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 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
JULIA COOLEY 
 
THE POEMS OF A CHILD 
 
 BEING POEMS WRITTEN BETWEEN 
 THE AGES OF SIX AND TEN 
 
 BY 
 
 TnTK-u. JULIA ^cooley) Oxt^c 
 
 CO(-uJU 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION 
 BY 
 
 RICHARD LE GALLIENNE 
 
 NEW YORK 
 R. H. RUSSELL PUBLISHER 
 
 MCMIV 
 
ro 350 1 
 
 LIBRARY of OONGRPSS 
 Two Cooies Recelvec; 
 
 JUN 8 1904 
 Copyright Entry 
 
 CLASS y5| XXo) No. 
 
 COPY B 
 
 Copyright, 1904, by Harper & Brothbrs. 
 
 jIU rights reserved. 
 Published June, 1904. 
 
I 
 
 
 ^ Contents 
 
 ^ PAGE 
 
 Introduction i 
 
 Untitled Poems 47 
 
 What Nature is Like to Me .... 50 
 
 My Lover 50 
 
 My Baby Brother. . . . ' 51 
 
 Sunset 51 
 
 Arachne's Home 52 
 
 The Happy One 52 
 
 The Clover . 53 
 
 Farewell 53 
 
 The Joyful Leaves 54 
 
 The Lightning 54 
 
 Dear Little Blue Grass 55 
 
 The Dear Little Buttercup .... 55 
 
 The Cheese Flower 56 
 
 Mother Hill 56 
 
 A Thought 57 
 
 The Little Brook 57 
 
 Jack Frost 58 
 
 The Woods 58 
 
 iii 
 
Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Deeds of the World 59 
 
 The Little Brook ^60 
 
 The Raindrops 60 
 
 Harvest 61 
 
 A Quiet Home 62 
 
 Harvest 63 
 
 The Cornstalk 63 
 
 To My Valentine 64 
 
 A Fair Young Maiden 65 
 
 The Wise Wishes 66 
 
 March 67 
 
 The First Violet of Spring .... 68 
 
 The Fairies 69 
 
 The Night 70 
 
 Lament 72 
 
 The Poor that Give Happiness ... 73 
 
 New Year's Day 74 
 
 The Cloud 75 
 
 The Joys of Camping Out 76 
 
 The Seed that Grows and Dies ... 77 
 
 The Wild Rose 77 
 
 The Brook and The Trees 78 
 
 The Fairies 79 
 
 Pleading 80 
 
 The Elves 81 
 
 The Silver Moon 82 
 
 Summer 83 
 
 iv 
 
Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Fairies 84 
 
 The Apple Orchard 85 
 
 The Sunset 89 
 
 Sleep go 
 
 Repose 91 
 
 The Lake 92 
 
 Sunbeams 93 
 
 Cupid's Dream 94 
 
 The Brook 95 
 
 The Stars 96 
 
 Baby Brother's Eyes 97 
 
 The Thorn 98 
 
 Morn 98 
 
 Magic Music 99 
 
 The Rustling Leaves 99 
 
 The Fairies' Boat ... .... 100 
 
 My Wish loi 
 
 Day Dreams loi 
 
 Daffodils 102 
 
 Violets 102 
 
 Poppies 103 
 
 Nasturtiums 103 
 
 Lilies 104 
 
 •*■■ — Dandelions 105 
 
 May 106 
 
 The Fairy Boat 106 
 
 The Bats 107 
 
 y 
 
Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Tear io8 
 
 Spring io8 
 
 Beauty Near the Lake 109 
 
 Lincoln no 
 
 The Cave of Ice in 
 
 The Silent Shore 112 
 
 The Poplar Trees 113 
 
 A Hilly Country 114 
 
 Evening 115 
 
 Gladsome Robins 116 
 
 The Lonely Vale 116 
 
 A Sweet Dream of a May Day .... 117 
 
 Song to the Wind 118 
 
 The Clouds 118 
 
 The Quiet Cemetery 119 
 
 The Woods 119 
 
 Woodland Tower 120 
 
 •t-The Old Orchard 121 
 
 The Country Church 122 
 
 The Brook 123 
 
 Sunset Meadow 124 
 
 Indian Chant 125 
 
 Nature 126 
 
 Nature's Argument 127 
 
 To Aunt Tess 129 
 
 The Silent Wood 130 
 
 Eventide at the Ocean 131 
 
 vi 
 
Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Marsh at Nantucket 132 
 
 A Happy Birthday 133 
 
 My. Little Followers 134 
 
 The Joy of the Country 135 
 
 Departure 136 
 
 What Time Brings 136 
 
 The Country Sublime 137 
 
 When Summer is O'er 138 
 
 Fall 138 
 
 Fall and Spring 139 
 
 An Anniversary 140 
 
 An Anniversary 141 
 
 The Moon 142 
 
 Sunset 144 
 
 Twilight 14S 
 
 Youth i4S 
 
 A Thought op a Lonely Damp Valley . 149 
 
Introduction 
 
 *URING the summer of 190 1 
 I was spending a few days 
 with some friends who have 
 a pleasant home in one of 
 the green valleys of Con- 
 necticut. Among the mem- 
 bers of the household was a little girl of 
 eight, a simple, happy child, as childlike 
 as child can be, even more so than little 
 girls of eight are apt to be in America. 
 No child could possibly have less of the 
 infant phenomenon about her, and I lived 
 in the same house with her for several days 
 without realizing the significance of little 
 Julia Cooley, whose poetry I am about to 
 introduce to the reader. 
 
 The reader, doubtless, has a very natural 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 dread of the infant prodigy, in which feel- 
 ing I am entirely with him. But as Julia 
 Cooley does not play the piano, or perform 
 the usual unchildish marvels, perhaps he 
 may waive his prejudice for once and give 
 her a patient hearing. 
 
 Julia Cooley is blessed with a relative such 
 as too seldom goes with the infant phenom- 
 enon — a sensible mother; a mother who 
 in no way spoils her or encourages her to 
 think that she is different from other chil- 
 dren, while, of course, she is none the less 
 happily conscious of the remarkable gifts 
 of her little girl, and properly awake to her 
 responsibility for their care and develop- 
 ment. It was with great diffidence that 
 Mrs. Cooley brought herself to speak to 
 me about her little daughter's verses, and 
 showed me the quaint little manuscripts, 
 fearing that she might seem the usual fond, 
 deluded mother. But I shall be much sur- 
 prised if the reader does not agree with me 
 in thinking that it is no mere mother's love 
 which sees a remarkable gift in a child who 
 could write such verses at the age of eight. 
 As a matter of fact, many of the following 
 
 2 
 
Introduction 
 
 poems, and some of the best, were writ- 
 ten at the age of seven, and all have 
 been written before the age of eleven, 
 for Julia will not be eleven till July 4, 
 1904. 
 
 Julia Cooley was born in Seymour, Con- 
 necticut, July 4, 1893, and it was the pious 
 fancy of her parents to have her baptized 
 with water brought from the Jordan. She 
 is the daughter of Harlan Ward Cooley and 
 Nellie Wooster, her mother being the daugh- 
 ter of a well-known Connecticut manufact- 
 urer, living at Seymour, and a descendant 
 of one of the oldest New England families. 
 The Cooleys live in Chicago, and are accus- 
 tomed to leave the city every summer to 
 spend their holidays in the old home at Sey- 
 mour; and it was in the beautiful, green 
 valley of the Naugatuck, with its romantic 
 rock and woodland, that the passion for 
 nature which inspires all little Julia's po- 
 etry first awakened. There she wandered 
 at large about her grandfather's meadows, 
 drinking in the natural sights and sounds, 
 and revelling like a gypsy in all the summer 
 luxury of country life. In one of her later 
 3 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 poems (written when she was barely ten!) 
 she speaks of 
 
 **. . . the rock which in days gone by 
 Was my throne while I learned the secrets 
 of the woods," 
 
 and in a poem written much earlier (at the 
 age of eight) she happily catches the spirit 
 of those rapturous summer days. The poem 
 was written during one of my visits to 
 Seymour, and I well remember her coming 
 to me aglow from the meadows carrying 
 her newly made manuscript in her hand. 
 No one can ever have accused her of being 
 a studious, in-door child, absolute tomboy of 
 the fields as she is, but apparently she had got 
 it into her head that she was liable to be so 
 misunderstood. So she had written this poem , 
 which she called "The Happy One" — her 
 own title, for she always finds her own titles : 
 
 "I'm not the silent one. 
 I'm not the one that sits and reads the 
 
 live-long day. 
 I'm not the stone, the nesting bird or the 
 shadow of the stone. 
 4 
 
Introduction 
 
 I'm the romping, scampering one. 
 
 I'm the one who runs and sings among the 
 
 flowering fields. 
 I'm like the leaves, the grass, the wind, the 
 
 happy little butterfly and the little 
 
 scampering clouds." 
 
 What a picture of a happy child — made 
 by herself! 
 
 Suddenly one day during these Seymour 
 holidays, when she was only six years and 
 two months old, and could as yet neither 
 write nor spell, Julia came to her mother, 
 asking her to write down a little song she 
 had made. But the incident is best told in 
 a letter which Mrs. Cooley wrote to her 
 husband on this occasion, a letter from 
 which I am privileged to quote. The let- 
 ter is dated October 15, 1899. "Sunday is 
 Julia's helpless day," writes Mrs. Cooley. 
 "On other days she roams from one end of 
 the farm to the other and asks no odds of 
 any one. Yesterday she came in from the 
 hill, where she had been husking corn with 
 Hull and Henry, rosy and bright-eyed and 
 beautiful. She said she had made up a 
 5 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 little song, which she thought I would like 
 to write down in a book! So I got out 
 pencil and paper and wrote as she sang or 
 chanted in a stirring monotone : 
 
 ' Walking on the hill I saw five little dande- 
 lions with their yellow dresses on. 
 
 They thought it was summer. 
 
 Six of them had gone to seed and had 
 their white dresses on. 
 
 They knew it was fall. 
 
 I was helping the farmers with the com, 
 
 The blue sky above and the sunshine.' 
 
 "Later again Julia came in smiling with 
 the ecstasy of composition, and when my 
 pencil and paper were ready, she sang: 
 
 'It was an autumn day 
 The leaves had turned brown and yellow 
 
 and red, 
 And were gently falling. 
 It was an autumn day.' " 
 
 Here, in these two poems quoted by her 
 mother, we see Julia, at the age of six 
 6 
 
Introduction 
 
 years and two months, and still unable to 
 read or write, making nature-pictures out 
 of words with a vivid simplicity of im- 
 pression, an instinct of economy and direct- 
 ness, and a native sense of form truly aston- 
 ishing. 
 
 In one of her many note-books (of which 
 I shall have to speak again), Julia has a 
 quaint little autobiographic comment upon 
 this occasion. It is headed, " How I Hap- 
 pened to Write," and is dated July lo, 1902 : 
 
 "One day when I was six years old," 
 she says, " I was walking through a beautiful 
 meadow. I saw something that impressed 
 me very much. It was a little dandelion 
 that had gone to seed. The place where 
 it once had given forth sunshine was now 
 draped in white, because it thought that 
 we would get tired of its yellow garment — 
 so that is why she changed it. But we 
 never do get tired of it. Because this im- 
 pressed me I wrote about it, because I 
 enjoy writing, so I wrote about all things 
 that impressed me, and now I love to write 
 because I wrote little stories and poems 
 when I was small." 
 
