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19722 | (Published in 1916; Black and White illustrations by M. Sheldon)
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25608 | (Published in 1905; Single Tone illustratons by B. C. Pease)
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25609 | (Published in 1905; Illustrations in Color by J. W. Smith)
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25610 | (Published in 1895; Black and White illustrations by C.Robins)
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25611 | (Publication date unknown; Black and White illustrations)
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25617 | (Published in 1900; Illustrations in Color by Mars and Squire)
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28722 | (Published in 1919; Illustrations in Color by Maria L. Kirk)
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A CHILD'S
GARDEN
of VERSES
By ROBERT
LOUIS
STEVENSON
ILLUSTRATED by
E. MARS
AND M. H. SQUIRE
RAND McNALLY &
COMPANY
CHICAGO
NEW YORK
LONDON
Copyright, 1900, by
Robert Howard Russell
Copyright, 1902, by
Rand McNally & Company
All rights reserved
Edition of 1928
Made in U. S. A.
Made in U.S.A.
BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION
Robert Lewis Balfour Stevenson, or Robert Louis Stevenson, as the world
knows him, was still a boy when he published this rare volume of "A
Child's Garden of Verses," although by the calendar he was thirty-five
years old. You and I have sighed, no doubt, to be a boy again, but here
was one who, while he outgrew his knickerbockers, never outgrew the quick
sympathy, the brave heart, the fresh outlook, the confident faith and
buoyant spirit of the little Scotch boy who roamed the hills 'round
Edinburgh. Better than any man of any time he was able to enter into the
heart of a boy, to view things with a boy's eyes, and to write of them in
simple verse, touched with the warmth and color of his rich imagination.
In these "Verses" he writes as a child rather than about children, and in
this lies much of the charm which they possess for little readers. There
is in them the surprise of reality, the beauty of a simple rhythm, and the
mysterious flavor of magic that grips a boy's heart and will not let him
go until the book has become a part of him. Surely this is a rare quality
in schoolbooks.
The Stevensons had been famous engineers for more than a hundred years,
building lighthouses along the Scottish coast, and it was natural that his
father should have expected Robert Louis to follow in the family
footsteps. But the slim boy with brown eyes, who at eight had written a
"History of Moses," and illustrated it with his own pen; who was slow to
learn from books, but quick to understand things that he saw and felt; the
boy who carried a volume of history in one pocket and a notebook in
another, had other plans for himself, and even his father came to see the
wisdom of his son's choice of a literary life. As early as 1873, when
only twenty-three years old, Stevenson was ordered south for the winter by
his physician, to ward off impending consumption. For more than twenty
years, or until his death in Samoa late in 1894, he was never far from
this pursuing enemy. It followed him over tossing seas and through many
lands as he journeyed in search of health; yet through all these years he
carried a brave and happy heart, and wrote at the end this Requiem, the
last three lines of which are upon his tomb on the mountain-top in Samoa;
"Under the wide and starry sky,
Dig the grave and let me lie.
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will.
"This be the verse you grave for me:
Here he lies where he longed to be;
Home is the sailor, home from sea,
And the hunter home from the hill."
Robert Louis Stevenson's first book, "An Inland Voyage," was published in
1878, when he was twenty-eight years old, and is a fresh and charming
account of a canoe trip up the rivers of Holland. It was during this
journey that he wrote: "If we were charged so much a head for sunsets, or
if God sent around a drum before the hawthorn came into flower, what a
work we should make about their beauty! But these things, like good
companions, stupid people early cease to observe."
The next year came his "Travels With a Donkey," which told in the same
naïve style the story of his journey through the Cevennes Mountains with
no other companion than a donkey, whose gait he describes as being "As
much slower than a walk as a walk is slower than a run."
He first visited America in 1879, in search of health, returning in 1880
to Scotland with Mrs. Stevenson, whom he had married in California. In
1887 he came again with the hope that a dry winter in the Adirondack
Mountains would stand off the hand of Death. But he was little benefited,
and took up his search for health by chartering a yacht for a voyage
through the South Seas. It was on this trip that he fell in love with the
beauty of the scenery and the healthful climate of Samoa, and in 1890 he
took up his home there, never again to leave the island except for
occasional visits to Honolulu and Sydney. And when the time came for him
to die, the natives, with their knives and axes cut a path up the steep
mountain-side and carried him on their broad shoulders to his grave on the
mountain-top.
"A Child's Garden of Verses" was first published in London in 1885, and
long ago became a children's classic; yet it is now for the first time
made available as a supplementary reader for the primary grades in a
suitable form and at a possible price. There have been many and beautiful
editions, but they have all appealed to "grown-ups" rather than to boys
and girls to whom the book really belongs. To put such a book, with its
simple style, its wise observations, its kindly sympathy, and fanciful
humor into the hands of a boy or girl, is not only to make him happy, it
is to start him on the straight path to culture.
