POEMS 
 
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 Fannie Sprague Talbot 
 
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 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
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POEMS 
 
 FANNIE SPRAGUE TALBOT 
 
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 BOSTON 
 
 RICHARD G. BADGER 
 
 THE GORHAM PRESS 
 I9IO 
 
Copyright 1910 by Fannie Sprague Talbot 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 
 The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A, 
 
 ©CU265398 
 
TO MY MOTHER 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Retrospection 7 
 
 The Flowers' Easter 8 
 
 The Morning of the Year 9 
 
 To the Violet lO 
 
 The Riddle ii 
 
 Wild Flowers I2 
 
 The Land of Our Dreams 13 
 
 A Wee Bit Lass 14 
 
 Remembrance 15 
 
 A Face 16 
 
 Goldenrod 17 
 
 My Treasures 18 
 
 Thanksgiving 20 
 
 To Somebody 21 
 
 Mammy's Reverie 22 
 
 Joy-Days 23 
 
 A Mother's Idyl 24 
 
 My Valentine 25 
 
 Our Secret Memories 26 
 
 5 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Plain Bridget O'Toole 27 
 
 The Owls' Sunday School 28 
 
 The Birthday Party 29 
 
 Ted's Soliloquy 30 
 
 Shattered Joys 31 
 
 An Accident 33 
 
 Mothers Know 34 
 
 Our James 36 
 
 When Mother Cuts the Cake 37 
 
 Wee Willie Winkle 38 
 
 A Lassie's Lament 39 
 
 The Bumble Bee 40 
 
 Who Is It? 40 
 
 The New Automobile 41 
 
 Ma's Scrubbin' Day 42 
 
 A Sparrow Tale 43 
 
 One Day — Forenoon 44 
 
 Afternoon 45 
 
 When Mother Tucked Us In 46 
 
RETROSPECTION 
 
 'Twas early^ very early, dear — 
 
 Before the sleepy morn 
 Had more than stirred the fringed lids 
 
 Her dreamy eyes had worn — 
 When, lo ! from out the stilly dark. 
 
 So clear and sweet and free, 
 I heard a birdling's gladsome song 
 
 Come speeding in to me. 
 
 And in that early misty morn, 
 
 With the bird-song trilling sweet. 
 My thoughts went straying, sweetheart mine, 
 
 To Memory's retreat. 
 And though it was an Autumn morn. 
 
 And frost was in the air, 
 To me it was the glad Springtime, 
 
 With blossoms everywhere. 
 
 The orchard trees showered petals white ; 
 
 And in the meadows fair. 
 The buttercups were glowing, dear. 
 
 The soft seductive air 
 Brought scent of lilacs' fragrant bloom; 
 
 And by meand'ring streams. 
 Blue violets hid coquettishly 
 
 'Way from the sun's bold beams. 
 
 'Twas May again and you and I 
 
 Were starting out together. 
 Our thoughts in harmony, our hearts 
 
 Bound with Love's mystic tether. 
 Carefree we strolled in beauteous paths, 
 
 No thought of weal or sorrow; 
 But the bird-song ceased and I found myself 
 
 Alone in a grey to-morrow. 
 7 
 
THE FLOWERS' EASTER 
 
 I chanced to wander Easter-day 
 
 Along a woodland's edge, 
 Where everything was lush and dank 
 
 And there in the brown sedge 
 
 I spied a goodly company; 
 
 And upon further search 
 I soon discovered that the flowers 
 
 Were all attending church. 
 
 Such an array of Easter hats 
 
 Of every tint and hue! 
 Anemones wore dainty white, 
 
 The violets favored blue. 
 
 Cowslips had yellow bonnets all • 
 
 As showy as could be. 
 And in a separate pew they sat 
 
 A-worshipping haughtily. 
 
 Hepaticas had plainer styles 
 
 In white and purple, too; 
 Spring beauties pretty turbans wore 
 
 All dainty pink in hue. 
 
 No Easter sermon did they have — 
 That is, none preached in words — 
 
 A service chanted them, instead, 
 By robins and blue-birds. 
 
 And, too, they had an orchestra. 
 
 Deep in a near-by pond ; 
 The 'cellist was a bullfrog big 
 
 Who sat on a duck-weed frond. 
 
 8 
 
THE MORNING OF THE YEAR 
 
 Come, love, fare thee forth with me! 
 Wintry winds are blowing free; 
 O'er the wold frost crystals sparkle, 
 Gay birds cheep in the wood a-darkle; 
 On half-hidden fences twining 
 Glow the bittersweet berries shining; 
 Feathery snowflakes fall in showers 
 Softly through the still grey hours. 
 Hushed are all the chattering brooks 
 Cloistered in their ice-bound nooks ; 
 Rabbits from the thickets dart, 
 And the partridge, booming, start; 
 Flower buds beneath the snow 
 Are awaking, I well know. 
 
 Joy through all the earth is thrilling, 
 Gladness in our hearts is trilling — 
 Forth, love! Life and hope are here: 
 'Tis the morning of the year! 
 