 7 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 When I was small! Julia had been nine 
 years old for six days when she wrote this. 
 In other respects, I understand that Julia 
 Cooley was not a specially precocious child. 
 At six years and two months, as we have 
 seen, she could not read, write, or spell — 
 though this backwardness, it must be said, 
 is accounted for by serious illness, she being 
 at first very delicate — but here again she 
 was presently to demonstrate a remarkable 
 capacity. Within a year from that time 
 she could do all three at least as well as 
 children twice her age. When I first met 
 her, she being then just eight years old, she 
 could read the most difficult book glibly at 
 sight, and with apparent understanding of 
 its meaning — at all events, with intelligent 
 emphasis and pause. This we tested one 
 day by taking up a book that lay at hand 
 and asking her to read. It chanced to be 
 Stevenson's Letters. We opened the book 
 at Mr. Colvin's preface, matter which, how- 
 ever interesting to grown-ups, is not easy 
 reading for a child. Nevertheless, she 
 began it right away, without the least 
 hesitation, and read on for two or three 
 8 
 
Introduction 
 
 pages without any difficulty, the big words 
 apparently coming as easily to her tongue 
 as the Httle ones. It was a surprising 
 performance, and confirmed me in my 
 opinion of the remarkable force and alert- 
 ness of her mind. And with it all such an 
 absolute child, not to say baby! It seemed 
 almost impossible to believe, as one looked 
 at her, that there was such a mature brain 
 inside that little, golden head. Stevenson 
 put down, she was off next minute to jump 
 rope in the sun, happily unconscious of the 
 almost uncanny feeling with which she had 
 inspired her elders. Later I came upon her 
 curled up in a chair on the veranda, busy 
 with paper and pencil. She had prom- 
 ised me a poem and was at work on it. 
 I may say that she already practises the 
 art of dedication, and many of her poems 
 bear dedications, such as **To Grandma," 
 "To Aunt Tess," "To Mother." There is 
 seldom anything personal in the poems. 
 They are usually nature-pictures, dedicated 
 to one or other of her friends, as an artist 
 gives a drawing to a friend. And that 
 reminds me that she often illustrates her 
 9 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 verses with colored drawings, which of late 
 have shown no little decorative instinct. 
 She loves, too, to do up her poems in dainty 
 little booklets, with decorations and illus- 
 trations in crayon, and when she makes a 
 copy of a poem for a friend, instead of 
 making a mere copy she loves to think of 
 some fanciful device in which to present 
 it. Thus on Lincoln Day, 1904, she made 
 a series of paper flags. Taking a folded 
 sheet of paper, she elaborately drew and col- 
 ored the American flag, flag-staff and all, 
 then cut the rest of the paper away. When 
 you opened the flag, as one opens a sheet of 
 note-paper, you found a poem written inside. 
 She has innumerable fancies of the kind, 
 showing that she has the born artist's de- 
 light in the mere physical tools of his craft. 
 Julia began to attend school in the 
 April of 1900, three months before her 
 seventh birthday. Before this, of course, 
 she had had the advantage of a home- 
 training full of all gracious influences of 
 culture and the humaner and more in- 
 telligent influences of religion. Her parents 
 are of those who, while being, indeed, no 
 10 
 
Introduction 
 
 old-fashioned religionists, have been wise 
 enough to retain, in the bringing up of their 
 children, the tonic elements of the old 
 Puritan training purged of their severity; 
 and thus Julia, in addition to that intel- 
 lectual and artistic culture which is of the 
 atmosphere of her home, has had the good- 
 fortune also of growing up in an atmosphere 
 which is Christian in the most gracious and 
 fruitful sense of that word. Though, as I 
 have said, Julia showed no special precocity 
 of the usual sort, she yet, while still a very 
 tiny child, gave evidences of that fancy 
 which is so abundant in her little verses. 
 Once she said to her mother: "Mother, 
 aren't the stars beautiful? I used to pick 
 them before I came down." To this her 
 mother answered: "How did you get 
 down?" "I told God," was the reply, 
 "that I wanted to get down to my mother, 
 and didn't know how I should get there. 
 God said: 'The sky will bend down, and 
 you can get off.'" 
 
 One trait of her babyhood was that she 
 could never memorize ordinary nursery 
 rhymes, but she early took a delight in 
 II 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 chanting out little snatches of her own 
 making. On one occasion, being out with 
 her mother in the country, she suddenly- 
 cried out, or, rather, lisped — in num- 
 bers! — "O woods! I have stones, and I 
 have grass, and I have everythings." None 
 other of her infantile improvisations have 
 survived, but this formless cry, in view of 
 the passionate love of nature which was 
 soon to possess her, is certainly not with- 
 out significance. 
 
 At school, and once she could read, she 
 became a rapid devourer of books. Books 
 of natural history particularly deHghted her. 
 Olive Thorne Miller's Book of Birds was one 
 of her earliest treasures, as was another 
 book on Moths and Butterflies. Other early 
 favorites were Pip pa Passes and Tennyson's 
 Narrative Poems. The famous line in " The 
 Gardener's Daughter," "The lime a sum- 
 mer home of murmurous wings," particular- 
 ly charmed her with its music — though, like 
 many another poet before her, she doesn't 
 care for music, technically so called, and has 
 no ear for it, fine ear as she possesses for the 
 music of words. 
 
 12 
 
Introduction 
 
 Apropos her natural - history books, the 
 following minute description of a butterfly 
 (written in July, 1901) is worth quoting 
 as showing the intensity and thoroughness 
 of application, as well as the fineness of 
 observation, which she brings to her studies 
 of nature. She calls it **An Essay on 
 Butterflies": 
 
 ''This is the description of a very in- 
 teresting butterfly of my collection. It 
 has very beautiful brown transparent wings 
 with eleven dark orange dots underneath 
 and around both sides of the neck and 22 
 light orange dots outlining the lowest part 
 of the wings. Around both light and dark 
 orange dots, distinguishing black lines. And 
 in and out of the dark orange dots there are 
 little touches of white, light and dark blue 
 and silvery green. Under the light orange 
 dots are curved lines of dark and light black, 
 and between those lines of light and dark 
 black are silvery green and silvery white. 
 
 "When I look through the wings with the 
 
 sun, I seem to see silvery orange, silvery 
 
 green and silvery blue. Now I will describe 
 
 to you the other side of his wings. The 
 
 13 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 wings are so transparent that you can see 
 that on the other side there are orange dots, 
 though there are not any orange dots on 
 this side. Up by the neck there is a large 
 half circle of very dark black, but it is not 
 so black that you can not see two dark 
 pink spots on either side of the neck and 
 there too is a silvery dark blue stripe and 
 a dark silvery green stripe running into 
 the black. Under the stripes are 2 very 
 silver green stripes, in the middle of the 
 silvery green stripes a very black stripe with 
 a little brown. On each corner is a little 
 white. Under the green are two thin 
 black stripes and between those is a little 
 silvery green. And if you look through 
 it with the sun, you can see the same colors 
 as you can on the other side. I caught 
 it with my net." 
 
 Julia, it must be understood, aspires to 
 write prose as well as verse, and among 
 the following there will be found two of her 
 little fairy-tales, the one entitled "The 
 Wise Wishes" being a fancy most endear- 
 ingly childish. 
 
 Speaking of her "prose," she is already 
 14 
 
Introduction 
 
 a most natural letter-writer, and I cannot 
 resist the temptation to make some quo- 
 tations from a circular letter addressed to 
 a cousin of hers, Miss Julia Canfield, of 
 Bridgeport, but really meant for the whole 
 family. She calls her cousin "Joo-Can." 
 Her nickname for herself is "Joo-Coo." 
 "Woos" is short for "Wooster," another 
 cousin; and I must further explain that 
 on December 15, 1899, a little brother came 
 to keep Julia company. Two or three lit- 
 tle poems to him show how tenderly she re- 
 gards him. But here at last is the letter: 
 
 " Chicago, Illinois, 
 ''April 18, 1903. 
 
 "Dear Everyone, — I am sure that 
 
 J 00 -Can and Woos are very busy with 
 
 school, as I am? but perhaps you will have 
 
 time to read this little note. I regret not 
 
 having written to you before, but I know 
 
 you will forgive me when I say that I have 
 
 had a little attack, but I have recovered 
 
 altogether now. I write to thank you for 
 
 the beautiful Easter gifts, brother just 
 
 adores his little humpty-dumpty, and after 
 
 15 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 each meal exclaims 'have we any more 
 humpty-dumpty candy eggs.' And I think 
 that the little rabbit in the lettuce-leaf is 
 the most appropriate present for me; and 
 the sweetest too. I was going to send you 
 something for Easter, but I have been so 
 busy with a new poem. I think that you 
 would like to read it, so you will find it 
 enclosed in this letter. / hope this summer 
 to do a great deal of writing, because there 
 are such beautiful places in Seymour to 
 bring out the imagination. You know that 
 I really have a great wish to do something 
 wonderful. I don't mean that I want to be 
 greater than anyone, such as Shakespeare ^ 
 Shelley, or Hawthorne. 
 
 "Baby is so cunning, you never saw a 
 sweeter baby (well not exactly a baby any 
 more), but a dear little boy. My book 
 about the sweet little things that he says 
 has about five pages full. He is big enough 
 now to get off dear little baby jokes, and he 
 keeps us laughing all the time with them. 
 
 "Mother has been to several plays this 
 winter, which I am glad of. Just a few 
 weeks ago I went to see The Tempest. It 
 i6 
 
Introduction 
 
 was simply grand! The part of Ariel was 
 played by a Kenwood girl. I am reading 
 David Copperfield and enjoy it very much. 
 Is not Dickens delicious. And it really is 
 true he can make you laugh and cry, can 
 he not? . . . To-day a man came in the 
 midst of the [music] lesson, a perfect image, 
 to my fancy, of Mr. Mirdstone in David 
 Copperfield. He was black as night, and I 
 could think of him as caning David. I hope 
 all are well. Your Loving 
 
 "Jog-Coo." 
 
 I print this letter not as being specially 
 remarkable in itself, though it is an un- 
 commonly good letter for a child of nine, 
 but for its illustrative value in regard to 
 the little girl whom in my opinion the fol- 
 lowing pages show to be very remarkable 
 indeed. The passages that I have italicized 
 are almost uncanny with purpose and the 
 sense of vocation, written as they are in 
 a baby's "pot-hook" hand. Elsewhere she 
 has this remarkable and touching confes- 
 sion: "I just love to write. Whenever I 
 am ready for a new sentence it comes to 
 17 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 me as if I turned and saw an angel bringing 
 it to me." 
 
 Whether or not JuUa's gift will develop, 
 or wither like a February snowdrop, it is 
 quite certain that she feels herself in- 
 stinctively called to be a writer, and that 
 all her thoughts and studies are more and 
 more consciously to that end. A letter to 
 one of her aunts, dated February 21, 1903, 
 shows her to be already enamoured and 
 studious of words as only the born writer 
 can be. "I wish you could see my lovely 
 Synonym book that mother gave me for a 
 valentine," she says. "It is a dictionary 
 and more too. It not only tells what the 
 word means, but tells what is opposite it. 
 For instance, I am looking up 'transparent.' 
 This is exactly what I will find. 
 
 "Transparent, syn. Pellucid, crystalline, 
 translucent, limpid, diaphanous, obvious, 
 clear, indisputable self-evident. 
 
 "Ant. Thick, turbid, opaque, instrans- 
 parent, mysterious, dubious, questionable. 
 Is not that fine, I just love it so. 
 'Your loving 
 
 "Joo-Coo." 
 18 
 
Introduction 
 
 Imagine a child of nine so happy over 
 a synonym dictionary — and yet remaining 
 a real, little, human child. Her playful sig- 
 nature, and touches here and there in her 
 letters and verses, show her to be possessed 
 of no little humor, and there is one poem 
 which seems to show that she is alive to 
 the quaint incongruity of herself. It is en- 
 titled "The Clouds": 
 
 "I see many forms in clouds. 
 Angels guarding us — I'm sure that is a 
 
 message from our Lord — 
 And trees of many kinds. 
 / also see a funny face 
 Laughing because Fm just a speck, you 
 
 see. 
 
 Just a speck, indeed! 
 
