoos and goats, Lonely Crusoes building boats;— [50]Where in sunshine reaching out Eastern cities, miles about, Are with mosque and minaret Among sandy gardens set, And the rich goods from near and far Hang for sale in the bazaar;— Where the Great Wall round China goes, And on one side the desert blows, And with bell and voice and drum, Cities on the other hum;— Where are forests, hot as fire, Wide as England, tall as a spire, Full of apes and cocoa-nuts And the negro hunters' huts;— Where the knotty crocodile Lies and blinks in the Nile, And the red flamingo flies Hunting fish before his eyes;— Where in jungles, near and far, Man-devouring tigers are, Lying close and giving ear [51]Lest the hunt be drawing near, Or a comer-by be seen Swinging in a palanquin;— Where among the desert sands Some deserted city stands, All its children, sweep and prince, Grown to manhood ages since, Not a foot in street or house, Not a stir of child or mouse, And when kindly falls the night, In all the town no spark of light. There I'll come when I'm a man With a camel caravan; Light a fire in the gloom Of some dusty dining room; See the pictures on the walls, Heroes, fights and festivals And in a corner find the toys Of the old Egyptian boys.
Over the borders, a sin without pardon, Breaking the branches and crawling below, Out through the breach in the wall of the garden, Down by the banks of the river, we go.
Here is the mill with the humming of thunder, Here is the weir with the wonder of foam, Here is the sluice with the race running under— Marvelous places, though handy to home!
Sounds of the village grow stiller and stiller, Stiller the note of the birds on the hill; Dusty and dim are the eyes of the miller, Deaf are his ears with the moil of the mill. [55]
Years may go by, and the wheel in the river Wheel as it wheels for us, children, to-day. Wheel and keep roaring and foaming for ever Long after all of the boys are away.
Home from the Indies and home from the ocean, Heroes and soldiers we all shall come home; Still we shall find the old mill wheel in motion, Turning and churning that river to foam.
You with the bean that I gave when we quarreled, I with your marble of Saturday last, Honored and old and all gaily apparelled, Here we shall meet and remember the past.
When children are playing alone on the green, In comes the playmate that never was seen. When children are happy and lonely and good, The Friend of the Children comes out of the wood.
Nobody heard him and nobody saw, His is a picture you never could draw, But he's sure to be present, abroad or at home, When children are happy and playing alone.
He lies in the laurels, he runs on the grass, He sings when you tinkle the musical glass; Whene'er you are happy and cannot tell why, The Friend of the Children is sure to be by! [57]
He loves to be little, he hates to be big, 'Tis he that inhabits the caves that you dig; 'Tis he when you play with your soldiers of tin That sides with the Frenchman and never can win.
'Tis he, when at night you go off to your bed, Bids you go to your sleep and not trouble your head; For wherever they're lying, in cupboard or shelf, 'Tis he will take care of your playthings himself.
O it's I that am the captain of a tidy little ship, Of a ship that goes a-sailing on the pond; And my ship it keeps a-turning all around and all about; But when I'm a little older, I shall find the secret out How to send my vessel sailing on beyond.
For I mean to grow as little as the dolly at the helm, And the dolly I intend to come alive; And with him beside to help me, it's a-sailing I shall go, It's a-sailing on the water, when the jolly breezes blow And the vessel goes a divie-divie dive. [59]
O it's then you'll see me sailing through the rushes and the reeds, And you'll hear the water singing at the prow; For beside the dolly sailor, I'm to voyage and explore, To land upon the island where no dolly was before, And to fire the penny cannon in the bow.
I saw you toss the kites on high And blow the birds about the sky; And all around I heard you pass, Like ladies' skirts across the grass— O wind, a-blowing all day long! O wind, that sings so loud a song!
I saw the different things you did, But always you yourself you hid. I felt you push, I heard you call, I could not see yourself at all— O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song!
O you that are so strong and cold, O blower, are you young or old? Are you a beast of field and tree, Or just a stronger child than me? O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song! [61]
Down by a shining water well I found a very little dell, No higher than my head. The heather and the gorse about In summer bloom were coming out, Some yellow and some red.
I called the little pool a sea; The little hills were big to me; For I am very small. I made a boat, I made a town, I searched the caverns up and down, And named them one and all. [73]
And all about was mine, I said, The little sparrows overhead, The little minnows, too. This was the world and I was king; For me the bees came by to sing, For me the swallows flew.
I played there were no deeper seas, Nor any wider plains than these, Nor other kings than me. At last I heard my mother call Out from the house at evenfall, To call me home to tea.
And I must rise and leave my dell, And leave my dimpled water well, And leave my heather blooms. Alas! and as my home I neared, How very big my nurse appeared, How great and cool the rooms!