This volume contains all the poems originally appearing under the title "A
Child's Garden of Verses." The poems grouped under "The Child Alone,"
"Garden Days," and "Envoys" have been omitted, as many of them are too
philosophical to be understood by children in the primary grades.
The illustrations in this book are used by special arrangement with Harper
& Brothers of New York City, who publish the complete "Verses" in a
beautiful edition suitable for the home or the library.
So with Stevenson's own words the book is yours:
"Go little book, and wish to all,
Flowers in the garden, meat in the hall,
A living river by the door,
A nightingale in the sycamore."
E. O. G.
To Alison Cunningham From Her BOY
For the long nights you lay awake
And watched for my unworthy sake:
For your most comfortable hand
That led me through the uneven land:
For all the story-books you read:
For all the pains you comforted:
For all you pitied, all you bore,
In sad and happy days of yore:—
My second Mother, my first Wife,
The angel of my infant life—
From the sick child, now well and old,
Take, nurse, the little book you hold!
And grant it, Heaven, that all who read
May find as dear a nurse at need,
And every child who lists my rhyme,
In the bright, fireside, nursery clime,
May hear it in as kind a voice
As made my childish days rejoice!
R. L. S.
| PAGE |
| By Way of Introduction | 5 |
| To Alison Cunningham | 8 |
| Bed in Summer | 13 |
| Young Night Thought | 15 |
| Rain | 16 |
| My Shadow | 17 |
| Time To Rise | 20 |
| At the Seaside | 21 |
| Windy Nights | 22 |
| Pirate Story | 24 |
| Whole Duty of Children | 27 |
| Foreign Lands | 28 |
| System | 30 |
| A Good Play | 32 |
| The Land of Counterpane | 33 |
| A Good Boy | 34 |
| Looking Forward | 36 |
| The Swing | 37 |
| Good and Bad Children | 38 |
| Marching Song | 40 |
| Travel | 42 |
| Where Go the Boats? | 46 |
| Escape at Bedtime | 48 |
|
| From a Railway Carriage | 50 |
| The Wind | 52 |
| Auntie's Skirts | 54 |
| Happy Thought | 55 |
| The Cow | 56 |
| My Bed Is a Boat | 58 |
| The Land of Nod | 60 |
| Fairy Bread | 61 |
| Keepsake Mill | 62 |
| Winter-time | 64 |
| Looking-glass River | 66 |
| The Sun's Travels | 69 |
| The Lamplighter | 70 |
| Foreign Children | 73 |
| The Moon | 74 |
| The Hayloft | 77 |
| Farewell To the Farm | 78 |
| A Thought | 80 |
| Singing | 81 |
| North-west Passage |
| I. Good-night | 82 |
| II. Shadow March | 84 |
| III. In Port | 86 |
| To My Mother | 88 |
| Guide To Pronunciation | 89 |
| A Word List | 90 |
A Child's Garden of Verses
A CHILD'S
GARDEN
of
VERSES
BED IN SUMMER
In winter I get up at night
And dress by yellow candle-light.
In summer, quite the other way,
I have to go to bed by day.
I have to go to bed and see
The birds still hopping on the tree,
Or hear the grown-up people's feet
Still going past me in the street.
And does it not seem hard to you
When all the sky is clear and blue,
And I should like so much to play,
To have to go to bed by day?
YOUNG NIGHT THOUGHT
All night long and every night,
When my mama puts out the light
I see the people marching by,
As plain as day, before my eye.
Armies and emperors and kings,
All carrying different kinds of things,
And marching in so grand a way,
You never saw the like by day.
So fine a show was never seen
At the great circus on the green;
For every kind of beast and man
Is marching in that caravan.
At first they move a little slow,
But still the faster on they go,
And still beside them close I keep
Until we reach the Town of Sleep.
RAIN
The rain is raining all around,
It falls on field and tree,
It rains on the umbrellas here,
And on the ships at sea.
MY SHADOW
I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,
And what can be the use of him is more than I can see,
He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head;
And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.
The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow—
Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow;
For he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber ball,
And he sometimes gets so little that there's none of him at all.
He hasn't got a notion of how children ought to play,
And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way.
He stays so close beside me, he's a coward you can see;
I'd think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me!
One morning, very early, before the sun was up,
I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup;
But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head,
Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.
Time to Rise.
A birdie with a yellow bill
Hopped upon the window sill,
Cocked his shining eye and said:
'Ain't you shamed, you sleepy-head?'
At the Seaside.
When I was down beside the sea
A wooden spade they gave to me
To dig the sandy shore.