TO THE VIOLET 
 
 Oh, modest little flower of perfume strangely 
 
 sweet, 
 Growing in nooks sequestered, I love you much. 
 You teach humanity a lesson, 
 And to all a comfort give. 
 When from the world one turns, 
 Disgusted with the pomp and rude display 
 Of gold and what gold buys, 
 You in your simple, unaffected way 
 Prove that there is beauty in simplicity. 
 And true worth in lowly things. 
 
 lO 
 
THE RIDDLE 
 
 I asked the flowers could they tell 
 
 If you, my sweetheart, loved me well. 
 
 The violet looked very shy, 
 
 And 'droitly passed my question by. 
 
 The tulip, in her bold array. 
 
 Said, "Come to me some other day." 
 
 The daffodill looked, oh! so wise, 
 From out the depths of yellow eyes! 
 
 The rose? She did not need to speak — 
 I read my answer in h^r cheek. 
 
 II 
 
WILD FLOWERS 
 
 You may talk of the flowers in hot-house bowers, 
 And of rare exotics, too; 
 I love the things where the wild bird sings — 
 That in wayside hedges grow. 
 
 There's a charm, I ween, in each blossom seen, 
 And a fragrance beyond compare — 
 The foraging bees sip e'en to the lees, 
 Of the sweetness that lingers there. 
 
 Along upland rills where the beauty spills 
 From the tangle of wilding rose. 
 Painted-cup finds room and the elder-bloom 
 In a gay profusion grows. 
 
 Dainty violets shy nestle closely by 
 'Neath the feathered fronds of ferns. 
 Honeysuckles oft bow to breezes soft, 
 Where the road 'round the marshland turns. 
 
 Aye, there's beauty rare in each blossom fair, 
 Mid the bracken and the burns. 
 
 12 
 
THE LAND OF OUR DREAMS 
 
 Oh, a gay, happy world 
 
 Is the land of our dreams, 
 No sadness is found there, 
 
 Nor sorrow, it seems. 
 We wander through meadows 
 
 Where flowers are springing, 
 And birds fill the air 
 
 With mellifluous singing. 
 
 No clouds ever darken 
 
 The land of our dreams; 
 But all the time over it 
 
 Bright sunlight streams. 
 There are rivers of hope, 
 
 And fountains of joy; 
 Our pleasures are real. 
 
 None tinged with alloy. 
 
 The friends who are here 
 
 In the land of our dreams 
 Do not mirror our faults, 
 
 But our virtues, it seems. 
 When tired of the world, 
 
 Its struggle and strife. 
 What a comfort to turn 
 
 To this dream-a-day life! 
 
 13 
 
A WEE BIT LASS 
 
 A wee bit lass there chanced to come 
 
 Across my path one day — 
 She stormed the fortress of my heart, 
 
 And held there perfect sway. 
 
 The winds were skirmishing about 
 
 Among the fallen leaves; 
 Big, feathery snow-flakes sifted down. 
 
 And lodged on roof and eaves. 
 
 Chrysanthemums were then in bloom — 
 All other flowers were dead — 
 
 They showed their colors flauntingly 
 Out in the garden-bed. 
 
 The crops had all been garnered well, 
 The bins with grain were filled; 
 
 In orchards barrels set in rows 
 Their apple-fragrance spilled. 
 
 But that was in the long ago, 
 
 A lass she is no more — 
 She measures now full five-feet-six 
 
 Against the pantry door. 
 
 And yet the fortress of my heart 
 
 Is her's, and her's alone ; 
 To me she is a wee bit lass, 
 
 Although a maiden grown. 
 
 14 
 
REMEMBRANCE 
 
 The moon is shining, dearie, 
 And the stars are twinkling, too, 
 
 This Christmas-eve in Southland; 
 And my thoughts are all for you. 
 
 Sweetheart, it seems so long ago. 
 
 Since you and I together 
 Roamed hills and plains and country lanes 
 
 In Autumn's bright blue weather. 
 
 On tree and shrub and wayside hedge 
 The lovely tints were showing; 
 
 The gentians blue were blooming, too, 
 And golden-rods were glowing. 
 
 The streams meandered lazily. 
 
 The air with grapes was fragrant; 
 
 Those fair old days, those rare old days. 
 When you and I played vagrant. 
 
 The breezes sigh through the roses. 
 
 And petals softly fall ; 
 The star-eyes dim as I ponder 
 
 On those days beyond recall. 
 
 15 
 
' 
 
 A FACE 
 
 A face IS ever now before my gaze, 
 
 A face aglow with love; 
 Two eyes of brown where lights and shadows play, 
 As in a stream o'er which the sunbeams flit 
 As fitful fancy suits them. 
 Two lips that I am sure were made for kisses: 
 I wonder if you know, dear heart, 
 Whose face it is — 
 So near to me, 
 So dear to me. 
 That it in dreams or hours of waking 
 Shifts through trem'lous clouds of fancy just before 
 me. 
 
 i6 
 
GOLDENROD 
 
 In the long October days, 
 
 When an amethystine haze 
 
 Steals across the upland meadows and the rills; 
 
 When a wealth of beauty glints, 
 
 In the rare autumnal tints. 
 Showing 'mong the tangled hedge-runs on the hills; 
 
 Queen of all the flower-faces, 
 
 Dimpling with their own sweet graces, 
 Is the feathery, fringy, flaunting goldenrod. 
 
