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Once Upon a Time and Other Child-Verses
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blue stars in
ancient gloom, a-seeking you all o'er the room,
As if to call sweet memories to her? —
My grandmother, before I knew her.
CARAWAY
PAST the lavender-bed and the parsley,
Close to the wall where the sweet-brier
blows,
Green grows the caraway Grandma planted,
Though scarce one lover to-day it knows.
When dear old Grandma her "meetin' bun-
nit"
Had carefully tied, on the Sabbath Day,
She always put in her best-gown pocket
A generous handful of caraway.
For the dear old soul would grow a-weary
To sit so long in the cushionless pew;
And oft the parson's doctrinal sermon
Would trouble her tender feelings too
And when she had heard so much "election"
That her heart for the others began to bleed,
She sensed the better God's love behind it
By eating a bit of her "meetin' seed."
Solemn and mild upraised to the parson
Was her dear old face on the Sabbath Day;
She drank the sweet there was in the sermon
– The bitter she flavored with caraway.
Though caraway is not fair to look at,
Though you may not fancy its taste indeed,
Yet still it shall grow there down in the garden
Because it was Grandma's "meetin' seed."
TWO LITTLE BIRDS IN BLUE
TWO little birdies all in blue
Airily flitted the garden thro'.
(Pink blows the brier in summer-weather. )
And they could whistle a rondel true
Which all of the neighbors loved and knew
(Pink blows the brier in summer-weather.)
Now through the garden the north wind
goes,
And the bush is bent to the ground with
snows.
(Black turns the brier in winter-weather.)
Where are the little blue birds – who knows?
And where, oh where! is the pink brier-rose?
(Ahy sweet things come and depart together!)
A CASTLE IN SPAIN
THE draggled lilies were beaten down
As if by a prancing hoof;
The roses swayed, and the warm rain came,
Like the patter of pearls, on the roof.
Up in the garret the darling sat
In her little gown of blue,
With her lily cheeks and her rosebud lips,
And dreamed as she loved to do.
Bundles of herbs from the rafters hung;
There was many a quaint old chest,
A cradle of oak, and a spinning-wheel,
In the chimney a swallow's nest.
The darling she sat in a straight-backed chair,
With her face 'gainst the window-pane,
Her little hands folded across her lap,
And she builded her Castle in Spain.
And never a magic palace rose,
In the days of the Moorish kings,
As fair as the Castle the darling built
From her sweet imaginings.
Rosy and green were the walls, like the
heart
Of a murmuring ocean-shell;
There were jewelled spires, and a slender
tower
With a swinging silver bell.
And up to the gold-hasped door there ran,
On a carven ivory stair,
The darling herself in rosy silk,
With pearls in her yellow hair.
Then the beautiful door swung open wide,
And she entered a marble hall
Where marble nymphs, with golden lamps,
Stood ranged against the wall.
The darling danced like a puff o' down
ancient gloom, a-seeking you all o'er the room,
As if to call sweet memories to her? —
My grandmother, before I knew her.
CARAWAY
PAST the lavender-bed and the parsley,
Close to the wall where the sweet-brier
blows,
Green grows the caraway Grandma planted,
Though scarce one lover to-day it knows.
When dear old Grandma her "meetin' bun-
nit"
Had carefully tied, on the Sabbath Day,
She always put in her best-gown pocket
A generous handful of caraway.
For the dear old soul would grow a-weary
To sit so long in the cushionless pew;
And oft the parson's doctrinal sermon
Would trouble her tender feelings too
And when she had heard so much "election"
That her heart for the others began to bleed,
She sensed the better God's love behind it
By eating a bit of her "meetin' seed."
Solemn and mild upraised to the parson
Was her dear old face on the Sabbath Day;
She drank the sweet there was in the sermon
– The bitter she flavored with caraway.
Though caraway is not fair to look at,
Though you may not fancy its taste indeed,
Yet still it shall grow there down in the garden
Because it was Grandma's "meetin' seed."
TWO LITTLE BIRDS IN BLUE
TWO little birdies all in blue
Airily flitted the garden thro'.
(Pink blows the brier in summer-weather. )
And they could whistle a rondel true
Which all of the neighbors loved and knew
(Pink blows the brier in summer-weather.)
Now through the garden the north wind
goes,
And the bush is bent to the ground with
snows.
(Black turns the brier in winter-weather.)
Where are the little blue birds – who knows?
And where, oh where! is the pink brier-rose?
(Ahy sweet things come and depart together!)
A CASTLE IN SPAIN
THE draggled lilies were beaten down
As if by a prancing hoof;
The roses swayed, and the warm rain came,
Like the patter of pearls, on the roof.
Up in the garret the darling sat
In her little gown of blue,
With her lily cheeks and her rosebud lips,
And dreamed as she loved to do.
Bundles of herbs from the rafters hung;
There was many a quaint old chest,
A cradle of oak, and a spinning-wheel,
In the chimney a swallow's nest.
The darling she sat in a straight-backed chair,
With her face 'gainst the window-pane,
Her little hands folded across her lap,
And she builded her Castle in Spain.
And never a magic palace rose,
In the days of the Moorish kings,
As fair as the Castle the darling built
From her sweet imaginings.
Rosy and green were the walls, like the
heart
Of a murmuring ocean-shell;
There were jewelled spires, and a slender
tower
With a swinging silver bell.
And up to the gold-hasped door there ran,
On a carven ivory stair,
The darling herself in rosy silk,
With pearls in her yellow hair.
Then the beautiful door swung open wide,
And she entered a marble hall
Where marble nymphs, with golden lamps,
Stood ranged against the wall.
The darling danced like a puff o' down
Последний отзыв
Так получилось, что книга ко мне попала в тяжелый эмоциональный кризис и многое мне дала. Написано актуально, тут многих полезных вещей, никакого злоу...
Далее