My holes were empty like a cup,
In every hole the sea came up.
Till it could come no more.
Windy-Nights
Whenever the moon and stars are set,
Whenever the wind is high,
All night long in the dark and wet,
A man goes riding by.
Late in the night when the fires are out,
Why does he gallop and gallop about?
Whenever the trees are crying aloud,
And ships are tossed at sea,
By, on the highway, low and loud,
By at the gallop goes he.
By at the gallop he goes, and then
By he comes back at the gallop again.
PIRATE STORY
Three of us afloat in the meadow by the swing.
Three of us aboard in the basket on the lea.
Winds are in the air, they are blowing in the spring.
And waves are on the meadow like the waves there are at sea.
Where shall we adventure, to-day that we're afloat,
Wary of the weather and steering by a star?
Shall it be to Africa, a-steering of the boat,
To Providence, or Babylon, or off to Malabar?
Hi! but here's a squadron a-rowing on the sea—
Cattle on the meadow a-charging with a roar!
Quick, and we'll escape them, they're as mad as they can be.
The wicket is the harbor and the garden is the shore.
WHOLE DUTY of CHILDREN
A child should always say what's true
And speak when he is spoken to,
And behave mannerly at table:
At least as far as he is able.
FOREIGN LANDS
Up into the cherry tree
Who should climb but little me?
I held the trunk with both my hands
And looked abroad on foreign lands.
I saw the next door garden lie,
Adorned with flowers, before my eye,
And many pleasant places more
That I had never seen before.
I saw the dimpling river pass
And be the sky's blue looking-glass;
The dusty roads go up and down
With people tramping into town,
If I could find a higher tree
Farther and farther I should see,
To where the grown-up river slips
Into the sea among the ships.
To where the roads on either hand
Lead onward into fairy land,
Where all the children dine at five,
And all the playthings come alive.
SYSTEM
Every night my prayers I say,
And get my dinner every day;
And every day that I've been good,
I get an orange after food.
The child that is not clean and neat,
With lots of toys and things to eat,
He is a naughty child, I'm sure—
Or else his dear papa is poor.
A GOOD PLAY
We built a ship upon the stairs,
All made of the back-bedroom chairs,
And filled it full of sofa pillows
To go a-sailing on the billows.
We took a saw and several nails,
And water in the nursery pails;
And Tom said, "Let us also take
An apple and a slice of cake";—
Which was enough for Tom and me
To go a-sailing on, till tea.
We sailed along for days and days,
And had the very best of plays;
But Tom fell out and hurt his knee,
So there was no one left but me.
THE LAND OF COUNTERPANE
When I was sick and lay a-bed,
I had two pillows at my head,
And all my toys beside me lay
To keep me happy all the day.
And sometimes for an hour or so
I watched my leaden soldiers go,
With different uniforms and drills,
Among the bed-clothes, through the hills.
And sometimes sent my ships in fleets
All up and down among the sheets;
Or brought my trees and houses out,
And planted cities all about.
I was the giant great and still
That sits upon the pillow-hill,
And sees before him, dale and plain,
The pleasant Land of Counterpane.
A GOOD BOY
I woke before the morning, I was happy all the day,
I never said an ugly word, but smiled and stuck to play.
And now at last the sun is going down behind the wood,
And I am very happy, for I know that I've been good.
My bed is waiting cool and fresh, with linen smooth and fair.
And I must off to sleepsin-by, and not forget my prayer.
I know that, till tomorrow I shall see the sun arise,
No ugly dream shall fright my mind, no ugly sight my eyes.
But slumber hold me tightly till I waken in the dawn,
And hear the thrushes singing in the lilacs round the lawn.
LOOKING FORWARD
When I am grown to man's estate
I shall be very proud and great,
And tell the other girls and boys
Not to meddle with my toys.
The Swing
How do you like to go up in a swing,
Up in the air so blue?
Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing
Ever a child can do!
Up in the air and over the wall,
Till I can see so wide,
Rivers and trees and cattle and all
Over the countryside—
Till I look down on the garden green,
Down on the roof so brown—
Up in the air I go flying again,
Up in the air and down!
GOOD AND BAD CHILDREN
Children, you are very little,
And your bones are very brittle;
If you would grow great and stately,
You must try to walk sedately.
You must still be bright and quiet,
And content with simple diet;
And remain, through all bewild'ring,
Innocent and honest children.
Happy hearts and happy faces,
Happy play in grassy places—
That was how, in ancient ages,
Children grew to kings and sages.
But the unkind and the unruly,
And the sort who eat unduly,
They must never hope for glory—
Theirs is quite a different story!
Cruel children, crying babies,
All grow up as geese and gabies,
Hated, as their age increases,
By their nephews and their nieces.