 When the crickets shrilly call. 
 From their lair in grasses tall. 
 And the leaves are gently falling all day long ; 
 
 When the bees go buzzing over 
 
 The late aftermaths of clover, 
 And the brownthrush sings a mournful little song; 
 
 Dearest of all wild-wood flowers. 
 
 To these wearied hearts of ours. 
 Is the feathery, fringy, flaunting goldenrod. 
 
 17 
 
MY TREASURES 
 
 Some folks say life's not worth living, 
 
 That the world is going wrong, 
 That oppression, care and worry 
 
 Hush in every heart the song. 
 But someway agree I cannot 
 
 With this pessimistic view; 
 I am happy and contented, 
 
 And have blessings not a few; 
 And the best of all my treasures 
 
 As I jog along life's lane, 
 Is a row of little faces 
 
 Peering through the window-pane. 
 
 When my labors are completed 
 
 For the day, and home I go. 
 Plodding through the heat of summer, 
 
 Or the winter's sleet and snow. 
 My thoughts center on a cottage 
 
 Standing in a quiet street — 
 It is very unpretentious 
 
 But so cheery and so neat. 
 I don't envy e'en the ruler 
 
 Of a powerful domain, — 
 Waiting are some little faces 
 
 Peering through the window-pane. 
 
 As I come within their vision 
 
 Rapture beams on every face; 
 Hands are waved in greeting to me 
 
 Then all dash out in a race, 
 From the parlor to the kitchen. 
 
 Eager for their evening kiss. 
 One by one I snatch and hug them, 
 
 And my heart is filled with bliss. 
 
 i8 
 
With my lot I am contented 
 Fame and prestige I disdain, 
 
 While I have those little faces 
 
 Peering through the window-pane. 
 
 19 
 
THANKSGIVING 
 
 Through the soft, grey air now the snowflakes fall, 
 Sing ho, for the glad Thanksgiving! 
 
 From the barren boughs comes the jay^s shrill call, 
 Sing ho, for the glad Thanksgiving! 
 
 For Summer her wondrous story has told ; 
 
 And flitted away decked in robes of gold, 
 
 'Cross frost-gemmed meadows and reddening wold — 
 Sing ho, for the glad Thanksgiving I 
 
 Winnowed grain in the bulging bins is stored. 
 Sing, ho, for the glad Thanksgiving! 
 
 And the garnered fruit all its wealth has poured. 
 Sing ho, for the glad Thanksgiving! 
 
 Of all the Earth-children most favored we. 
 
 We'll voice, then, our praises with hearts care- 
 free, 
 
 'Tis joy alone just to live, just to be — 
 Sing ho, for the glad Thanksgiving ! 
 
 20 
 
TO SOMEBODY 
 
 'Tis now a year since first we met, 
 
 All on a rainy morning; 
 My love went out to you, dear heart, 
 
 Without a moment's warning. 
 
 Your laughing glance gave me a thrill 
 
 As I stood there beside you. 
 Aye, faith, my dear, I vowed Fd be 
 
 Your friend whatever betide you. 
 
 Of problems grave abroad, at home, 
 
 We chatted on together. 
 Ne'er thinking of stern duty's call, 
 
 And Spring's inclement weather. 
 
 The sunshine in your eyes I saw. 
 
 And in your gentle voice. 
 My heart heard zephyrs soft and low. 
 
 And hearing did rejoice. 
 
 I've been your friend and sweetheart through 
 
 The intervening year, 
 I trust your heart for me beats true, 
 
 Now does it, really, dear? 
 
 21 
 
MAMMY'S REVERIE 
 
 Oh, de Chris'mus wreaths am swingin', 
 An' de wind a song am singin' 
 
 Down through de chimbly flue; 
 In de big house dey's all glad, 
 But ma heart am sore an' sad — 
 
 I's a feelin' powe'ful blue — 
 'Case ma lil' honey lamb done gone away. 
 
 I done hung his lil' stockin', 
 Wheah de ol' clock am tick-tockin', 
 
 Up on de mantle she'f; 
 An' a note am in de toe — 
 Lak it was a yea' ago — 
 
 'Tis one he wrote his se'f, 
 'Fo' ma lil' honey lamb done gone away. 
 
 An' I put his lil' chair 
 By de window obah dere, 
 
 Jes lak he used to do. 
 I don' spec' dat Santa '11 stray 
 Wid no presents roun' dis way, 
 
 But I want it all jes so — 
 
 Lak it used t' be yo' know — 
 'Fo' ma lil' honey lamb done gone away. 
 