All round the house is the jet-black night; It stares through the window-pane; It crawls in the corners, hiding from the light, And it moves with the moving flame.
Now my little heart goes a-beating like a drum, With the breath of Bogie in my hair, And all round the candle the crooked shadows come, And go marching along up the stair.
The shadow of the balusters, the shadow of the lamp, The shadow of the child that goes to bed— All the wicked shadows coming, tramp, tramp, tramp, With the black night overhead.
When at home alone I sit And am very tired of it, I have just to shut my eyes To go sailing through the skies— To go sailing far away To the pleasant Land of play; To the fairy land afar Where the Little People are; Where the clover-tops are trees, And the rain-pools are the seas, And the leaves like little ships Sail about on tiny trips; [79]And above the daisy tree Through the grasses, High o'erhead the Bumble Bee Hums and passes.
In that forest to and fro I can wander, I can go; See the spider and the fly, And the ants go marching by Carrying parcels with their feet Down the green and grassy street. I can in the sorrel sit Where the ladybird alit. I can climb the jointed grass; And on high See the greater swallows pass In the sky, And the round sun rolling by Heeding no such things as I.
Through that forest I can pass [80]Till, as in a looking-glass, Humming fly and daisy tree And my tiny self I see, Painted very clear and neat On the rain-pool at my feet.
Should a leaflet come to land Drifting near to where I stand, Straight I'll board that tiny boat Round the rain-pool sea to float.
Little thoughtful creatures sit On the grassy coasts of it; Little things with lovely eyes See me sailing with surprise. Some are clad in armour green— (These have sure to battle been!)— Some are pied with ev'ry hue, Black and crimson, gold and blue; Some have wings and swift are gone; But they all look kindly on. [81]
When my eyes I once again Open, and see all things plain; High bare walls, great bare floor; Great big knobs on drawer and door; Great big people perched on chairs, Stitching tucks and mending tears, Each a hill that I could climb, And talking nonsense all the time— O dear me, That I could be A sailor on the rain-pool sea, A climber in, the clover tree, And just come back, a sleepy-head, Late at night to go to bed.
Faster than fairies, faster than witches, Bridges and houses, hedges and ditches; And charging along like troops in a battle, All through the meadows the horses and cattle: All of the sights of the hill and the plain Fly as thick as driving rain; And ever again in the wink of an eye, Painted stations whistle by.
Here is a child who clambers and scrambles, All by himself and gathering brambles; Here is a tramp who stands and gazes; And there is the green for stringing the daisies! Here is a cart run away in the road Lumping along with man and load; And here is a mill and there is a river, Each a glimpse and gone forever!
These nuts, that I keep in the back of the nest Where all my lead soldiers are lying at rest, Were gathered in autumn by nursie and me In a wood with a well by the side of the sea.
This whistle we made (and how clearly it sounds!) By the side of a field at the end of the grounds. Of a branch of a plane, with a knife of my own, It was nursie who made it, and nursie alone! [92]
The stone, with the white and the yellow and grey, We discovered I cannot tell how far away; And I carried it back although weary and cold, For though father denies it, I'm sure it is gold.
But of all of my treasures the last is the king, For there's very few children possess such a thing; And that is a chisel, both handle and blade, Which a man who was really a carpenter made.
What are you able to build with your blocks? Castles and palaces, temples and docks. Rain may keep raining and others go roam, But I can be happy and building at home.
Let the sofa be mountains, the carpet be sea, There I'll establish a city for me: A kirk and a mill and a palace beside, And a harbor as well where my vessels may ride.
Great is the palace with pillar and wall, A sort of a tower on the top of it all, And steps coming down in an orderly way To where my toy vessels lay safe in the bay.
This one is sailing and that one is moored: [94]Hark to the song of the sailors on board! And see the steps of my palace, the kings Coming and going with presents and things!
Now I have done with it, down let it go! All in a moment the town is laid low. Block upon block lying scattered and free, What is there left of my town by the sea?
Yet as I saw it, I see it again, The kirk and the palace, the ships and the men And as long as I live and where'er I may be, I'll always remember my town by the sea.
The gardener does not love to talk, He makes me keep the gravel walk; And when he puts his tools away, He locks the door and takes the key.
Away behind the currant row Where no one else but cook may go, Far in the plots, I see him dig, Old and serious, brown and big.
He digs the flowers, green, red and blue, Nor wishes to be spoken to. He digs the flowers and cuts the hay, And never seems to want to play.
Silly gardener! summer goes, And winter comes with pinching toes, [96]When in the garden bare and brown You must lay your barrow down.
Well now, and while the summer stays, To profit by these garden days, O how much wiser you would be To play at Indian wars with me!
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"Boats of mine a-boating"
"I have a little shadow."
My bed is like a little boat
"I felt you push, I heard you call."
