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LITTLE White Lily sat by a stone,
Drooping and waiting till the sun shone.
Little White Lily sunshine has fed;
Little White Lily is lifting her head.

Little White Lily said: "It is good,
Little White Lily's clothing and food."
Little White Lily dressed like a bride!
Shining with whiteness, and crowned beside!

Little White Lily drooping with pain,
Waiting and waiting for the wet rain,
Little White Lily holdeth her cup;
Rain is fast falling and filling it up.

Little White Lily said: “Good again,
When I am thirsty to have the nice rain.
Now I am stronger, now I am cool;

Heat cannot burn me, my veins are so full."

Little White Lily smells very sweet;
On her head sunshine, rain at her feet. ¦
Thanks to the sunshine, thanks to the rain,
Little White Lily is happy again.

137

George Macdonald [1824-1905]

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WISHING

RING-TING! I wish I were a Primrose,

A bright yellow Primrose, blowing in the Spring!
The stooping bough above me,
The wandering bee to love me,
The fern and moss to creep across,

And the Elm-tree for our King!

Nay, stay! I wish I were an Elm-tree,
A great lofty Elm-tree, with green leaves gay!
The winds would set them dancing,

The sun and moonshine glance in,
The Birds would house among the boughs,
And sweetly sing!

O-no! I wish I were a Robin,

A Robin or a little Wren, everywhere to go;
Through forest, field, or garden,
And ask no leave or pardon,
Till Winter comes with icy thumbs
To ruffle up our wing.

Well-tell! Where should I fly to,
Where go to sleep in the dark wood or dell?

Before a day was over,

Home comes the rover,

For Mother's kiss, sweeter this

Than any other thing!

William Allingham (1824-1889]

IN THE GARDEN

I SPIED beside the garden bed

A tiny lass of ours,

Who stopped and bent her sunny head

Above the red June flowers.

Pushing the leaves and thorns apart,

She singled out a rose,

And in its inmost crimson heart,

Enraptured, plunged her nose.

Glad Day

i

139

"O dear, dear rose, come, tell me true

Come, tell me true," said she,

"If I smell just as sweet to you

As you smell sweet to me!"

Ernest Crosby [1856-1907]

THE GLADNESS OF NATURE

Is this a time to be cloudy and sad,

When our mother Nature laughs around; When even the deep blue heavens look glad,

And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground?

There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and wren,
And the gossip of swallows through all the sky;
The ground-squirrel gaily chirps by his den,
And the wilding bee hums merrily by.

The clouds are at play in the azure space

And their shadows at play on the bright-green vale,
And here they stretch to the frolic chase,
And there they roll on the easy gale.

There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower,
There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree,
There's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower,
And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea.

And look at the broad-faced sun, how he smiles
On the dewy earth that smiles in his ray,
On the leaping waters and gay young isles;
Ay, look, and he'll smile thy gloom away.

William Cullen Bryant [1794-1878]

GLAD DAY

HERE'S another day, dear,

Here's the sun again

Peeping in his pleasant way

Through the window pane.

Rise and let him in, dear, Hail him "hip hurray!" Now the fun will all begin.

Here's another day!

Down the coppice path, dear,

Through the dewy glade,

(When the Morning took her bath
What a splash she made!)
Up the wet wood-way, dear,
Under dripping green
Run to meet another day,
Brightest ever seen.

Mushrooms in the field, dear,

Show their silver gleam.
What a dainty crop they yield
Firm as clouted cream,
Cool as balls of snow, dear,
Sweet and fresh and round!

Ere the early dew can go

We must clear the ground.

Such a lot to do, dear,

Such a lot to see!

How we ever can get through

Fairly puzzles me.

Hurry up and out, dear,

Then-away! away!

In and out and round about,

Here's another day!

W. Graham Robertson [1867

THE TIGER

TIGER! Tiger! burning bright,

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

Answer to a Child's Question 141

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?

In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?

Did He who made the Lamb, make thee?

Tiger! Tiger! burning bright,

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

William Blake (1757-1827]

ANSWER TO A CHILD'S QUESTION

Do you ask what the birds say? The Sparrow, the Dove,
The Linnet and Thrush say, "I love and I love!"
In the winter they're silent-the wind is so strong;
What it says, I don't know, but it sings a loud song.
But green leaves, and blossoms, and sunny warm weather,
And singing, and loving-all come back together.
But the Lark is so brimful of gladness and love,
The green fields below him, the blue sky above,
That he sings, and he sings, and for ever sings he-
"I love my Love, and my Love loves me!"

Samuel Taylor Coleridge [1772-1834]

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