 22 
 
JOY-DAYS 
 
 "Please I want to go barefooted," 
 
 Lisped a little lad one day, 
 As he ran in from the garden 
 
 Where he had been sent to play. 
 
 "Little toads are just a-hoppin' 
 All 'round in the bright sunshine, 
 
 An' the froggies are a-singin' 
 'Cause the weather is so fine." 
 
 So I took the shoes and stockings 
 
 From the little dimpled feet ; 
 And imprinted many kisses 
 On the baby-lips, so sweet. 
 
 Then I watched him as he trudged out 
 
 To the little garden plot, 
 With his hands tucked in his pockets, 
 
 Quite content with his childish lot. 
 
 With what joy the sand he sifted 
 Through his pretty dimpled toes! 
 
 With what eagerness he waded! 
 Pleasures only childhood knows. 
 
 All too soon is playtime ended 
 
 And life's earnestness begun. 
 When the sorrows and the burdens 
 
 Crowd each other one by one. 
 
 Let the tots, then, have their pleasures, 
 Fill their daily lives with cheer, 
 
 That the mem'ries of their joy-days 
 They may cherish many a year. 
 
 23 
 
A MOTHER'S IDYL 
 
 When the day is almost ended 
 
 And the sun is seeking rest, 
 Throwing 'cross the lawn long shadows 
 
 From his station in the west; 
 Then I hie me to the window 
 
 Where the picture I can see, 
 Sinking down among the cushions 
 
 With my baby on my knee. 
 
 And the sunbeams kiss his dimples, 
 
 And light up his golden head. 
 Till a new and glorious beauty 
 
 Is about my darling shed. 
 Then as I caress the wee one. 
 
 Snuggling closely to my breast, 
 To my lips there comes a prayer 
 
 That he be forever blessed. 
 
 Would his soul might catch the sunshine 
 
 Glinting now about his face, 
 And through future years retain it, 
 
 By it gaining heavenly grace. 
 As I muse the shadows deepen. 
 
 And the sunbeams are no more 
 Resting on the darling's ringlets, 
 
 Neither slanting 'cross the floor. 
 
 Then I draw my sweet one nearer 
 
 And gaze down into his eyes, 
 Where are other sunlight flashes 
 
 Bright as those from out the skies. 
 Mother-love stirs all my heart-strings, 
 
 And, to make my bliss complete, 
 From my darling's lips falls "Mamma," 
 
 Like a benediction sweet. 
 24 
 
MY VALENTINE 
 
 Will you be my valentine, 
 
 Sweetheart mine? 
 With your cheeks of ruddy hue, 
 
 And your eyes so very blue, 
 And your heart that beats so true, 
 
 Sweetheart mine? 
 
 Will you be my valentine. 
 
 Sweetheart mine? 
 You'll be happy, never fear; 
 And you'll fill my heart with cheer. 
 If you'll whisper, "Yes, my dear," 
 
 Sweetheart mine. 
 
 Will you be my valentine. 
 
 Sweetheart mine? 
 Surely you will grant me this. 
 Seal the compact with a kiss. 
 Thus insuring future bliss, 
 
 Sweetheart mine. 
 
 25 
 
OUR SECRET MEMORIES 
 
 We all have memories which we do not cherish 
 
 as the years go by ; 
 And little griefs that seem so hard to bear. 
 We hide them from the passing throng, but know 
 
 ourselves too well their smarting sting. 
 They come to us at midnight when the lights are 
 
 burning low, 
 When all about us reigns a stillness, deathlike, 
 
 broken by no sound, 
 Except, perchance, the measured ticking of the clock 
 
 which marks the passing of the hours. 
 'Tis then they come to mock us, flaunt before us 
 
 their great show of strength 
 Until we writhe and in our suffering pray for help 
 
 Divine to overpower our foe, 
 And prove that henceforth victory is ours. 
 Once vanquished, though, they come again and yet 
 
 again ; 
 But if we're brave and true unto our better selves 
 
 all shall be well. 
 And in the Day of Judgment we shall stand before 
 
 our Maker showing Him our scars. 
 Proving to Him that we, too, have suffered on our 
 
 earthly pilgrimage, 
 Have borne our cross of sorrows, worn a crown of 
 
 thorns. 
 
 26 
 
PLAIN BRIDGET OTOOLE 
 
 Bridget O'TooIe was a very plain crathur, 
 As plain as her name would denote; 
 
 But she had been trained in the art of housekapin\ 
 Had larned all her lessons be rote. 
 
 Her bread an' her rusks made her frinds wild wid 
 
 envy, 
 Her pies an' her cakes they were foine; 
 An' so, faith, I shunned all the other mavourneens. 
 
 An' asked Miss O'Toole to be moine. 
 
 O'Hinnessy's Katie was raly a beauty, 
 
 An' Nora O'Reilly was, too. 
 They drissed thimselves up in the height o' the 
 fashion. 
 
 An' sure, that was all they could do. 
 
 But whin a mon comes to his home tired an' hungry. 
 