 Reverting to Julia's study of words, her 
 mother has told me how almost two years 
 ago Julia was observed to be particularly 
 hard at work for some weeks at a new 
 manuscript book. It proved to be a 
 rhyming dictionary which she was mak- 
 ing for herself. She called it "Words for 
 Poems — that Rhyme." When I last heard 
 19 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 of it it had grown to forty-one pages filled 
 with rhyming words arranged in alphabetical 
 order. This she made entirely without sug- 
 gestion or assistance from any one. I think 
 the reader may care to look at its first page : 
 
 Asleep 
 
 Adore 
 
 Arose 
 
 keep 
 
 implore 
 
 rose 
 
 deep 
 
 for 
 
 foes 
 
 weep 
 
 more 
 
 goes 
 
 sleep 
 
 store 
 
 glows 
 repose 
 grows 
 close 
 
 Air 
 
 Away 
 
 Ache 
 
 wear 
 
 stay 
 
 lake 
 
 care 
 
 
 drake 
 
 tare 
 
 
 
 prayer 
 
 
 
 there 
 
 
 
 fair 
 
 
 
 beware 
 
 
 
 Are 
 
 
 
 far 
 
 
 
 mar 
 
 
 
 star 
 
 
 
 20 
 
Introduction 
 
 Besides this book, Julia's desk contains 
 innumerable blank-books, all systematically 
 dated and inscribed with a title, her name, 
 and age. We have already seen her ref- 
 erence to a book about her baby brother. 
 Actually she has made two, one entitled 
 "Brother's Book, and All about Him," 
 and another entitled " Baby Brother's Sweet 
 Sentences." Then she has a book with 
 the charming title of the "For Ever Book," 
 in which are recorded clever stories told 
 by members of the family. She credits each 
 story to its proper source, and dates it, 
 and then writes, "Loved by Julia Cooley." 
 She has, too, a little box which she calls her 
 "For Ever Box." In this she keeps her 
 letters from her father. Other books bear 
 the titles: "Difficult words and what they 
 mean," "Sentences that I made up," "Lit- 
 tle Poetic Sentences that I shall Write," 
 "Poems about Flowers," and "Beautiful 
 Things that I Read." The last-named was 
 begun on August 2, 1902, and the first par- 
 agraph copied in was this from Charles and 
 Mary Lamb's Shakespeare: "Love is a thorn 
 that belongs to the rose of youth; for in 
 21 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 the season of youth if ever, we are nature's 
 children. These faults are ours, though then 
 we think not they are faults." Her last and 
 most imposing blank-book bears the beautiful 
 title, " On the Pathway of Paradise," and in 
 it she has written all her more recent poems. 
 One other note-book of no little signifi- 
 cance is entitled "List of Poems that I 
 shall Write." Under this head are collected 
 some sixty titles, mostly dealing with nat- 
 ure, such as "The Sunset," "The Lake," 
 "The Brook," "The Stars," but some more 
 abstract in theme, such as "Sleep," "Re- 
 morse," "Death's Shadow." Another list 
 is headed, "Titles for Long Poems," an- 
 other, " List of Little Rhymes that I shall 
 Write," "List of Songs that I shall Write." 
 The titles alone in these three lists are so 
 characteristic and full of poetic possibilities 
 that I give the lists entire: 
 
 Titles op Long Poems. 1902 
 
 The Rustling Tree 
 Never Ending Happiness 
 THE Great and Radiant Sun 
 The Moon's Veil 
 22 
 
Introduction 
 
 Forms in Clouds 
 The First Violet of Spring 
 • The Field of Daisies 
 The Ice Mountain Key 
 The Fragrant Flowers 
 Forward March to War 
 Where the Fairies go in Winter 
 Do Fairies Grow? 
 A Fairy's Dream 
 The Pleasant Little Nook 
 Oh, Speed Brave Knight 
 Ring the Lily-bell 
 The Mountain's Veil 
 The Busy Rain Drops 
 The Mossy Bank 
 The Path that Leads to Roughness 
 The Old Oak Tree 
 The Sun Fairy 
 The Merry Leaflets 
 Baby's Mischievous Smile 
 Thoughts on Passing the Church 
 Going to School. 
 
 List of Little Rhymes that I shall write. 
 
 Hers is not Better than Yours 
 Beware, Tipsy, if you do it again 
 23 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Oh, Kitty, you have a Guilty Face 
 
 My Heart is Broken 
 
 A Grassy Little Mead 
 
 I'd Rather be Myself than to be Queen. 
 
 List of Songs that I shall write. 1902 
 
 Never ending Happiness 
 
 Birdie's Song 
 
 A Store of good Things is awaiting you 
 
 Is There a Tare in your Soul? 
 
 There, There, Pretty Miss 
 
 A Maiden 
 
 Oh, Stay, Robin, Stay 
 
 Oh, The Sound of War 
 
 Oh, Partake of the Fun with Me 
 
 Oh, I am Bored to Death 
 
 Happiness never ceases. 
 
 There is also a list of "Stories that I shall 
 Write," but the titles here are not so sig- 
 nificant. One suggestive title, "A Travel 
 through Childhood," from which much 
 might have been hoped, has unfortunately 
 come to nothing. The little blank-book 
 stands empty save for these opening 
 24 
 
Introduction 
 
 words: "As I was a baby not long ago, 
 I think I may know more thoroughly the 
 visions of childhood than any one else. My 
 experience has been with myself and many 
 another baby ..." 
 (May, 1902.) 
 
 One of Julia's latest literary masquerades 
 is to affect the nom de guerre, and one of 
 her poems is written for an imaginary lit- 
 erary club, " The Nile Club," under the pseu- 
 donym of "Praecros Belmarz." Another is 
 signed " Pronvae Valese." And these strange 
 names remind me that, like other children 
 who do not write poetry, Julia has her in- 
 visible playmates, or, rather, in her case, 
 commanding spirits. 
 
 "When she was the merest baby she 
 talked always of Gavyan, Sosie and Alta. 
 Gavyan was her evil spirit, and exerted a 
 tyrannical power over Julia which is now 
 almost hypnotic; in the beginning she 
 would disobey in the name of Gavyan, al- 
 ways explaining to her mother that Gav- 
 yan commanded her to do so and so. 
 This was Gavyan 's special influence in the 
 2S 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 early days. Now she has become a law 
 in Julia's life, which she cannot resist. 
 For instance, we find her rushing madly 
 to accomplish some feat in a given length 
 of time. Gavyan says, should she fail, 
 she will die; should she succeed, live. She 
 now says that Gavyan is continually dic- 
 tating: ' Why, I prophesied it would happen 
 just so.' Gavyan prompts all her naughti- 
 ness, which is always delicious, and Julia 
 does not dare to disobey her. Her mother 
 is clever in realizing that her stem authority 
 is nullified, and long ago gave up rivalry 
 with Gavyan. Sosie was originally a good 
 influence, counteracting that of Gavyan, 
 but she soon became indistinct, and remains 
 merely as a name in Julia's memory. Alta 
 was merely a companion playmate to Sosie. 
 She was an auxiliary in case of Gavyan 's 
 overpowering evil. She is no longer even 
 in Julia's memory." 
 
 Before I turn to Julia's poems themselves, 
 perhaps I may without indiscretion give one 
 glimpse of her home life from one of her 
 mother's letters, a glimpse to remind the 
 reader once more what an absolute child in 
 26 
 
Introduction 
 
 the nursery this little poet and philosopher 
 is, a glimpse which flashes on us, too, of that 
 wise mother of whom I have before spoken. 
 "Deeds of the World" and "A Few Lines," 
 says Mrs. Cooley, "were written early in 
 December. I had been making paper dolls 
 for Julia and she was careless in her play 
 with her brother and hurt him. So I put 
 aside th6 paper dolls. The next morning 
 she shut herself in her nursery, her sanc- 
 tum sanctorum, and when she came out 
 she roguishly slipped into my hand the lit- 
 tle manuscript which she knows will soften 
 my heart quicker than anything else. She 
 explained the poem as meaning — the quick- 
 ness with which one could repent, and the 
 joy of repentance. She finished by say- 
 ing: *It really means a great many things, 
 and if I hadn't written it, I should call it 
 very good. . . . 'The Little Brook' was 
 inspired by the 23d psalm, which Julia had 
 first learned by heart; that is, after recit- 
 ing the 23d psalm Julia said: 'I think I'll 
 put that into my own words ' — so she with- 
 drew to the privacy of her nursery and this 
 little poem was the result; the record of a 
 27 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 vision and a memory of Seymour and the 
 summer. Then came ' The Raindrops ' com- 
 posed in bed — and written off like a flash in 
 our presence in the morning; and then this 
 morning ' The Harvest ' — a poem not writ- 
 ten from experience certainly. . . . This was 
 written at the breakfast -table this morn- 
 ing." 
 
 And now to turn to the little manuscripts 
 that soften the heart! I have not written 
 so much about Julia Cooley herself in the 
 least because I felt her poetry in need of 
 the excuse of her childhood, for, had it been 
 so, there would scarcely have been need to 
 write about her at all. It is only because 
 her verses, at their best, and as far as they 
 go, are real poetry, poetry achieved, and 
 not merely the promise of poetry, that she 
 herself claims our attention — and astonish- 
 ment. For, though the poetic gift is a 
 miracle at all times, to find it already so 
 active and mature in so young a child surely 
 doubles the wonder. 
 
 As she has grown older her poems have 
 grown longer, but the best of them are 
 usually tiny, seldom more than from four 
 28 
 
Introduction 
 
 to eight lines, usually unrhymed, and almost 
 all pictures of nature, of her passion for 
 which I have already written. One of her 
 earliest verses, entitled "What Nature is 
 like to me," shows her gift of picture-mak- 
 ing in its simplest beginnings : 
 
 "The sun is like a golden crown. 
 The sky is like a blue and white knitted 
 
 ball, 
 The grass is like little pieces of silk thread, 
 And the apple blossoms are like jewels." 
 
 In this, as in many others of her verses, 
 one is reminded of those tiny Japanese 
 verses Mr. Lafcadio Hearn translates for us 
 so exquisitely, and the imagery has often 
 that naive concreteness which we find in 
 the old folk-songs. 
 
 Take two or three more examples: 
 
 (I) 
 
 "The grass is getting green, 
 The daisies up are springing, 
 And the hills are woven purple, 
 While the birds commence their singing." 
 29 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 (2) 
 
 "The pigeons are coming fluttering and 
 twittering out of the pigeon house, 
 
 How green the grass is! 
 
 The leaves are fluttering down from the 
 trees, 
 
 How blue the sky isT* 
 
 (3) 
 
 "The buds have come and gone, 
 And the leaves are falling, 
 The floods of rain have not ceased, 
 The light of morning has gone. 
 And nightfall is coming on." 
 
 Tiny and simple as these three little 
 poems are, do they not show a remarkable 
 power of conveying an impression, painting 
 a picture, a power of selecting the vivid 
 essential and leaving the rest which is all 
 too rare among grown - ups, but which in 
 a child of seven is little short of uncanny? 
 These thumb-nails from nature — made on 
 a mere baby thumb-nail — are, it seems to 
 me, quite perfect and mature, within their 
 limits, and are in no need of the writer's 
 30 
 
Introduction 
 
 age being attached to them. Would that 
 certain Hving poets seven and eight times 
 Julia Cooley's age could write so well! 
 
 I will now quote several poems in which 
 this pictorial quality of observation is 
 blended with a sort of baby meditative- 
 ness. The first is called "Dear little blue 
 grass." It will be observed that Julia had 
 just discovered "thou" and "thee" as po- 
 etic pronouns, and was not yet at all at her 
 ease in using them — but I leave the verse 
 as she wrote it : 
 
 "Little purpel blue grass 
 Among the grasses I found thee growing, 
 Dear little lass 
 Thee grows where farmers all are mowing." 
 
 She has the same difficulty with her 
 pronouns in this picture of "The dear little 
 Buttercup": 
 
 "You are yellow as the sun. 
 Thou growest among the tall grasses 
 And out of thee I get pleasure and fun 
 I findest thou in masses." 
 31 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Again, this of "The Cheese Flower''; 
 
 Thou art white and purple 
 And shaped like a cup 
 Your color is very simple 
 And you are a flower of luck. 
 
 Once more, best of all, this of "The 
 Clover": 
 
 " You dear little downy flower 
 I foundest thee by the hill, 
 I have played with thee by the hour, 
 Why art thou so still? 
 
 This last little poem seems to me par- 
 ticularly striking, the last line especially. 
 "Why art thou so still?" is a fine stroke of 
 imagination such as older poets, once more, 
 may envy. 
 
 How charming is this little lyric called 
 "The Joyful Leaves," how truly lyrical: 
 
 " You merry little leaves, 
 How can you be so happy? 
 Always dancing from mom till night. 
 32 
 
Introduction 
 
 While you are happy 
 I am sorrowful. 
 You show that yoti are happy because 
 
 green is a happy color. 
 Merry little leaves, 
 Merry little leaves, 
 Merry little leaves." 
 
 In regard to this poem the baby artist's 
 comment on the fifth line should not go un- 
 told. Coming with the lines to her mother, 
 she said: " You know, mother, I don't really 
 mean that I'm sorrowful. I only say it for 
 the sake of the poetry." There, surely, 
 spoke the artistic temperament in bud. 
 
 Presumably, too, this little poem was writ- 
 ten only ' ' for the sake of the poetry, ' ' not from 
 actual experience. It is called " My Lover." 
 
 ** Over the hills and far away 
 Where my true lover lives. 
 O'er the valleys have I searched in vain, 
 Oh, my heart has sunk in griefs." 
 
 As Mrs. Browning has said, young poets 
 are always ** sexagenary at sixteen," but a 
 33 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 broken heart at seven is surely the height 
 of precocious Wertherism. The really curi- 
 ous thing, however, is that our little poet 
 should be conscious that when she writes 
 so she is sad "on purpose," sad for artistic 
 reasons! Indeed, as we have seen, sad- 
 ness is anything but characteristic of her 
 sunny childhood, and here I would beg 
 the reader to look again at that fasci- 
 nating little poem, "The Happy One" — a 
 poem good enough for any one to have 
 written, but surely as the work of a child 
 of eight little short of marvellous. Note 
 the remarkably observed and selected 
 images of silence in the third line, "the 
 stone, the nesting bird, or the shadow of the 
 stone'' — and the similarly fortunate images 
 of happy, sunny movement in the last line. 
 And, apart from separate lines, how alive 
 the little poem is with the "romping, 
 scampering" feeling to be expressed; what 
 a lovely line is, "I'm the one who runs and 
 sings among the flowering fields"; and, as 
 well, note the remarkable sense of form, of 
 prose rhythm, shown in the use of a formless 
 metre — quite a difficult achievement, 
 34 
 
Introduction 
 
 Julia is at her best in these brief un- 
 rhymed impressions, and though " The 
 Happy One" is perhaps the most strik- 
 ingly successful of all her pictures, there 
 are many that run it very close. Take 
 this of *'The Little Brook," for exam- 
 ple: 
 
 '* Little singing brook 
 
 Babbling in and out between the spark- 
 ling stones 
 
 And singing in the tone of blithest mer- 
 riment. 
 
