. Stories for little children . g 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 highSee the greater swallows pass In the sky, And the round sun rolling byHeeding no such thing as STORIES FOR LITTLE CHILDREN Through the forest I can passTill, as in a looking-glass,Humming fly and daisy treeAnd my tiny self I see,Painted very clear and neatOn the rain-pool at my a leaflet come to landDrifting near to where I stand,Straight Ill board that tiny boatRound the rain-pool sea to float. L
. Stories for little children . g 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 highSee the greater swallows pass In the sky, And the round sun rolling byHeeding no such thing as STORIES FOR LITTLE CHILDREN Through the forest I can passTill, as in a looking-glass,Humming fly and daisy treeAnd my tiny self I see,Painted very clear and neatOn the rain-pool at my a leaflet come to landDrifting near to where I stand,Straight Ill board that tiny boatRound the rain-pool sea to float. Little thoughtful creatures sitOn the grassy coasts of it;Little things with lovely eyesSee me sailing with are clad in armor green -(These have sure to battle been!)Some are pied with evry hue,Black and crimson, gold and blue;Some have wings and swift are gone;But they all look kindly on. When my eyes I once againOpen and see all things plain;High bare walls, great bare floor;Great big knobs on drawer and door; 48. STRAIGHT I LL BOARD THAT TINY BOATROUND THE RAIN-POOL SEA TO FLOAT TIJPUBLIC; TILDEN POUN-DAriOSJB ! WHERE DO ALL THE DAISIES GO? 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 beA 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. , Robert Louis Stevenson WHERE DO ALL THE DAISIES GO? WHERE do all the daisies go? I know, I know! Underneath the snow they creep,Nod their little heads and sleep,In the springtime out they peep; That is where they go! Where do all the birdies go? I know, I know!Far away from winter snowTo the fair, warm South they go;49 STORIES FOR LITTLE CHILDREN There they stay till daisies blow,That is where they go! Where do all the babies go? I know, I know!In the glancing firelight warm,Safely sheltered from all harm,Soft they lie on mothers ar
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1920, bookpublisherbosto, bookyear1920