 He's lookin' for somethin' to ate. 
 This shtyle an' good looks they are not satisfyin' 
 
 Like well cooked petatus an' mate. 
 
 So I've niver been sorry I made the decision. 
 
 Me Bridget's the joy o' me loife; 
 It's wid rale satisfaction I always look back to 
 
 The day that I made her me woife. 
 
 27 
 
THE OWLS' SUNDAY SCHOOL 
 
 Wise old Mr. Owl sat high up in a tree 
 
 A-teaching his Sunday-school class. 
 He told them of things that had happened, and, too. 
 
 Still others not yet come to pass. 
 
 So learned he looked as the truth he explained 
 That the poor little owls were affrighted. 
 
 When he put to them questions they very well knew 
 Speak they could not, they were so excited. 
 
 But one little fellow at last became brave, 
 "I'll say something wise," blurted he. 
 
 When asked what the Lord does to mischievous 
 owls, 
 He shouted, **Well, you can search me." 
 
 Then the others all screeched. One shook so with 
 glee 
 
 He fell to the ground with a thud ; 
 In his nice speckled suit a-sprawling he lay 
 
 Right in a big puddle of mud. 
 
 Mr. Owl said he never would teach them again ; 
 
 The youngsters are glad it occurred. 
 Now their teacher's a lively young bat, and he says 
 
 That each is a very bright bird. 
 
 28 
 
THE BIRTHDAY PARTY 
 
 Sue Smith's goin' to have a party! 
 (Thinks she's smart as she can be.) 
 An' she's 'vited all the chilrun, 
 That IS, all of 'em but me. 
 
 All the time they're talkin' 'bout it, 
 Plannin' what to take to Sue, 
 Whisperin' 'round the halls at recess. 
 (Think that I don't hear 'em, too.) 
 
 But I know just ev'ry word that 
 All them chilrun have to say. 
 An' I just don't think their presents 
 Are so swell for a birfday. 
 
 Sometime / will have a party, 
 My ma said I could to-day; 
 Then I'll 'vite all of the chilrun 
 'Cept Sue Smith. She'll keep away. 
 
 Let 'er see how well she likes it 
 To stay in an' watch 'em go 
 To a party house wiv presents, 
 Walkin' dressed up in a row. 
 
 ril have pink an' white ice cream an' 
 A lot bigger cake 'an Sue's; 
 An' some choclut creams an' taffy 
 (They can eat just all they choose). 
 
 An' we'll run an' romp an' frolic, 
 An' have, oh! the mostest fun — 
 An' Sue Smith will be so jealous 
 'Cause she isn't 'lowed to come. 
 
 29 
 
TED'S SOLILOQUY 
 
 My muvver says I make 
 A dreadful lot o' noise; 
 
 An' clutter up her house 
 Wiv all my little toys. 
 
 But I just guess she'd see, 
 
 How lonesome it would be, 
 
 'F there wasn't any me. 
 
 Miss Brown likes me, I know — 
 She told me so one day. 
 
 An' so if ma don't want me, 
 I'm goin' to run away. 
 
 I'll take my toys an' clo'es. 
 
 What '11 ma say, do you s'pose, 
 
 When she really, truly knows? 
 
 Miss Brown '11 take me in. 
 An' love me, too, she will. 
 
 She '11 let me play street cars, 
 An' charge soldiers up a hill. 
 
 She '11 let me always play, — 
 
 But wiv muvver gone away, 
 
 I guess I couldn't stay. 
 
 30 
 
SHATTERED JOYS 
 
 On a warm afternoon 
 
 In the fair month of June 
 
 A golden-haired lassie was playing 
 In the shade of a tree, 
 As content as could be 
 
 And all to herself she was saying: 
 ''Now, chilrun, be good. 
 I must go get some wood 
 
 An' finish my baking, you see, — 
 Bread, bixits an' tarts. 
 An' cakes shaped in hearts. 
 
 For comp'ny is coming to tea." 
 
 Not a word did they say, 
 Those dollies so gay, 
 
 But each sat as still as a mouse. 
 While their mamma did hurry. 
 Skip about in a flurry, 
 
 To bake in her make-believe house. 
 At last it was over, 
 And there in the clover 
 
 She placed on a long, narrow board — 
 In neatest array 
 A splendid display — 
 
 Her carefully treasured-up hoard. 
 
 But alas! Brother Dan 
 With fish pole and bait can 
 
 That moment just chanced to pass by; 
 For him it was fun 
 To kick things and run. 
 
 And cause the wee lassie to cry. 
 
 31 
 
Then her house she forgot, 
 And she fled from the spot, 
 
 Running fast as a little girl can; 
 And in her mamma's lap 
 She retold the mishap. 
 
 Now something will happen to Dan. 
 