 See the rainbow shining from the shadowy 
 nook. 
 
 Do you slumber quietly at night and sing 
 no more?" 
 
 What a lovely stroke of child-imagination 
 is that at the end? And though nature 
 provides her with most of her subjects, 
 Julia's eye is no less true, and her touch 
 no less sure, with any human scene that 
 strikes her fancy. Take these two cleanly 
 drawn pictures — one might almost say a 
 la Whitman: 
 
 35 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 (I) 
 
 * * See the little children dancing to the 
 merry music, 
 
 See the poor music - girl reach for the 
 money, 
 
 Look at the clear sunset of crimson, pur- 
 ple and pink, 
 
 See the grass — it looks like embroidery. 
 
 Doesn't it make her happy?" 
 
 (2) 
 
 ** Three little girls at play jumping rope. 
 The clouds are black above them, but they 
 
 do not see, 
 They are so pre-occupied in their play. 
 The shy squirrel knew that rain was com- 
 ing on." 
 
 And, again, this picture of "A Quiet 
 Home": 
 
 "Mama sits in her chair reading a book, 
 Papa sits in his armchair reading the 
 
 newspaper, 
 Sister sits in her little chair with her doll, 
 drawing, 
 
 36 
 
Introduction 
 
 And baby sits on the floor with his pict- 
 ure-book and rag-doll: 
 Such a happy family, all by the quiet fire 
 And the great red sun seems just as 
 happy." 
 
 I hope the childishness of the themes — 
 though they would not have seemed childish 
 to Blake or Wordsworth — will not disguise 
 for the reader the fine instinctive art with 
 which these tiny pictures are made; the 
 manner in which the significant detail, 
 and that only, is seized, the economy of 
 words, not one too many or too few, and 
 the manner in which in each case the whole 
 picture is rounded by some happy closing 
 touch: "The shy squirrel knew that rain 
 was coming on." Bless her! 
 
 As was only to be expected, Julia's 
 unrhymed poems are better than those in 
 rhyme, though the reader will find her 
 rhyming with success on occasion — and 
 I confess to viewing with some disquie- 
 tude her strenuous experiments with those 
 "Words for Poems — that Rhyme." Many 
 of her fairy fancies cannot but be maimed 
 37 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 for us in those experiments. Still, of course, 
 the desire to rhyme was sure to come, and 
 I have little doubt that the artistic instinct 
 which has brought Julia so far will serve 
 her here as well. Though she should prove 
 a bad metricist, she could hardly be a worse 
 than Mrs. Browning, in whose case the 
 indifferent rhymes strove vainly to eclipse 
 the divine poet. Indeed, as I write, a 
 little poem comes to me entitled "Youth," 
 a poem written so easily in rhyme as to 
 make my misgivings already out of date. 
 A story comes with it which must certainly 
 be told. It appears that a certain maga- 
 zine has been offering a prize for the best 
 poem on "Youth" written by a child. 
 Julia determined to compete, and produced 
 these lines: 
 
 "Ah! Youth, fair envy of hoary Time — 
 I would that ever I could hear thy merry 
 
 chime.. 
 Thy laughter is a pleasure to old age. ..." 
 
 Julia, having proceeded so far, showed 
 the lines to her mother, who, while struck 
 
 38 
 
Introduction 
 
 by them, not unnaturally felt that no 
 editor would believe them to be the work 
 of a child, and said so. "Oh, I see," was 
 Julia's comment, "you want a baby-poem," 
 and thereupon produced, almost impromp- 
 tu, the following: 
 
 "When I was young I loved the birds and 
 
 bees, 
 I loved the sky, I loved the sighing trees, 
 I loved the fields, I loved the babbling 
 
 stream. 
 And all day long I used to dream and dream 
 Of all the lovely things I saw and heard, — 
 The hill, the field, the little singing bird." 
 
 This is what Julia contemptuously calls 
 a "baby-poem "! 
 
 Nature, it will be seen, is still her theme, 
 and in this passionate love of nature alone, 
 apart from the expression she has found 
 for it, Julia would be sufficiently remark- 
 able. Few are born that are so surely, 
 to use her own words, of "the people who 
 see nature visions"; for Julia's love of 
 nature is, as will be seen, by no means 
 39 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 external, not merely a delight in the visible 
 beauty of the world, but also a mystic 
 religion, and her poems are no more re- 
 markable for their verbal felicity than for 
 their flashes of mystic insight. Take a 
 thought like this — she herself calls it "A 
 Thought" — "There are two of those pict- 
 ures. One is reflected in the water, and one 
 is the real one. I would like to steal the 
 one that is reflected in the water." 
 
 Or, again, this of "The Seed that Grows 
 and Dies": 
 
 "Babyhood is a seed. 
 Childhood is a bud. 
 Girlhood is a rose. 
 Womanhood is a rose with three more 
 
 petals but fading a little 
 Old womanhood is the full grown rose 
 withered but very sacred." 
 
 Again, and particularly, this " Magic 
 Music": 
 
 "When I stand on the mountain top 
 When I stand on the mountain top, I gaze 
 40 
 
Introduction 
 
 O'er the country wild, and wonder 
 If some great thing will happen there, 
 If some battle will be conquered there, 
 If some spirit will alight in its woods." 
 
 And once more, this "Woodland Tower'*: 
 
 ** Rising out of supreme greenness every- 
 where 
 Towers a woodland mountain 
 Like a cherished flower. 
 Greeting ocean breezes with a courtesy of 
 
 its trees. 
 Oh, tower of beauty. 
 Looking down upon the other steps or hills, 
 What marble step of life are you 
 Leading to all Heaven's celestial blue?" 
 
 Here are no mere pretty, chiming words. 
 It is less the form than the thought that 
 is poetic, and the veritable stuff of poetic 
 thought is there. However varied her 
 success in expression, Julia never writes 
 without having something to say, and 
 some of her thoughts are "long long 
 thoughts." 
 
 4 41 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Along with this mystic apprehension of 
 nature, the reader will notice, too, the 
 closeness of her observation, and occa- 
 sionally even the application of her budd- 
 ing knowledge of natural science, as, 
 for example, in "The Brook." What is 
 the secret the brook is whispering, she 
 asks : 
 
 "Is it that some joyful morn 
 You will find yourself 
 Borne by the foamy waves to a far-off 
 
 distant country 
 Or that some day 
 You will find yourself taken to the sky 
 
 again 
 By a gold-winged sunbeam fairy V^ 
 
 And, again, writing of "The Moon," she 
 says: 
 
 "This dweller of the lofty skies a spirit 
 seems 
 Whose vibrating thread of intercourse with 
 us is made by a thousand laughing 
 beams,'' 
 
 42 
 
Introduction 
 
 Even her school-books she thus "turns 
 to favor and to prettiness" with the 
 alchemic touch of her fancy. As to her 
 fancy, it is everywhere, Ariel-like, through- 
 out her poems, exquisitely nimble and 
 quaint, and yet exceptionally vital, and 
 close to the truth and beauty of things. 
 Beautiful single lines are everywhere, too, 
 lines that personally I find haunting me 
 like the lines of the big, grown-up poets, 
 "When the beautiful Sun arrives at China," 
 I said to myself yesterday, quite forgetting 
 it was Julia's, and when the spring comes 
 I know I shall go about saying: 
 
 "Merry little leaves, 
 Merry little leaves. 
 Merry little leaves." 
 
 Of course, the poems that follow are by 
 no means without many a childish blemish. 
 Some are very imperfect, and some one or 
 two are cryptic, even incomprehensible, as 
 though the child were struggling with some 
 thought she could not quite master. There 
 is also a measure of repetition of motives, 
 43 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 and Julia may perhaps seem somewhat over- 
 occupied with the fairies, for frivolous grown- 
 up tastes. Yet there is, I think, no poem 
 or fragment, however imperfect, that does 
 not contain something worth keeping, some 
 suggestive thought, some happy stroke of 
 fancy, or some attractive phrase. 
 
 Finally, I wish to claim that there is no 
 question here of a child of promise merely. 
 Julia Cooley's little poems do not merely 
 give promise that some day she may write 
 poetry; they prove that she has already 
 written poetry. We have all heard of Sir 
 John Suckling's learning at five and Pope's 
 lisping in numbers, but that learning and 
 those lispings were merely indications of a 
 coming gift. JuUa Cooley's poems are the 
 expression of a gift already at work, and I 
 am serious in asking for them a serious con- 
 sideration. 
 
 Richard Le Gallienne. 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
^\ICHJ. jU<>^ Jixi^ Q>AVX^ 
 
 FAC-SIMILE OF A PAGE OF THE AUTHOR's MS. 
 
 {Slightly reduced) ' 
 
' ALKING on the hill I saw 
 five little dandelions with 
 their yellow dresses on. 
 They thought it was sum- 
 mer. 
 Six of them had gone to 
 seed, and had their white dresses on. 
 They knew it was fall. 
 I was helping the farmers with the corn, 
 The blue sky above and the sunshine. 
 
 It was an autumn day 
 
 The leaves had turned brown and yellow 
 
 and red, 
 And were gently falling. 
 It was an autumn day. 
 
 September, i8gg. 
 
 The grass is getting green, 
 The daisies up are springing, 
 47 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 And the hills are woven purple, 
 While the birds commence their singing. 
 
 March, igoo. 
 
 The little fish are romping in the sea, 
 And the sky is blue above them. 
 The little waves are romping merrily, 
 The sea-gulls float above them. 
 
 March, igoo. 
 
 See the little children dancing to the merry 
 
 music, 
 See the poor music girl reach for the 
 
 money. 
 Look at the clear sunset of crimson, purple 
 
 and pink, 
 See the grass. It looks like embroidery. 
 Doesn't it make her happy? 
 
 March, igoo. 
 
 Three little girls at play, jumping rope. 
 The clouds are black above them, but they 
 
 do not see. 
 They are so preoccupied in their play. 
 The shy squirrel knew that rain was coming 
 
 on. March, igoo. 
 
 48 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 The flowers are blooming, the trees are 
 
 getting green; 
 The sky is like a piece of woven silk, 
 The showers of Spring are coming, 
 The ill will soon be well. 
 
 March, igoo. 
 
 The buds have come and gone, 
 And the leaves are falling. 
 The floods of rain have not ceased, 
 The light of morning has gone, 
 And nightfall is coming on. 
 
 March, igoo. 
 
 The pigeons are coming fluttering and twit- 
 tering out of the pigeon house, 
 
 How green the grass is! 
 
 The leaves are fluttering down from the 
 trees. 
 
 How blue the sky is! 
 
 March, igoo. 
 
 49 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 What Nature is Like to Me 
 
 The sun is like a golden crown, 
 The sky is like a blue and white knitted ball, 
 The grass is like little pieces of silk thread. 
 And the apple blossoms are like jewels. 
 
 March, igoo. 
 
 My Lover 
 
 Over the hills and far away 
 
 Where my true lover lives, 
 
 O'er the valleys have I searched in vain, 
 
 Oh, my heart has sunk in griefs. 
 
 March, 1900. 
 
 50 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 My Baby Brother 
 
 Sweet little tot 
 Dear as a posy 
 . Not yet able to walk 
 Cunning and rosy. 
 
 April, I goo. 
 
 Sunset 
 
 The sun is sinking low 
 Everything is lighted by its brightness 
 Very slowly does it go 
 Everything shares its happiness. 
 
 April, I goo. 
 
 SI 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Arachne*s Home 
 
 Little tiny silken spider's web 
 
 Jewels and pearls you wear upon your 
 
 breast 
 A woven coverlet of silk for some fairy's bed. 
 Don't you think that house is best? 
 
 June, igoi. 
 
 The Happy One 
 
 I'm not the silent one. 
 
 I'm not the one that sits and reads the 
 
 live-long day. 
 I'm not like the stone, the nesting bird 
 
 or the shadow of the stone. 
 
 I'm the romping scampering one. 
 
 I'm the one who runs and sings among the 
 
 flowering fields. 
 I'm like the leaves, the grass, the wind, the 
 happy little butterfly and the little 
 scampering clouds. 
 
