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Favorite Poems of Childhood

Dover Publications, Inc.

    The Land of Nod

    From breakfast on through all the day
    At home among my friends I stay,
    But every night I go abroad
    Afar into the land of Nod.

    All by myself I have to go,
    With none to tell me what to do—
    All alone beside the streams
    And up the mountain-sides of dreams.

    The strangest things are there for me,
    Both things to eat and things to see,
    And many frightening sights abroad
    Till morning in the land of Nod.

    Try as I like to find the way,
    I never can get back by day,
    Nor can remember plain and clear
    The curious music that I hear.


    —ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON


    Hurt No Living Thing

    Hurt no living thing:
    Ladybird, nor butterfly,
    Nor moth with dusty wing,
    Nor cricket chirping cheerily,
    Nor grasshopper so light of leap,
    Nor dancing gnat, nor beetle fat,
    Nor harmless worms that creep.


    —CHRISTINA ROSSETTI


    The Cat of Cats

    I am the cat of cats. I am
    The everlasting cat!
    Cunning, and old, and sleek as jam,
    The everlasting cat!
    I hunt the vermin in the night—
    The everlasting cat!
    For I see best without the light—
    The everlasting cat!


    —WILLIAM BRIGHTY RANDS


    I Love Little Pussy

    I love little Pussy.
    Her coat is so warm,
    And if I don't hurt her,
    She'll do me no harm.
    So I'll not pull her tail,
    Or drive her away,
    But Pussy and I
    Very gently will play,
    She will sit by my side,
    And I'll give her her food,
    And she'll like me because
    I am gentle and good.

    I'll pat little Pussy,
    And then she will purr,
    And thus show her thanks
    For my kindness to her;
    I'll not pinch her ears,
    Nor tread on her paws,
    Lest I should provoke her
    To use her sharp claws;
    I never will vex her,
    Nor make her displeased,
    For Pussy can't bear
    To be worried or teased.


    —JANE TAYLOR


    Mary's Lamb

    Mary had a little lamb,
    Its fleece was white as snow;
    And everywhere that Mary went,
    The lamb was sure to go.

    He followed her to school one day,
    Which was against the rule;
    It made the children laugh and play
    To see a lamb at school.

    And so the teacher turned him out,
    But still he lingered near,
    And waited patiently about
    Till Mary did appear.

    Then he ran to her, and laid
    His head upon her arm,
    As if he said, "I'm not afraid—
    You'll keep me from all harm."

    "What makes the lamb love Mary so?"
    The eager children cried.
    "Oh, Mary loves the lamb, you know,"
    The teacher quick replied.

    And you each gentle animal
    In confidence may bind,
    And make them follow at your will,
    If you are only kind.


    —SARAH JOSEPHA HALE


    Holding Hands

    Elephants walking
    Along the trails

    Are holding hands
    By holding tails.

    Trunks and tails
    Are handy things

    When elephants walk
    In Circus rings.

    Elephants work
    And elephants play

    And elephants walk
    And feel so gay.

    And when they walk—
    It never fails

    They're holding hands
    By holding tails.

    —LENORE M. LINK


    The Field Mouse

    When the moon shines o'er the corn
    and the beetle drones his horn,
    And the flittermice swift fly,
    And the nightjars swooping cry,
    And the young hares run and leap,
    We waken from our sleep.

    And we climb with tiny feet
    And we munch the green corn sweet
    With startled eyes for fear
    The white owl should fly near,
    Or long slim weasel spring
    Upon us where we swing.

    We do not hurt at all;
    Is there not room for all
    Within the happy world?
    All day we lie close curled
    In drowsy sleep, nor rise
    Till through the dusky skies
    The moon shines o'er the corn
    And the beetle drones his horn.


    —WILLIAM SHARP


    Mr. Finney's Turnip

    Mr. Finney had a turnip
    And it grew and it grew;
    And it grew behind the barn,
    And that turnip did no harm.

    There it grew and it grew
    Till it could grow no longer;
    Then his daughter Lizzie picked it
    And put it in the cellar.

    There it lay and it lay
    Till it began to rot;
    And his daughter Susie took it
    And put it in the pot.

    And they boiled it and boiled it
    As long as they were able,
    And then his daughters took it
    And put it on the table.

    Mr. Finney and his wife
    They sat down to sup;
    And they ate and they ate
    And they ate that turnip up.


    —ANONYMOUS


    What Do We Plant?

    What do we plant when we plant the tree?
    We plant the ship which will cross the sea.
    We plant the mast to carry the sails;
    We plant the planks to withstand the gales—
    The keel, the keelson, the beam, the knee;
    We plant the ship when we plant the tree.