 32 
 
AN ACCIDENT 
 
 Did you know that an accident happened today? 
 Yes, there did and it all came about in this way : 
 Miss Virginia Annabel Marguerite Claire 
 Was out in her carriage a-taking the air 
 When a wheel was demolished. Her coachman 
 
 was heedless. 
 And though now to tell you all this may be needless, 
 To collide with an automobile was so careless. 
 And the accident, too, left the lady quite hairless. 
 It is truly a horrible tale to relate. 
 And to think the dear lady should meet such a fate ! 
 I shall now have to play with that old ragchild. 
 
 For you see Miss Virginia was my lovely French 
 dolly. 
 
 33 
 
 / 
 
ifei^ 
 
 MOTHERS KNOW 
 
 What 'd I do without a mother? 
 
 Well, I dunno what I would. 
 Seems to me it is the mothers 
 
 What keeps all of us kids good. 
 They make pies for us an' cookies, 
 
 An' them dandy little tarts 
 With the dabs of jell and jam on, 
 
 All shaped nice in squares an' hearts. 
 
 An' they like to have us hungry. 
 
 Like to see us eat things up. 
 But our Bridget now she hollers 
 
 If I want a second cup 
 Of cocoa, tea, or coffee. 
 
 Or another nice cream puff. 
 She says that I am too greedy. 
 
 That I've surely had enough. 
 
 But my mother, when she's lookin'. 
 
 Says, "That's right, dear." Guess she knows. 
 She knows better most 'an pa does. 
 
 An' whatever she says goes. 
 When I want to go a-fishin'. 
 
 An' my pa don't want me to. 
 Ma speaks low to him about it. 
 
 An' I go, you bet I do. 
 
 When the circus came to Union, 
 
 Pa he said as 'twas no use 
 For me to expect to see it. 
 
 But ma had a good excuse. 
 She just managed fine, I tell you. 
 
 An' whatever do you s'pose? 
 Why, we all went, even pa did. 
 
 An' took in the little shows. 
 
 34 
 
Mothers know that kids get tired, 
 
 An' feel sorry for 'em, too. 
 Pas don't ever seem to notice — 
 
 Don't say nothin' if they do. 
 Once I tried to weed the garden, 
 
 Cracky! but them weeds was high; 
 An' the sun it was so scorchin', 
 
 Well, I just thought I would die. 
 
 How my back ached an' my head, too, 
 
 An' the hot ground burnt my feet; 
 But when I was feelin' meanest. 
 
 Ma she come out with a treat. 
 She baked apple pies that momin'. 
 
 An' she made one just for me; 
 'Twas a sug'ry, brown turn-over. 
 
 Mothers know, now don't you see? 
 
 Once I went down in the cornfield, 
 
 To the watermelon patch. 
 An' I hunted for a ripe one. 
 
 Pa was mad as the old scratch 
 Just because I plugged some melons. 
 
 Why, I had to, don't you see? 
 An' my ma said pa he 'd done it. 
 
 When a little boy like me. 
 
 'Nother time I et green apples — 
 
 "Served you right," was what pa said; 
 But my ma, she give me pep'mint. 
 
 An' she tucked me up in bed. 
 I just tell you 'tis the mothers 
 
 Of us little girls and boys 
 What makes life so bully for us 
 
 An' gives to us all our joys. 
 
 35 
 
OUR JAMES 
 
 Who IS It fills our home with cheer, 
 Calls forth the laugh and checks the tear? 
 — Our James. 
 
 Who is it runs at father's beck, 
 And brings the draught his cough to check? 
 — Our James. 
 
 Who is it that's his mother's joy? 
 Who bakes and brews, altho' a boy? 
 — Our James. 
 
 Who aids his brother when he can? 
 At play or school a little man ? 
 — Our James. 
 
 Who pleases uncle with his ways, 
 And earns thereby such lavish praise? 
 — Our James. 
 
 Who is beloved by aunties all? 
 Who hastens to their every call? 
 — Our James. 
 
 Who brings to grandma's heart such cheer? 
 Who to her always is so dear? 
 — Our James. 
 
 Who doffs his cap whene'er he meets 
 A friend upon the city streets? 
 — Our James. 
 
 Who ever has a smiling face, 
 No matter what the time or place? 
 — Our James. 
 
 May Fortune's star him never leave, 
 Life's fitful fancy ne'er deceive, 
 — Our James. 
 
 36 
 
WHEN MOTHER CUTS THE CAKE 
 
 When mother cuts the cake 
 
 You bet she has the slice 
 
 All thick and nice; 
 An' if there's raisins in it she- 
 Why, she finds more'n what's comin' to me. 
 
 If there's on top a choc'late drop — 
 Well, two or three she makes me take — 
 That's when my mother cuts the cake. 
 
 When sister cuts a slice 
 
 She's stingy as can be. 
 
 Afraid that she 
 Will give me more 'n a measly taste ; 
 An' lots of that goes all to waste 
 
 In crumbs; an' so I'm always slow 
 To a big lot of trouble make 
 In askin' Sis to cut the cake. 
 