 July, igoi. 
 52 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 The Clover 
 
 You dear little downy flower 
 I foundest thee down by the hill, 
 I have played with thee by the hour, 
 Why art thou so still? 
 
 July, I go I. 
 
 Farewell 
 
 Farewell, dear hills, 
 
 Farewell fore'er 
 
 It really makes me cry. 
 
 Just think I must leave thee forever and 
 
 ever. *Tis very sorrowful 
 Forever just think of it, fore'er 
 Farewell 
 
 Farewell, dear hills, 
 Farewell. 
 
 July, I go I. 
 
 53 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 The Joyful Leaves 
 
 You merry little leaves, 
 
 How can you be so happy? 
 
 Always dancing from morn till night. 
 
 While you are happy 
 I am sorrowful. 
 You show that you are happy because green 
 
 is a happy color. 
 Merry little leaves, 
 Merry little leaves. 
 Merry little leaves. 
 
 July, I go I. 
 
 The Lightning 
 
 The lightning through the sky is flashing 
 
 Some in stripes and some in dots. 
 
 But now 'tis time for rain drops to come 
 
 dashing. 
 Upon the grass they look like little jots. 
 
 July, I go I. 
 
 54 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Dear Little Blue Grass 
 
 Little purpel blue grass 
 Among the grasses I found thee growing, 
 Dear little lass 
 
 Thee grows where farmers all are mowing. 
 
 July 12, I go I. 
 
 The Dear Little Buttercup 
 
 You are yellow as the sun. 
 Thou growest amongst the tall grasses 
 And out of thee I get pleasure and fun 
 I findest thou in masses. 
 
 July 12, igoi. 
 
 55 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 The Cheese Flower 
 
 Thou art white and purple 
 And shaped like a cup 
 Your color is very simple 
 And you are a flower of luck. 
 
 July 12, igoi. 
 
 Mother Hill 
 
 The fleecy clouds dressed in a soft dress of 
 
 white 
 Are resting in the green velvet lap of a 
 
 loving lady hill, 
 Soon 'twill be time for them to slumber. 
 But where will the lady leave them? 
 She will keep the little lambkins in her 
 
 loving lap at night. 
 
 August 4, I go I. 
 
 56 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 A Thought 
 
 There are two of those pictures, one is 
 reflected in the water and one is the real 
 one. I would Hke to steal the one that is 
 reflected in the water. 
 
 The Little Brook 
 
 Little singing brook 
 
 Bubbling in and out between the sparkling 
 stones 
 
 And singing in the tone of blithest merri- 
 ment. 
 
 See the rainbow shining from the shadowy- 
 nook. 
 
 Do you slumber quietly at night and sing 
 no more? 
 
 September lo, igoi. 
 
 57 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Jack Frost 
 
 Jack Frost with frozen finger tips lightly 
 
 touched the flowers so bright, 
 When I was walking in the garden he was 
 
 dressed in misty white, 
 A cap of red upon his head he wore 
 And silver slippers on his tiny feet. 
 But when I walked in the garden today 
 The flowers I found in dull colors. 
 
 October i6, igoi. 
 
 The Woods 
 
 The solitary woods are a place of peace for 
 
 everyone. 
 Birds and flowers and all. 
 Oh, the peace of the green green woods 
 
 where fairies dwell. 
 
 December, igoi. 
 
 S8 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Deeds of the World 
 
 There was once a little girl who one day- 
 said to her mother, "Why, the world seems 
 so dark today." Her mother said "Think, 
 have you done anything wrong?" The 
 Httle girl thought. "Yes" said she. Then 
 her mother told her that badness means 
 unhappiness always. 
 
 Oh, the world is full of badness. 
 But wait, 'tis full of gladness 
 What I said last was true. 
 But what think you? 
 
 December, igoi. 
 
 59 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 The Little Brook 
 
 The little brook onward journeys never 
 
 stopping 
 In and out the shadow of the spreading 
 
 oaks, 
 Through the meadows velvet green, 
 Through the marshy grasses tall, 
 Like a bit of shining silver, 
 Mirroring here and there a happy butterfly 
 Blooming violets and daisies on their slender 
 
 stems 
 Dancing merrily in the summer breeze. 
 
 January, IQ02. 
 
 The Raindrops 
 
 When at mom I saw the world in a dew- 
 drop dress, 
 I knew what had happened. 
 The rain had kissed each flower lovingly. 
 So sweet and so loving was the kiss 
 That it shone like silver 
 And the air was filled with fragrance. 
 
 January 10, IQ02. 
 60 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Harvest 
 
 When harvest comes 
 
 The merry working farmer 
 
 With wife and babies three 
 
 How happy he must be 
 
 But some are old and weary 
 
 With no wife and babes to comfort them 
 
 When by the fireside they sit 
 
 And think how happy others are 
 
 And then a fairy comes to such a one and 
 
 knocks 
 And asks him what he most desires 
 He looks in amazement and gazes 
 Then says "I most desire 
 My wife and child back again " 
 But she answers "Ah, I can not grant it " 
 Then he says " I can not think of joy unless 
 
 you do " 
 The hope gave him happiness for a minute 
 
 only 
 Then again he went his weary way. 
 
 January ij, ipo2. 
 
 6i 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 A Quiet Home 
 
 [to dear daddy.] 
 
 Mama sits in her chair reading a book, 
 Papa sits in his armchair reading the news- 
 paper 
 Sister sits in her Uttle chair with her doll, 
 
 drawing, 
 And baby sits on the floor with his picture- 
 book and rag-doll; 
 Such a happy family, all by the quiet fire 
 And the great red sun seems just as happy. 
 
 January, igo2. 
 
 63 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Harvest 
 
 [to dear daddy.] 
 
 When harvest comes the happy Uttle children 
 Romp and play among the drying hay. 
 And when at sunset mammas are looking 
 
 for their children 
 They are sure to find them in the haystack 
 
 as happy as can be 
 And then they rest their sleepy eyes 
 Then they say adieu to hay and all. 
 
 January, igo2. 
 
 The Cornstalk 
 
 At first we put into the soft warm mother 
 earth a seed 
 
 And week after week it gradually grew 
 
 Till at last a small green leaf shot slowly 
 upward 
 
 And then the whole red and green corn- 
 stalk appeared in full beauty. 
 
 January 15, igo2. 
 
 63 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 To My Valentine 
 
 Dear Valentine wilt thou be mine 
 Ah, dear, sweet answer me now 
 Thou art fairer than the flowers 
 Come to me and tell me, dear. 
 Dost thou love me as I love thee 
 Tell me, dear, ah, tell me 
 Thou art fairer than the day 
 Thy locks are golden as the sun 
 Thy cheeks blush like the sunset sky. 
 
 February, 1902. 
 
 64 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 A Fair Young Maiden 
 
 There lived a maiden yonder in the woods 
 Her golden locks were like the sunbeams 
 
 in the flowers 
 Her eyes were like the violets just in bloom 
 Her lips were like the summer roses. 
 And when old Winter came she was bright 
 
 and sweet 
 As if the sun were shining still. 
 But now she lies in a snow-white grave 
 With the violets and roses over it 
 And I suppose the birds guard it lovingly. 
 
 February 15, IQ02. 
 
 65 
 
The Poems of a .Child 
 
 The Wise Wishes 
 
 Once there was a little girl who was 
 very sad to think of the wrongs of the 
 world. When she was sadly gazing a fairy 
 dressed in beautiful garments granted her 
 three questions. She would give her a 
 year to think of each one. 
 
 In another year she came back and the 
 little girl said that she would like best of 
 all to have the fairy take down the names 
 of all the people that were not good. And 
 in another year she came and she said she 
 would like a bible for each of them that 
 had their names in the book. And the 
 next year they all came together on a hill. 
 It was sunset. Each one threw their sins 
 on the setting sun and ever after that 
 every one was good. 
 
 March, igo2. 
 
 66 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 March 
 
 March is a beautiful month, 
 
 For it brings Spring flowers and green 
 
 meadows. 
 It brings bright blue skies and everything 
 
 lovely. 
 Spring is Summer's messenger. 
 
 Summer is dressed in a robe of green 
 With violets and roses in her golden hair 
 Her slippers are red with golden buckles. 
 
 March, IQ02. 
 
 67 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 The First Violet of Spring 
 
 One day as I was walking in the silent 
 
 leaf-draped wood 
 Where the nymphs in their dells were sur- 
 rounded by lillies, 
 I saw beneath a spreading willow tree 
 A soft small star of purple, 
 With a net of dewdrops gHstening upon it. 
 I stooped and picked the fragrant flower. 
 Then a nymph appeared with her wand 
 
 uplifted. 
 "Ah, drop it" she cried, "It belongs to the 
 
 Queen of Spring." 
 I stopped and gazed in wonder for the 
 
 violet had fallen from my hand. 
 And thousands of nymphs came silent as 
 
 the buds; 
 And where each nymph stood a violet grew 
 Some at my feet and others far away. 
 And a faint cry could be heard from the 
 
 place where the violet had dropped. 
 Then the nymph silently touched the violet, 
 And it grew again. 
 
 March, igo2. 
 68 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 The Fairies 
 
 Where do the Uttle fairies dwell? 
 
 I know their secret well. 
 
 Their home is down with the Wood-land 
 
 Queen 
 It is an invisible palace of velvet green. 
 
 Their palace is enchanted so no one can see 
 
 it but they 
 They catch the sunbeams and use them for 
 
 a light of a brilliant ray 
 
 Their court is filled with perfumed flowers 
 And vines of roses hang from their fragrant 
 bowers. 
 
 Their fence is of river grasses tall 
 
 And a winding stairway leads to their 
 
 golden hall 
 And a little babbHng brook runs happily 
 
 down the fairy hills, 
 The fairies need not have the grinding 
 
 mills. 
 
 Spring, jgo2. 
 
 69 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 The Night 
 
 The trailing garments of the night* appear 
 As the rose-colored sunset disappears. 
 The kingly Sun rides in his golden chariot 
 
 around the earth 
 With the rainbow for a cushion, 
 And slowly sinks behind the guardian 
 
 clouds, 
 The turquoise sky is ready to greet him 
 
 everywhere. 
 The trees grow shadowy and dark, 
 And the fairies join in their nightly dance 
 
 with the woodland Queen 
 Then the white-draped ghosts begin to 
 
 creep about 
 And frighten all who see them. 
 But it is not the ghosts. 
 It is the shadows of the silky leaves, 
 Only the sky seen through the foliage 
 Of the dark green of the summer trees. 
 
 *This, of course, is a direct reminiscence of 
 Longfellow. 
 
 70 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 When the beautiful Sun arrives at China, 
 
 it scatters happiness everywhere 
 Even upon unfortunate poor people 
 Leaving dark behind him. 
 But the thought and memory of him leaves 
 
 brightness even though he were to stay 
 
 away a year 
 God, not forgetting us, sends the beautiful 
 
 moon instead 
 So if we do not forget the Sun, we may have 
 
 happiness still. 
 And then too He sends innumerable brilliant 
 
 stars. 
 He does not think that a half moon will do. 
 But the people who see nature visions do 
 
 not really need the moon though they 
 
 love it. 
 
 Even though the stars look small, 
 
 Each one gives forth more blessings than 
 one can count. 
 
 When morning comes again we see the Sun 
 robed in a different dress 
 
 Wishing he were the Lady Moon, he some- 
 times puts on the colors she loves to 
 wear, 
 
 71 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Which is the misty dress. 
 He can not find the real color of the Moon. 
 The place where she gets it is a secret 
 Except to the Daisy, who is the only one 
 
 she has told her secret to 
 The Daisy to show her gratitude to the 
 
 lovely Moon 
 Puts a yellow star in the center of her robe. 
 The Sun is still trying to find the place 
 
 where the Moon gets her lovely silver. 
 
 Spring, I go 2. 
 
 Lament 
 
 Oh, those sword-clad words, sword-clad 
 
 words. 
 Ah, if those words are true, 
 I will watch the winged birds, 
 The rainbow-colored birds. 
 
 April, IQ02. 
 
 72 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 The Poor that Give Happiness 
 
 Out in the cold, cold lamp-lit street the 
 
 organ grinder stands, 
 With his stiff and freezing hands. 
 His happy yet sad music thrills us all. 
 He brings cheerfulness to generous famiHes 
 And sadness to the houses where one will 
 
 not give. 
 All hard-hearted people are discontented. 
 The poor organ grinder never sees a vision 
 
 of happiness. 
 He does not dream of even a little cottage 
 
 with one book 
 Or anything that gives forth contentment. 
 The Lady in the Moon gives the organ 
 
 grinder some joy; 
 But he is usually too sad to even look at 
 
 her OP at the silver stars 
 The moon is beautiful to kind and generous 
 
 people, 
 Even to the rich it seems beautiful. 
 The music of the organ grinder thrills all 
 people who can see visions 
 6 73 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 As for instance, the people who see forms 
 of maidens in the clouds. 
 