    What do we plant when we plant the tree?
    We plant the houses for you and me.
    We plant the rafters, the shingles, the floors,
    We plant the studding, the lath, the doors,
    The beams and siding, all parts that be;
    We plant the house when we plant the tree.

    What do we plant when we plant the tree?
    A thousand things that we daily see;
    We plant the spire that out-towers the crag,
    We plant the staff for our country's flag,
    We plant the shade, from the hot sun free;
    We plant all these when we plant the tree.


    —HENRY ABBEY


    A Wee Little Worm

    A wee little worm in a hickory-nut
    Sang, happy as he could be,
    "O I live in the heart of the whole round world,
    And it all belongs to me!"


    —JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY


    Trees

    (FOR MRS. HENRY MILLS ALDEN)

    I think that I shall never see
    A poem lovely as a tree.

    A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
    Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

    A tree that looks at God all day,
    And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

    A tree that may in Summer wear
    A nest of robins in her hair;

    Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
    Who intimately lives with rain.

    Poems are made by fools like me,
    But only God can make a tree.


    —JOYCE KILMER

    Trees

    The Oak is called the king of trees,
    The Aspen quivers in the breeze,
    The Poplar grows up straight and tall,
    The Peach tree spreads along the wall,
    The Sycamore gives pleasant shade,
    The Willow droops in watery glade,
    The Fir tree useful timber gives,
    The Beech amid the forest lives.


    —SARA COLERIDGE


    A Frisky Lamb

    A frisky lamb
    And a frisky child
    Playing their pranks
    In a cowslip meadow:
    The sky all blue
    And the air all mild
    And the fields all sun
    And the lanes half shadow.


    —CHRISTINA ROSSETTI


    Whisky Frisky

    Whisky, frisky,
    Hipperty hop,
    Up he goes
    To the tree top!

    Whirly, twirly,
    Round and round,
    Down he scampers
    To the ground.

    Furly, curly,
    What a tail,
    Tall as a feather,
    Broad as a sail.

    Where's his supper?
    In the shell.
    Snappy, cracky,
    Out it fell.


    —ANONYMOUS


    Nurse's Song

    When the voices of children are heard on the
    green,
    And laughing is heard on the hill,
    My heart is at rest within my breast,
    And everything else is still.

    "Then come home, my children, the sun is gone
    down.
    And the dews of night arise;
    Come, come, leave off play, and let us away
    Till the morning appears in the skies."

    "No, no, let us play, for it is yet day,
    And we cannot go to sleep;
    Besides, in the sky the little birds fly,
    And the hills are all cover'd with sheep."

    "Well, well, go & play till the light fades away,
    And then go home to bed."
    The little ones leaped & shouted & laugh'd
    And all the hills ecchoed.


    —WILLIAM BLAZE


    The Three Little Kittens

    Three little kittens lost their mittens;
    And they began to cry,
    "Oh, mother dear,
    We very much fear
    That we have lost our mittens."
    "Lost your mittens!
    You naughty kittens!
    Then you shall have no pie!"
    "Mee-ow, mee-ow, mee-ow."
    "No, you shall have no pie."
    "Mee-ow, mee-ow, mee-ow."

    The three little kittens found their mittens;
    And they began to cry,
    "Oh, mother dear,
    See here, see here!
    See, we have found our mittens!"
    "Put on your mittens,
    You silly kittens,
    And you may have some pie."
    "Purr-r, purr-r, purr-r,
    Oh, let us have the pie!
    Purr-r, purr-r, purr-r."

    The three little kittens put on their mittens,
    And soon ate up the pie;
    "Oh, mother dear,
    We greatly fear
    That we have soiled our mittens!"
    "Soiled your mittens!
    You naughty kittens!"
    Then they began to sigh,
    "Mee-ow, mee-ow, mee-ow."
    Then they began to sigh,
    "Mee-ow, mee-ow, mee-ow."

    The three little kittens washed their mittens,
    And hung them out to dry;
    "Oh, mother dear,
    Do not you hear
    That we have washed our mittens?"
    "Washed your mittens!
    Oh, you're good kittens!
    But I smell a rat close by,
    Hush, hush! Mee-ow, mee-ow."
    "We smell a rat close by,
    Mee-ow, mee-ow, mee-ow."


    —ELIZA LEE FOLLEN

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Excerpted from Favorite Poems of Childhood by Philip Smith, Harriet Golden. Copyright © 1992 Dover Publications, Inc.. Excerpted by permission of Dover Publications, Inc..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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