 17 
 
WEE WILLIE WINKLE 
 
 When Willie Winkle ran away 
 Where do you think he went? 
 He hurried to the grocery store 
 And paid his bright new cent 
 For a big stick of candy, then 
 He ran across the alley; 
 And gave just half his purchase to 
 His sweetheart, little Sally. 
 
 When Willie Winkle's mamma found 
 
 The youngster had departed. 
 
 She sat right down and sobbed and cried ; 
 
 And was near broken hearted. 
 
 His papa was exceeding wroth. 
 
 Called Mrs. Winkle silly. 
 
 And said he ne'er had seen a lad 
 
 As mischievous as Willie. 
 
 Then Bridget started out to search 
 
 In every neighbor's house. 
 
 And soon she spied the urchin, 
 
 Sitting still as any mouse, 
 
 With Sally on the basement stairs; 
 
 The two they were a sight — 
 
 Their hands and frocks and faces smeared 
 
 With candy red and white. 
 
 His mamma hugged the lad and said ; 
 
 "You blessed little boy, 
 
 You are your mamma's angel child, 
 
 Your papa's hope and joy." 
 
 But Willie thought that some mistake 
 
 She made in such assurance — 
 
 The spanks that papa gave him were 
 
 Almost beyond endurance. 
 
 38 
 
A LASSIE'S LAMENT 
 
 I think It's really awful nice 
 To have a birfday party, 
 An' Vite the chilrun all to come, 
 Like ma did once for Martie. 
 They brought him, oh! the mostest things- 
 Nice books, hankshufs an' candy. 
 I just wish that our ma would make 
 One for us, me an' Mandy. 
 She says that girls don't 'preciate 
 Such things as much as boys. 
 (She let 'em romp through the whole house. 
 An' they made lots o' noise.) 
 If Mandy puts 'er dolls around, 
 An' plays she is their teacher. 
 An' scolds 'em all the time they say 
 Their lessons like Miss Beecher; 
 Or if I want to bake some pies. 
 Some cookies or some cake; 
 She says we make 'er nervous, so 
 Our bonnets we must take 
 An' run right out o' doors an' stay 
 Till she is better uv it. 
 But if 't was Martie done these things 
 She really would just love it. 
 I tell you there's a diff'rence if 
 You be a girl or boy; 
 The boys gets all the bestest times. 
 They're always mamma's joy. 
 
 39 
 
THE BUMBLE BEE 
 
 The bumble bee is a gay little fellow 
 
 With his trousers of black and his waistcoat of 
 
 yellow, 
 He buzzes about in the bright, sunny hours, 
 Sipping the sweets from the depths of the flowers. 
 
 He journeys about by the aid of his wings 
 The while you may hear the glad song that he sings. 
 He always seems happy, this wee, busy chap — 
 That is if he suffers no serious mishap. 
 
 But if you should chance to wander, my dears. 
 Near his sweet little bungalow, I have grave fears 
 That his buzzing won't have the old happy tone 
 And you'll hasten at once to your mother and home. 
 
 WHO IS IT? 
 
 I know of a dear little man. 
 Now tell me who 'tis if you can. 
 He has curly brown hair. 
 And a face very fair. 
 
 Who is it, pray tell, who is it? 
 
 His dimples he never could hide^ 
 No matter how much the lad tried. 
 He has eyes that are blue 
 And a heart that is true. 
 
 Who is it, please tell me, who is it? 
 
 40 
 
THE NEW AUTOMOBILE 
 
 Have you seen our new automobile? 
 
 It's a fine one, as fine as can be. 
 Of course, it's not just like my pa's; 
 
 But It suits us, Tim Mullins an' me. 
 
 It's got a search-light an' a seat, 
 
 But for only just one though to ride; 
 
 So when I sit in it, you see, 
 
 Tim Mullins he walks by my side. 
 
 But the horn is the best thing about it, 
 An' we keep it a tooting all day. 
 
 My mamma gets nervous an' tells us 
 She don't like such boisterous play. 
 
 How else could boys play now, I wonder. 
 An' she ought to like it all right — 
 
 'Twas three days ago that we made it 
 An' we've only had one little fight. 
 
 41 
 
MA'S SCRUBBIN' DAY 
 
 I really think it isn't right 
 
 For ma to scrub the floor so white 
 
 On Saturday. 
 
 When from my play 
 I run in for a drink, 
 Up to the kitchen sink, 
 It seems that everywhere I go 
 The leastest little step will show ; 
 An' I can't help but make a spatter. 
 I don't think that 'tis such a matter; 
 But ma she always scolds about it. 
 So 'f I want a drink I'm goin' 'thout it. 
 
 42 
 
A SPARROW TALE 
 
 Some sparrows sat up 
 
 In the top of a tree, 
 And they were so cold! 
 Oh, as cold as could be! 
 The north wind was blowing, 
 And, too, it was snowing, 
 And the poor little birdlings 
 
 Felt wretched, indeed. 
 
 But Isabel spied them. 
 
 The dear little girlie, 
 And though all this happened 
 
 In the morning quite early; 
 She gave them a supper. 
 Of bread with no butter. 
 They chirruped a thankyou. 
 