 Such think that the music of the organ 
 grinder is beautiful. 
 
 There is a magic touch of sadness to them 
 in the music, 
 
 Something lovely, something sad, some- 
 thing too sad to tell. 
 
 May ly, igo2. 
 
 New Year's Day 
 
 The joyous bells are echoing over hill and 
 
 dale, 
 And glad tidings to all are bringing. 
 Even the poor feel something magic in the 
 
 atmosphere 
 And rejoice with the world. 
 The old year passes away with a sigh of 
 
 farewell to the beautiful earth 
 And as he passes by, the infant New Year 
 Bids him be happy wherever he may go 
 In the memory of the great deeds he has 
 
 done. 
 
 May, igo2. 
 
 74 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 The Cloud 
 
 As the dusky night approached 
 
 A sight more marvelous and beautiful met 
 
 my eyes 
 Than I had ever seen before. 
 A fleecy purple cloud embroidered with gold 
 
 was resting in the sky 
 Then two little guardian clouds 
 Hovered over it, watching it. 
 These also were embroidered with gold. 
 Under it was the sun, dressed in a garment 
 
 of opal. 
 Out from it streamed brilUant rays 
 And the whole sky seemed to be illumined 
 
 by the wonderful opal ball. 
 
 May i8, igo2. 
 
 75 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 The Joys of Camping Out 
 
 To see where the Fairies danced the night 
 
 before 
 To see where the silver moon glittered on 
 
 their gauzy gowns 
 And to think where they were going to do 
 
 good deeds on the morrow 
 Where the nymphs rang the lily bells — for 
 
 church in the hollow tree 
 And the sunbeams were nailed to the walls 
 
 when the Hghtning bugs . . . 
 
 Unfinished, July, igo2. 
 
 76 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 The Seed that Grows and Dies 
 
 Babyhood is a seed. 
 
 Childhood is a bud. 
 
 Girlhood is a rose. 
 
 Womanhood is a rose with three more petals 
 
 but fading a little 
 Old womanhood is the full grown rose 
 
 withered but very sacred. 
 
 August J, I go 2. 
 
 The Wild Rose 
 
 [by praecros belmarz] 
 
 In the wood stands the tall wild rose, 
 Beautiful but still stinging with its thorns, 
 It stands with them ready to face its foes. 
 The beautiful rose means our wonderful and 
 
 happy life 
 And its thorns mean our few troubles which 
 
 come in different forms. 
 
 August 17, igo2. 
 
 77 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 The Brook and The Trees 
 
 [by pronvae valese.] 
 
 In the shady wood rushed a little babbling 
 brook, 
 
 And it happily sang all day long. 
 
 At night the rustUng trees of its merriment 
 partook 
 
 And sang the same song, 
 
 While the flowers watched them in a shad- 
 owy nook, 
 
 And the birds listened in their nests. 
 
 The trees their friend never forsook, 
 
 And the Brook and the Trees never cared 
 because the birds and the flowers were 
 their guests. 
 
 August 25, 1Q02. 
 
 78 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 The Fairies 
 
 There are Swamp Fairies and Wood 
 Fairies and Sunbeam Fairies. The fairies 
 we usually talk about are the fairies of the 
 sunbeams. This is the way the Swamp 
 Fairies make their wands. They skim the 
 sunbeams from the water and put them into 
 a golden goblet. Then they drop in silver 
 sand and golden pebbles and set it in the 
 sun till it becomes a golden liquid. Into 
 this they dip river grasses and the tips 
 shine like stars. 
 
 The wands of the Sunbeam Fairies are 
 sunbeams. 
 
 The Wood Fairies catch the falling stars. 
 
 August 26, I go 2. 
 
 79 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Pleading 
 
 Oh, beautiful sky so blue and sad 
 
 Do not carry dear sister away 
 
 Where happily resting are many a lassie and 
 
 lad 
 For tears and sad thoughts of her will reign 
 
 over me every day 
 Though she will be happy sailing in the 
 
 woolen clouds away. 
 I could not live without her, but yet I could 
 
 not leave dear mother, 
 So I think she'd better stay. 
 I could not even hear the babbling brook 
 
 sing loud. 
 Oh, glittering golden Sun 
 Oh, let her stay if she may. 
 
 August, igo2. 
 
 80 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 The Elves 
 
 The bright little Elves live in the woodlands 
 
 green 
 Where the silky moss grows most abundant. 
 The Elves do not live by a brook as the 
 
 Fairies do. 
 They much prefer a stream. 
 The Fairies love the babbling brook best. 
 And the Elves love the winding stream best. 
 
 The little Elves are as spry as squirrels. 
 They know the place to find things just 
 
 as Fairies do 
 They find trees and flowers and jewels, but 
 
 especially pearls. 
 Just think, the Elves are fond of playing 
 
 school. 
 
 September 20, igo2. 
 
 81 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 The Silver Moon 
 
 When the night came flitting from the East 
 
 and West 
 The silver Lady Moon softly arose from 
 
 the still smooth sea 
 At last it rose as high as to touch the highest 
 
 mountain crest 
 Then it opened a cave in the ice to see 
 
 all its beauties 
 With the key that it calls the Iceland Key. 
 At last it disappeared behind the purple 
 
 mountains, 
 And the brook softly murmured "Ah, fair 
 
 Moon, why do you disappear so soon 
 So to express its sorrow, it emerged from 
 
 the ground two little sad fountains. 
 And so the brook seldom sings in the day- 
 time 
 Because it is lonely without its friend the 
 
 Moon 
 But at night it sings a merry song. 
 
 September 22, igo2. 
 
 82 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Summer 
 
 When Summer comes laden with flowers 
 
 She diverts the course of Spring 
 
 And the messenger of Spring strews her 
 
 path with flowers. 
 And finds a lily for a bell to ring. 
 Sometimes Summer goes to sleep and then 
 
 it showers. 
 Then the Fairies guard her and drape her 
 
 with flowers 
 And when she wakes again the sun shines. 
 
 September 22, igo2. 
 
 83 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 The Fairies 
 
 The Fairies live in the woodlands green 
 
 where the flowers grow. 
 They dance at night when the moon shines 
 
 through the trees 
 In winter they dance on the glittering snow. 
 They are similar to the nymphs that live 
 
 in the seas. 
 The Fairies live in a beautiful cave. 
 Their dresses are made of river grasses with 
 
 rose petals woven in 
 Their lamps are made of a little sunbeam 
 
 nailed to the wall. 
 They Hke the sunbeam best that comes from 
 
 the dewdrop on the rose. 
 
 September 22, igo2. 
 
 84 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 The Apple Orchard 
 
 The crimson apples nestle in the green 
 
 leaves of the apple tree, 
 As Fairies rest in the petals of a rose. 
 The beautiful emerald leaves add as much 
 
 beauty as the rubies themselves. 
 
 October, igo2. 
 
 8s 
 
Poems from a Manuscript Volume 
 Entitled 
 
 "On the Pathway of 
 Paradise " 
 
The Sunset 
 
 [H, sunset, is the rainbow 
 your brother or your 
 sister ? 
 And are you the throne 
 for the Queen of the 
 Sky-fairies 
 So that she may look the wide, wild world 
 
 and waters o'er 
 And behold the setting of the sun? 
 
 November 7, igo2. 
 
 89 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Sleep 
 
 Oh, magic, fairy sleep. 
 
 Upon the barren mount-tops 
 
 And brooksides 
 
 And on the grassy hill-tops where shepherds 
 tend their sheep; 
 
 Everywhere you wander touching every- 
 thing you see 
 
 And opening houses with a golden magic 
 key. 
 
 You only do your work when night comes 
 skipping from the east and west, 
 
 And people are at rest. 
 
 November 8, igo2. 
 
 90 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Repose 
 
 Repose, sleeping both day and night 
 
 While birds sing gaily. 
 
 While grasses nod their tiny heads 
 
 And butterflies play near your feet. 
 
 At night the fireflies make a light for you 
 
 At morning the sun for you its radiance 
 
 sheds. 
 You want for nothing, 
 Ah, happy Repose. 
 
 November 8, 1902. 
 
 91 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 The Lake 
 
 Oh, beautiful, silver crystal lake 
 
 A million dewdrops take refuge in your 
 
 kindhearted breast 
 And sparkle like the glistening snowfiakes 
 On a golden day. 
 
 You are kind to all the birds and beasts. 
 The sea-gull darts in and out amidst your 
 
 waters cool 
 And the swan floats upon you 
 Like a snowy cloud 
 Upon a meadow blue. 
 
 November 21, igo2. 
 
 92 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Sunbeams 
 
 Merry little sunbeams 
 Glistening like the golden sand 
 And playing like the leaves upon the trees; 
 What could we do without you, little sun- 
 beams ? 
 You make our lives seem bright 
 You dance and play amidst the wavy grass. 
 You shine upon the gleeful butterfly 
 And reflect your image 
 In the calm celestial waters blue. 
 
 November 2j, igo2. 
 
 93 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Cupid's Dream 
 
 Be quiet, for Cupid is asleep. 
 
 Do not trouble his slumber. 
 
 I am sure sweet dreams are prevailing over 
 
 his thoughts 
 For see the smile that covers his roguish 
 
 dimpled face. 
 What tiny footstep is that I hear? 
 'Tis the fairies, I'm sure 
 Come to sprinkle flowers upon him, 
 Yes, it is, see the roses they brought. 
 Oh, they have wakened him 
 What sweet dream did you have, Cupid? 
 **I dreampt" answered Cupid, 
 "That I shot a golden arrow 
 Through the hearts of two lovers." 
 
 November 23, igo2. 
 
 94 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 The Brook 
 
 Little babbling brook 
 Whispering to the birds and bees 
 The whole day through 
 In your silvery voice. 
 As you run along 
 Beside the tall rank river-grass 
 You whisper little secrets 
 In your native voice. 
 What is the secret? 
 Is it that some joyful morn 
 You will find yourself 
 Borne by the foamy waves to a far-off dis- 
 tant country 
 Or that some day 
 
 You will find yourself taken to the sky again 
 By a gold-winged sunbeam fairy? 
 
 November 25, igo2. 
 
 95 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 The Stars 
 
 The stars are numerous as the snowflakes 
 
 white, 
 And as distinct and clear as crystal, 
 At night they glisten 
 Like a million diamonds in the sky, 
 And stand in an everlasting line 
 Watching like guardians 
 Over all the world 
 To keep us safe from harm. 
 
 November 2g, igo2. 
 
 96 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 _i 
 
 Baby Brother's Eyes 
 
 Baby's eyes are full of mystery. 
 
 Baby's eyes look upward toward the sky 
 
 To question God 
 
 Whether or not he shall tell us yet 
 
 What wondrous tale lies beneath their 
 brown depths; 
 
 And what wonderful secret 
 
 Those bright eyes will seek and find. 
 
 Baby's eyes are full of gladness and bright- 
 ness, 
 
 And when he laughs 
 
 They sparkle Uke the sunshine glistening on 
 the dancing waters. 
 
 December, igo2. 
 
 97 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 The Thorn 
 
 The little stinging thorn 
 But very small, 
 
 Can penetrate the whitest hand. 
 The thorn is like a sorrow to you yet un- 
 known 
 But when it pierces you 
 You know the sorrow very well. 
 
 December 2j, igo2. 
 
 Morn 
 
 When the rosy morn brings forth Aurora 
 With her chariot of sun or her chariot of 
 
 rain 
 We greet her with a happy smile 
 Wondering which chariot she brings 
 And if we are very anxious to know 
 We consult the weather prophet 
 To whom she tells her secret. 
 
 December 2j, IQ02, 
 
 98 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Magic Music 
 
 When I stand on the mountain top 
 When I stand on the mountain top, I gaze 
 O'er the country wild, and wonder 
 If some great thing will happen there, 
 If some battle will be conquered there, 
 If some spirit will alight in its woods. 
 
 December, igo2. 
 
 The Rustling Leaves 
 
 The little leaves blow round in sprightly 
 
 dance, 
 When the moon rises high in the blackened 
 
 sky 
 And hold a council while the brook is their 
 
 musician 
 And the wind is their singer. 
 
 December, igo2. 
 
 99 
 
 L.ofC. 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 The Fairies* Boat 
 
 The Fairies have boats as well as we 
 And what do you think is their boat? 
 It has no masts and it has no sails 
 And the wind is its oar, Oh, I am sure 
 You can never guess so I will have to tell 
 you. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 It is a tiny leaf 
 
 A tiny leaf is the fairies' boat. 
 
 December, igo2. 
 
