Doorbells

Doorbells
Rachel Field

You never know with a doorbell
Who may be ringing it-
It may be Great-Aunt Cynthia
To spend the day and knit;
It may be a peddler with things to sell
(I'll buy some when I'm older),
Or the grocer's boy with his apron on
And a basket on his shoulder;
It may be the old umbrella-man
Giving his queer, cracked call,
Or a lady dressed in rustly silk,
With card-case and parasol.
Doorbells are like a magic game,
Or the grab-bag at a fair-
You never know when you hear one ring
Who may be waiting there!

The Animal Store

The Animal Store
Rachel Field

If I had a hundred dollars to spend,
Or maybe a little more,
I'd hurry as fast as my legs would go
Straight to the animal store.

I wouldn't say, "How much for this or
that?"
"What kind of a dog is he?"
I'd buy as many as rolled an eye,
Or wagged a tail at me!

I'd take the hound with the drooping ears
That sits by himself alone;
Cockers and Cairns and wobbly pups
For to be my very own.

I might buy a parrot all red and green,
And the monkey I saw before,
If I had a hundred dollars to spend,
Or maybe a little more.

The Horse

The Horse
James Stephens

A sparrow hopped about the street,
And he was not a bit afraid;
He flew between a horse's feet,
And ate his supper undismayed:
I think myself the horse knew well
The bird came for the grains that fell.
 
For his eye was looking down,
And he danced the corn about
In his nosebag, till the brown
Grains of corn were tumbled out;
And I fancy that he said,
"Eat it up, young Speckle-Head!"

The driver then came back again,
He climbed into the heavy dray;
And he tightened up the rein,
Cracked his whip and drove away.
But when the horse's ribs were hit,
The sparrow did not care a bit.

Little Tiger Cat

 

Little Tiger Cat
Annette Wynne

Little Tiger Cat with the spotted face,
Do you think you've found a baby-jungle-
place?
Going through the grass, stealthily and slow,
Are you waiting to jump out and scare the
folks you know?
And send them running to the house as fast
as they can go?

Little Tiger Cat, it's no use at all,
No matter what you think yourself, you're
rather tame and small,
And with all your hiding and your stern con-
templation,
You cannot scare a single one of high or
lowly station,
And so, there's no use trying to be like your
wild relation.

The Duck

 The Duck by E. L. M. King

If I were in a fairy tale,
And it were my good luck
To have a wish, I'd choose to be
A lovely snow-white duck.

When she puts off into the pond
And leaves me on the brink,
She wags her stumpy tail at me,
And gives a saucy wink,

Which says as plain as words could say,
Fm safe as safe can be,
Stay there, or you will drown yourself.
The pond was made for me.

She goes assailing to and fro,
Just like a fishing boat,
And steers and paddles all herself,
And never wets her coat.

Then in the water, upside down,
I've often seen her stand
More neatly than the little boys
Who do it on the land.

And best of all, her children are
The ducklings, bright as gold,
Who swim about the pond with her
And do as they are told.

Hiding

Hiding
Dorothy Aldis

I"m hiding, I'm hiding,
And no one knows where;
For all they can see is my
Toes and my hair.

And I just heard my father
Say to my mother-
"But, darling, he must be
Somewhere or other;

"Have you looked in the ink well?"
And Mother said, "Where?"
"In the INK WELL," said Father. But
I was not there.

Then, "Wait!" cried my mother-
"I think that I see
Him under the carpet." But
It was not me.

"Inside the mirror's
A pretty good place,"
Said Father and looked, but saw
Only his face.

"We've hunted," sighed Mother,
"As hard as we could
And I AM so afraid that we've
Lost him for good."

Then I laughed out aloud
And I wiggled my toes
And Father said- "Look, dear,
I wonder if those

Toes could be Benny's.
There are ten of them. See?"
And they WERE so surprised to find
Out it was me!

Roads

 Roads
Rachel Field

A road might lead to anywhere-
To harbor towns and quays,
Or to a witch's pointed house
Hidden by bristly trees.
It might lead past the tailor's door,
Where he sews with needle and thread,
Or by Miss Pim the milliner's,
With her hats for every head.
It might be a road to a great, dark cave
With treasure and gold piled high,
Or a road with a mountain tied to its end,
Blue-humped against the sky.
Oh, a road might lead you anywhere-
To Mexico or Maine.
But then, it might just fool you, and-
Lead you back home again!

Barefoot Days

 Barefoot Days
Rachel Field

In the morning, very early,
That's the time I love to go
Barefoot where the fern grows curly
And grass is cool between each toe,
On a summer morning-O!
On a summer morning!

That is when the birds go by
Up the sunny slopes of air,
And each rose has a butterfly
Or a golden bee to wear;
And I am glad in every toe-
Such a summer morning' O!
Such a summer morning!

Cobwebs

Cobwebs
E. L. M. King

Between me and the rising sun,
This way and that the cobwebs run;
Their myriad wavering lines of light
Dance up the hill and out of sight.

There is no land possesses half
So many lines of telegraph
As those the spider-elves have spun
Between me and the rising sun. 

The Day Before April

The Day before April
Mary Carolyn Davies

The day before April
Alone, alone,
I walked in the woods
And sat on a stone.

I sat on a broad stone
And sang to the birds.
The tune was God's making
But I made the words.

The Juggler

 THE JUGGLER

There was a squirrel once-
An idle rogue was he,
He had no store of winter nuts
Beneath his greenwood tree.

So when the leaves began to fall
And food was getting dear -
"I must do something soon," said he,
"Or I shall starve, 'tis clear."

And so he hung this notice out -
"The Juggler is at home
Most afternoons, at half-past
four,
Bring lots of nuts and
come."

They came, his friends both great
and small,
And brought the nuts beside,
And Whiskers promptly juggled
them,
Into his own inside.

And so the whole long winter
time
In comfort he did feed.
But you had best not copy
him
In case you don't succeed

The Queen's Hearts

The Queen's Hearts silhouette in black and white.

The Queen's Hearts

 

That same Queen of Hearts, who baked all those tarts
That we've heard of in story and fable
Sent word once a year, that both peasant and peer
Should collect all the hearts they were able
And some hearts were great, and some hearts were small
And some had hardly a heart at all.

The Queen's Hearts silhouette in red and white.