 And ate it with greed. 
 
 43 
 
ONE DAY 
 
 Forenoon 
 
 You go right home, now, Bessie Gray, 
 
 An' take your dollies, too; 
 My muvver will not let me play 
 
 Wiv such bad girls as you. 
 
 YouVe tore my dolly's buflest gown. 
 
 An' spoilt her Sunday hat, 
 You're just the worstest girl in town; 
 
 Take that! an' that! an' that! 
 
 I'll never play wiv you again, 
 
 An' what's more, I shall go 
 An' tell the min'ster's wife an' then 
 
 She'll never love you, so! 
 
 Now gather up all your old truck — 
 
 Your pieces an' doll's bed. 
 Here ! Don't you take my Easter duck. 
 
 An' that'^ my china head. 
 
 You shan't have that nice blue tea-set, 
 
 I'm goin' to take it back; 
 An', Bessie Gray, you can just let 
 
 Me have that doll's clo'es-rack. 
 
 Now 'member, don't you never dare 
 
 To step inside our yard; 
 As sure's you do my folks won't care 
 
 'F I pound you good and hard. 
 
 44 
 
Afternoon 
 
 Why, hello! Bessie Gray, 
 
 Fm really awful glad 
 That you have come to play. 
 
 No, course I isn't mad ! 
 
 ril tell you what let's do — 
 Let's give our dolls a treat. 
 
 Some cake and cookies, too, 
 I'll get for them to eat. 
 
 We'll use your blue tea-set. 
 Don't you think it's real nice? 
 
 A clean cloth we must get! 
 Let's call in Margie Price. 
 
 We'll have the bestest time! 
 
 Here's Susie, Grace and Belle, 
 Miss Blue and Polly Prim. 
 
 (My Nora she ain't well.) 
 
 I cleaned my house to-day. 
 An' dressed my dollies new; 
 
 But I don't like to play 
 
 Somehow, dear Bess, 'thout you. 
 
 Let's never have a row. 
 But be just good an' sweet. 
 
 Come, bring your dollies, now, 
 Here's Margie Price, let's eat! 
 
 45 
 
WHEN MOTHER TUCKED US IN 
 
 When mother used to tuck us in 
 
 Our beds at close of day, 
 When we were tired of dolls and toys 
 
 And all our childish play, 
 She would hear us lisp "I lay me" 
 
 While she smoothed the covers down. 
 And she'd give us oh! the gentlest hug. 
 
 And pat our hands so brown; 
 Then stoop and kiss us on our lips, 
 
 And cheeks and eyelids too, 
 And murmur in caressing tones, 
 
 **May sweet dreams come to you." 
 Ah, that was in the long ago. 
 
 The days that once have been. 
 When we were little children 
 
 And our mother tucked us in. 
 
 We'd hear her step descend the stair, 
 
 And in our childish way 
 Wish that the night might never come 
 
 But that it would be day 
 Just all the time so that we 'd ne'er 
 
 Be privileged to know 
 How hard it was to stay upstairs 
 
 When grown-ups were below. 
 We knew that they were saying things 
 
 And doing things also 
 That were very interesting 
 
 And about which we should know. 
 Oh, that was in the long ago. 
 
 The days that once have been. 
 When we were little children 
 
 And our mother tucked us in. 
 
 46 
 
But the Sand Man always came along 
 
 And weighed our eyelids down, 
 And we drifted to another world, 
 
 A place called Slumber Town, 
 Where dolls were really people 
 
 And stick-candy grew on trees; 
 And little girls had parties ^ 
 
 Just as often as they pleased. 
 There were no naughty boys around 
 
 To play means pranks and run. 
 Most always visits to this place 
 
 Were filled with joy and fun. 
 But that was in the long ago, 
 
 The days that once have been, 
 When we were little children 
 
 And our mother tucked us in. 
 
 Sometimes our dreams were troublous 
 
 And things would not come right. 
 And we'd waken sobbing, frightened, 
 
 In the middle of the night. 
 There was one who always heard us; 
 
 To our bed she 'd softly creep. 
 And with low and loving croonings 
 
 She would lull us back to sleep. 
 As we now steal to our chamber 
 
 When the day for us is done, 
 When cares, perplexing problems 
 
 Stay our slumber, one by one, 
 Then we find ourselves a-longing 
 
 For the days that once have been, 
 When we were little children 
 
 And our mother tucked us in. 
 
 47 
 
We must now content our longings 
 
 With the memory of her face; 
 Imagine a dream angel flits 
 
 About us in her place, 
 Smoothing covers, softly singing 
 
 Sweetest lullabies the while, 
 Till we drift off into Dreamland 
 
 Thinking only of her smile; 
 Feeling on our lips the pressure 
 
 Of her loving good-night kiss. 
 Cares and sorrows then will vanish 
 
 And well dream on, filled with bliss, 
 Much the same as in the years agone. 
 
 The days that once have been. 
 When we were little children 
 
 And our mother tucked us in. 
 
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