 100 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 My Wish 
 
 I think that when I grow up I should 
 like to be a painter, so that I could paint 
 the rocky mountains and the wavy fields. 
 Or perhaps I should like to be a musician 
 and play as well as the birds sing, or perhaps 
 I should like to be a poetess to express my 
 thoughts about different pretty scenes in 
 the world. 
 
 December, igo2. 
 
 Day Dreams ' 
 
 There once lived a serene and beautiful 
 lady. Her eyes were sky-blue. Her lips 
 were a beautiful pale red. She was a 
 poetess. She used to sit for hours and 
 think beautiful things and that is why she 
 was called Day Dreams. 
 
 December, igo2. 
 
 lOI 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Daffodils* 
 
 THE golden daffodils flutter round 
 In the frolicsome breeze; 
 While the little leaves are not to be found 
 Because the heads of the daffodils hide 
 them if you please. 
 
 December, igo2. 
 
 Violets . 
 
 Oh, little violets, what are you like? 
 Are you like the purple sunset? 
 Or are you like the purple mountains? 
 Oh, little violets what pretty scene in nature 
 are you like? 
 
 December, igo2. 
 
 * This and the five following poems about flow- 
 ers were written for Christmas, 1902. 
 
 102 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Poppies 
 
 Oh, poppies red you are the guardian of 
 
 sleep. 
 You mischievous flower. 
 As soon as one walks within your premises 
 You throw the veil of sleep o'er him. 
 
 December, igo2. 
 
 Nasturtiums 
 
 Pretty nasturtiums, you ai^ of all colors. 
 The colors of the rainbow and the sunset 
 You illumine the garden beds with your 
 brilliancy. 
 
 December, igo2. 
 
 103 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Lilies 
 
 Oh, lilies white, you signify purity. 
 
 You grow amidst the tall rank grass of the 
 
 meadows green. 
 And down in the dells where the brook 
 
 babbles loud. 
 The Madonna chooses you to pluck and to 
 
 stay with her, 
 For you are as pure as she. 
 
 December, igo2. 
 
 104 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Dandelions 
 
 Oh, little yellow dandelion 
 
 You are but a ray of sunshine, 
 
 When you are arrayed in your bright yellow 
 
 dress 
 You look like a tiny sunbeam fair}'- 
 And when you have your white dress on 
 You look like a little snow fairy. 
 Oh, little dandelions, sometimes you look 
 
 like summer 
 And sometimes you look like winter. 
 
 December, igo2. 
 
 105 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 May- 
 May's bright beams bring May flowers. 
 May's bright beams bring soft moss for 
 
 elves to dance upon 
 As flit by the night hours, 
 May's bright beams bring as many blessings 
 as one should wish. 
 
 January 26, ipoj. 
 
 The Fairy Boat 
 
 The boat of a fairy is made by God, 
 The boat of a fairy is blown from the trees 
 Blown by the heedless autumn winds. 
 The wind that takes no heed to the leaves 
 But carries them off on his swift aerial steed. 
 
 January 27, IQOJ. 
 
 106 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 The Bats 
 
 [a shepherd's song.] 
 
 When the moon in the starry sea shines 
 
 brightly 
 And the black-winged bats, dark as the 
 
 opaque night 
 Fly over the woods and silent rivers; 
 Carrying a tiny fairy-maid upon their 
 
 backs 
 As sometimes does the butterfly; 
 I watch them as I guard my sheep, 
 I love to watch them from the hill-tops. 
 
 January 27, 1903. 
 
 107 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 The Tear 
 
 A glistening tear from baby's eyes 
 Is like a drop of rain 
 Just fallen from the gray mystery of the 
 skies. 
 
 January 2g, ipoj. 
 
 Spring 
 
 Spring is coming 
 
 I can tell because 
 
 The sun seems about 
 
 To send his soft warm 
 
 Rays upon the earth 
 
 To wake the flowers. 
 
 He seems so soft and bright now 
 
 I'm sure it's neariy Spring. 
 
 January 2Q, 1903, 
 
 108 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Beauty Near the Lake 
 
 Down by the cold blue winter lake 
 Stand the staunch and stately birch 
 In bare unconsciousness. 
 Although their gown like Cinderella's 
 Fell on the invisible wings of the wind, 
 They are beautiful to my eyes 
 With the signs of their many joys 
 And their branches waving in the wind 
 To salute and hail the coming Spring. 
 
 And then the old old bridge, 
 
 So true, so ignorant. 
 
 That stands to face the infinite world 
 
 And not a thing to support it in way of 
 knowledge. 
 
 In another form this masterpiece 
 
 (Made a masterpiece by fairies' nimble 
 fingers) 
 
 Stands or rests against the ethereal dome, 
 
 Inapprehensive of it. 
 
 So many little feet trod upon this vine- 
 covered antique bridge 
 
 Ringing forth peals of melodious laughter 
 
 Which echo in the distant canyons, 
 109 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Like fairy church bells 
 
 In childish merriment and innocence. 
 
 Perhaps a pair of birds appear. 
 
 And build among the shrubbery near by. 
 
 At this place that is fit for the winged 
 
 wonder, Pegasus 
 Fairies come nigh ly to dance 
 While lily bells serve as the music 
 And owls give the signal of danger. 
 
 April 3-22, IQ02. 
 
 Lincoln 
 
 When Lincoln walked the grassy paths 
 
 The birds sang sweetly 
 
 Telling of what he might be, 
 
 And I think that Lincoln understood 
 
 And so was still a better man. 
 
 That is how Lincoln became so great 
 
 Just through Nature's children. 
 
 February 12, ipoj. 
 
 no 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 The Cave of Ice 
 
 A cave of icicles is more beautiful than any 
 
 fairies' dwelling 
 The transparent icicles hanging low 
 Like the choicest bit of crystal 
 The smooth path of ice leading through the 
 
 cave 
 Like a wonderful marble floor 
 And the translucent ceiling 
 Letting through the sunbeams 
 To shine on one of Nature's secrets 
 Making it look like a palace of gold. 
 
 February 14, igoj. 
 
 Ill 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 The Silent Shore 
 
 At night when the heaven gleams with stars 
 And the peaceful lady moon sits quietly 
 
 guarding, 
 In her ocean of opaque black 
 The waves beneath her silently splashing 
 In their dream sleep, 
 I often wonder what they dream about 
 Because they seem to feel the stillness of the 
 
 night 
 And do not play as much as in the sunshine 
 But quietly splash 
 
 Though they are little frolicsome waves 
 Ever frisking, ever playing, 
 God made them feel the stillness of the 
 
 night. 
 
 February 14, igoj. 
 
 113 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 The Poplar Trees 
 
 Upon the hill-tops by the brook 
 Grow the Poplar, tall and straight 
 Nodding to the sunset 
 O'er the westward hills, 
 And nodding to the stream 
 Meandering from the woods 
 And down below, another poplar 
 Nods to the fleecy clouds. 
 
 May 4, 1903, 
 
 "3 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 A Hilly Country 
 
 Resting on the distant woody hills 
 Are the fleecy clouds 
 Catching glints of sunshine 
 And there beside the lowland brook 
 Rest clumps of lilac bushes 
 And upon the summit of the hill 
 Is a tall green poplar tree 
 And farther down the hill 
 An aged apple tree 
 Sends its petals on the wind 
 To the rose bushes way down beside the 
 brook. 
 
 ^^y 5. 1903- 
 
 114 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Evening 
 
 Evening's veil hung o'er all the land, 
 
 O'er the distant purple hills, 
 
 O'er forest covered places 
 
 And o'er the brook which hastens 
 
 'Neath the woody hill. 
 
 Sunset fell so quietly 
 
 Save the murmuring of the brook. 
 
 No radiant light we see 
 
 And yet no darkness, 
 
 But a yellow and purple sunset 
 
 Faintly illumines the sky 
 
 Above the distant hills. 
 
 May 5, igoj. 
 
 "S 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Gladsome Robins 
 
 O'er hill and o'er vale 
 
 On this bright summer day 
 
 Ring the joyous clear notes of the robins 
 
 O'er the trees of the hill 
 
 They come fluttering 
 
 And here in the meadow 
 
 By ferns and by flowers 
 
 They build their small homes. 
 
 May 6, igoj. 
 
 The Lonely Vale 
 
 The valley lies in earthly peace and quiet, 
 
 No sound can be heard 
 
 But the lonely trill of the cardinal-fringed 
 
 brook 
 This desolate place may be occupied 
 By dwarfs and fairies 
 Who come to reign over gray veil land. 
 
 May 13, 1903. 
 116 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 A Sweet Dream of a May Day 
 
 [written for a wedding anniversary.] 
 
 One glistening day, 
 
 While Heaven smiled on earth below 
 
 The lake lay quiet this sweet day of May 
 
 When little blue-eyed Alice 
 
 Came and sat beneath the tree, 
 
 When she started and listened. 
 
 It was imaginary angels singing for her 
 
 wedding. 
 
 May 21, igoj. 
 
 117 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Song to the Wind 
 
 Oh, mighty wind 
 
 That tosses billows in the air 
 
 And blows the fields 
 
 Of quivering grain; 
 
 That tosses snowflakes through the trees 
 
 And plays so many tricks 
 
 That we forget 
 
 What good you do. 
 
 June 2, 1903. 
 
 The Clouds 
 
 I see many forms in clouds, 
 
 Angels guarding us. I'm sure that is a 
 
 message from our Lord 
 And trees of many kinds. 
 I also see a funny face 
 Laughing because I'm just a speck, you see. 
 
 June 2, 190J. 
 
 118 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 The Quiet Cemetery 
 
 In the quiet cemetery 
 In the quiet church-yard, shaded by grace- 
 ful fir trees 
 Lie the dead; so many quiet faces 
 Of soldiers and of friends. 
 But most sad of all 
 Their lips will speak not evermore. 
 
 June 2, 1903. 
 
 The Woods 
 
 The darkest place of the green woods 
 Evidences whence we were in the dark, 
 Or our past days of lovely innocence. 
 And sunshine nearer us 
 Is the light of these more heavenly days 
 When we are near the summit. 
 
 June 2, 1903. 
 
 119 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Woodland Tower 
 
 Rising out of supreme greenness every- 
 where 
 
 Towers a woodland mountain 
 
 Like a cherished flower, 
 
 Greeting ocean breezes with a courtesy of 
 its trees 
 
 Oh, tower of beauty, 
 
 Looking down upon the other steps or hills 
 
 What marble step of life are you 
 
 Leading to all Heaven's celestial blue? 
 
 June 5, 1903. 
 
 120 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 V 
 
 The Old Orchard 
 
 In the orchard's silence 
 
 Where the grasses tall and slender 
 
 Grow to meet the hidden sun, 
 
 Under shade of apple trees 
 
 And the fir trees make a shade 
 
 For lilies of the valley, 
 
 There I feel a stillness 
 
 And a wish to never leave it. 
 
 June 5, 1903. 
 
 121 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 The Country Church 
 
 Rising from the green depths of the woody 
 
 hills 
 Is the white ghostly figure of the pretty 
 
 country church 
 In marble eminence. 
 And all around it are in fairy net work 
 Fields and meadows, woods and dells. 
 And far below in clearest mystery and 
 
 innocence 
 Flows a crystal river 
 Babbling and dancing within its shaded 
 
 dells. 
 
 fune II, 1903. 
 
 122 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 The Brook 
 
 Through clumps of tall green fern 
 Merrily babbles a silvery brook, 
 The guide of many a fairy's eye 
 As it points for them a fairy's nook 
 It tinkles and babbles as no lily bell could 
 And meanders gracefully through the wood 
 Then out into the shining fields again 
 Through woods and shining fields it flows 
 As if on the wings of the night. 
 
 June 14, 1903. 
 
 123 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Sunset Meadow 
 
 When evening's veil hangs Hghtly over all 
 
 the land 
 Over this secret and lovely meadow 
 Lighted by a beautiful soft mystic light, 
 The grasses gently waver to the music of 
 
 the song birds, 
 To the brook's unconscious trill 
 And to the vibrations of the poet's imagina- 
 tion. 
 
 July 5, 1903- 
 
 124 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Indian Chant 
 
 Once in these fields Moscow, the savage 
 Indian Chief did roam. He, fierce of heart 
 and fierce of mind with bow and arrow 
 fixed aslant was called one day from sleepy 
 thoughts of half-moon hunts to fight with 
 Scowwatee, his enemy, chief of yonder 
 woods' inhabitants. He quickly to the 
 field did run. Glad of heart and still 
 adream of happy times, he sat beneath an 
 enchanted weeping-willow tree, so unaware 
 that death's most painful scythe was near. 
 He ne'er e'en saw the flowers of the field 
 and wood. 
 
 When Scowwatee*s unique form was seen 
 on yon horizon line. Scowwatee soon was 
 at his feet and slayed him in his dream of 
 happiness. 
 
 After Moscow passed away a wicked 
 witch resided there. She did not love the 
 flowers, so no pleasant life must hers have 
 been without the quiet lesson of the modest 
 heroines of the field and wood. 
 
 July 10, 1903. 
 125 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Nature 
 
 My joy is in the ripened fields of harvest 
 
 grain, 
 And in the simple lesson of a modest flower, 
 In the rest and sweet communion of the 
 
 yellow daisies, 
 Originally called "The Indian Peace 
 
 Flower," 
 My joys are also in the tranquil darkness of 
 
 the woods 
 And in the ceaseless laughter of the merry 
 
 brook. 
 And by no means can I say 
 That anything that Nature touches with 
 
 her placid hand 
 Can be other than my joy. 
 
 July 15, 1Q03. 
 
 126 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Nature's Argument 
 
 Oh, sons of men, ye are so unacquainted 
 With the starry flowers of aromatic field 
 
 and wood 
 Ye ought many times a glistening day to 
 
 adhere 
 To Nature's pleasant friends. 
 Betake thyself to placid lake or pond 
 Where an unhappy fairy's snow-white lily 
 
 cup lies waiting for her tears. 
 And there as if a tiny water sprite doth 
 
 spring up out of the lily cup 
 And bringeth it to you. 
 Ye will learn a lesson 
 Unknown to many men of all this antique 
 
 earth. 
 Another lesson ye shall learn studying 
 
 ancient rocks 
 
 * Hid in the greenery of the topmost branches 
 of an apple-tree in the old orchard, JuUa chanted 
 this poem to the family assembled on the veranda. 
 
 127 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Which show the signs of undreampt of 
 
 miracles. 
 Oh, sons of men 
 Commune with the rythmic music of the 
 
 silvery brook 
 Where mermaid's hair blows round about 
 The tranquil wood doth wait for you, 
 Where squirrels dart in and out 
 Like arrow heads innumerable. 
 Ye can but love her for she is everywhere 
 
 July 30, 1903. 
 
 128 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 To Aunt Tess 
 
 The woodbird's notes can not compare with 
 
 thine 
 Which are Hke the soft weird tones of 
 
 mermaids, 
 A buoy floating, wavering, riding on the 
 
 waves, 
 A voice so soft and rare 
 That a nymph's mirthful singing is your 
 
 voice again. 
 The angels' tones announcing the birth of 
 
 Christ 
 Are the same sweet notes as yours 
 Their voice alone was heard 
 And yours alone I hear in the dark silence 
 
 of the night 
 And still the glorious Star of the East must 
 
 crown your fair blond hair 
 And guide you into the realms of melody. 
 
 August, igoj. 
 
 129 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 The Silent Wood 
 
 [written after a morning spent in 
 
 THE woods] 
 
 Let me, oh, let me lay my weary head to 
 
 rest. 
 When the golden days of my life are o'er, 
 When the merry waves of the river of life 
 
 subside, 
 Then let me lay my weary head to rest 
 On the rock which in days gone by 
 Was my throne while I learned the secrets 
 
 of the woods. 
 Let me lie beneath the azure skies 
 Under the shelter of all the loving trees 
 While they whisper tales of long ago. 
 
 August 2g, 1903. 
 
 130 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Eventide at the Ocean* 
 
 At the close of day Evening gently throws 
 
 her tranquil veil over all God's grateful 
 
 earth 
 And then in sweet communion both the 
 
 peaceful sunset and the reflecting waters 
 
 are found. 
 The sunset's subdued kiss still visible and 
 
 the rythmic words of the waves so full 
 
 of mirth 
 Are heard in a lull hushed by the coming 
 
 of the sunset which also is the veil of 
 
 dreams to them 
 At almost first sight of her their words are 
 
 hushed in awe. 
 
 August 12, I go J. 
 
 * This and the two following poems were 
 written for the seventy-third birthday of Julia's 
 grandfather, spent by him in Nantucket. 
 
 131 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 The Marsh at Nantucket 
 
 Beauty rests under all our firmament on 
 high, 
 
 In the fields of waving grass 
 
 She, the innocent of Nature, every day a 
 new seed sows of art and beauty in her 
 spacious garden nigh 
 
 The woods, the hills, the trees, the laugh- 
 ing, sighing, trees, daily nightly she 
 doth pass. 
 
 But last and most beautiful of all the low- 
 land marsh more wonderful she makes. 
 
 The tall swamp grass of many quaint dull 
 colors bend in the whispers of the 
 breeze ; 
 
 And all are happy in the midst of so many 
 splendors. 
 
 August 22, JpOJ, 
 
 132 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 A Happy Birthday 
 
 The sun is setting behind the purple hills 
 
 At the close of a pleasant day 
 
 And all the beauties round about with more 
 
 than one rosy kiss he stills 
 And one kind heart is happy as he climbs 
 
 his tranquil way 
 For he remembers days gone by with a 
 
 peaceful smile, but moumeth not for 
 
 them, 
 For he is happy in his own kind way. 
 
 August 27, 1903. 
 
 133 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 My Little Followers' 
 
 I shall come back with the birds of the 
 
 Spring. 
 I shall bring with me in Beauty's bag 
 The bright little songsters 
 The stars of the night 
 And the stars of the field. 
 I shall bring summer with my song 
 And speed winter by my touch. 
 
 * This and the seven poems that follow were 
 written as a leave-taking to the country at the 
 end of Julia's holidays in September, 1903. 
 
 X34 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 The Joy of the Country 
 
 Such freedom, such joy in the country, 
 
 half-veiled with the secrets of nature 
 
 and art 
 On our earth there is art as in Psyche's land 
 
 of thought. 
 From the hill's majestic stature to the 
 
 meadow's dainty flowers arranged like 
 
 stars in Heaven 
 I love my dear own native country from 
 
 the giant mountains to the tiny little 
 
 rills. 
 
 135 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Departure 
 
 The little bird that flies away from the 
 home so dear to her 
 
 On wings of moments sad and glad, 
 
 Some other day will come again to cheer the 
 hearts of those whose kind deeds for- 
 gotten never were. 
 
 And when the thoughts of the dear home 
 'mong the hills come over her mind, 
 then shall they make her sad. 
 
 What Time Brings 
 
 When Time with his scythe cuts sharp the 
 
 air 
 Like the ringing words of sorrow 
 What then shall misery bring, some day 
 
 lost again by Time in the river of life? 
 " Enough for one September day," says Joy. 
 136 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 The Country Sublime 
 
 When the bright summer days are o'er 
 Then must I leave the country which dearly 
 
 I love 
 With its skies of azure and the mighty 
 
 snow-white clouds which to the sunset's 
 
 veil majestically do soar 
 And to the mountain's crest above. 
 With the country, the country unique, 
 
 which is the realm of dreams 
 Naught could compare — 
 Its beaming beauty everywhere. 
 The country, the country sublime. 
 
 137 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 When Summer is O'er 
 
 When the summer days are o'er 
 
 And the kites in the air do soar 
 
 And by the North Wind's laughing words 
 
 Like a herd of merry birds 
 
 The golden leaves are blown about; 
 
 And so your thoughts, please, blow about 
 
 And let them reach me in the far West. 
 
 Fall 
 
 Oh, Fall, thy majestic doings. 
 
 One mighty sweep of thy arm and the 
 
 country is changed 
 The ground is covered with golden and 
 
 brown. 
 The trees are bare in the sight of the sun. 
 The hills are purple and cold. 
 
 138 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Fall and Spring 
 
 I go with the Fall, I come with the Spring 
 
 I fade away with the glories of Fall 
 
 I come with the tender green of Spring at 
 
 my feet. 
 The little dancers of the trees wave, a golden 
 
 kiss send me as a token of farewell. 
 And the birds and flowers a buoyant greet- 
 ing give to me. 
 
 139 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 An Anniversary 
 
 [Wedding] 
 
 The silver moon seemed brighter than ever 
 On the eve of that which is only an echo 
 
 of the day when peace was won 
 And all the world rejoiced; and before you 
 
 was placed in one sanctified moment the 
 
 crescent of Love which will never sever 
 And then to you two Time brought the 
 
 word that you were one 
 September knew with her symbol of golden, 
 
 purple and brown. 
 She told the nightingale to sing of it, that 
 
 you had won the crown. 
 In whispers airy through the forest it was 
 
 passed on word for word. 
 And on Aurora's wakening she could not 
 
 keep it secret and it everywhere was 
 
 heard. 
 
 September 22, 1903. 
 
 140 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 An Anniversary 
 [Wedding] 
 
 The sun glittered on a thousand children 
 
 of the world; 
 But far and wide it could not beam upon 
 
 a happier pair 
 Which that day I found 'neath God's azure 
 
 skies. 
 Though neither rich nor poor, contented 
 
 in the world they were as is his mighty 
 
 wish. 
 From hour to hour they grew with nature 
 And love grew also with their thoughts 
 Their love was like the "Rock of Ages" 
 To the mighty river in which it seeks 
 
 communion. 
 
 September 22, 1903. 
 
 141 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 The Moon 
 
 [Christmas Poem for 1903] 
 
 Preface. 
 
 This poem called "The Moon," is only 
 suggestive in a poetical way of the moon. 
 It has some very beautiful thoughts in it 
 for a short poem. Possibly if the author 
 had not had to do it, that is, if she had 
 thought the thought without compelling 
 her mind to work as it did for the purpose 
 so happily looked forward to, it could have 
 been better. It is very true that if you 
 imagine things beforehand, and that if you 
 are fully prepared for the purpose and if 
 your mind is in the proper mood, you can 
 do much better than if you know that 
 Christmas or birthdays, etc., are coming 
 and you know you must write something 
 for the person that you love and you just 
 sit down and say 'Til do it " without fur- 
 142 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 ther preparation or inspiration. Perhaps 
 the poem may be very good, but it could 
 have been better if it had been thought 
 about and done sooner. So the author may 
 have some excuse for the hastily written 
 poem. 
 
 The Moon is Love's crescent lost in the 
 
 heavenly seas. 
 An eminent silver dream that floats with 
 
 regardless ease 
 Where to help her graceful vanity 
 Love and Psyche with whom she would 
 
 never part 
 In a woven net of mystery catch the 
 
 thoughts of all lovers of phantom art 
 This dweller of the lofty skies a spirit seems 
 Whose vibrating thread of intercourse with 
 
 us is made of a thousand laughing beams 
 She thinks profoundly of our beautiful but 
 
 wicked world 
 And of her lonely echoing caves. 
 But she would rather be with her com- 
 panions in the ethereal waves. 
 
 September, iQOj. 
 
 143 
 
 \^ 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Sunset 
 
 The sunset is the veil of eventide 
 A curtain the sorrows of the day to hide 
 And to reflect on clouds of silvery glow 
 The past day's joys which into night will 
 
 flow. 
 The sky illumined with memory's gleam 
 Is the speeding day's last beam 
 Which fled on wings of mirth and care 
 To mingle with the peaceful sunset air. 
 
 October j, igoj. 
 
 144 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Twilight 
 
 Twilight wraps the fading day 
 In folds of golden clouds 
 And unrolls the dark night 
 Noiselessly from the calm sky. 
 
 October 20, igoj. 
 
 Youth 
 
 When I was young I loved the birds and 
 
 bees, 
 I loved the sky, I loved the sighing trees, 
 I loved the fields, I loved the babbling 
 
 stream, 
 And all day long I used to dream and 
 
 dream 
 Of all the lovely things I saw and heard, — 
 The hill, the field, the little singing bird. 
 
 145 
 
From a Note-book Entitled 
 
 " Sentences 
 That I Make Up" . 
 
A Thought of a Lonely Damp 
 Valley 
 
 AMP in the valley 
 Like the touch of a ghost. 
 
 A thought of the trees 
 as being so beautiful that 
 they were banished from 
 the kingdom of greenness. 
 
 The stately boughs 
 Of banished kings. 
 
 A thought of the hills in a network of 
 meadows and hills, woods and dells as — 
 
 The architecture of 
 Nature's placid hand. 
 
 I just love to write. Whenever I am 
 ready for a new sentence it comes to me as 
 149 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 if I turned and saw an angel bringing it to 
 
 me. 
 
 In sunshine or in shade 
 The gossamer wings of joy- 
 Are always to be seen. 
 
 The pond-lily is the poet's cup from which 
 he drinks his thoughts. 
 
 A thought — that each star is stamped 
 with one beautiful thought of a certain 
 poet. AFTER-THOUGHT— The star must 
 be the one he loves best. 
 
 The clouds do break away from Lady 
 
 Moon 
 As waves that hide the deep-sea pearl. 
 
 The little clouds that scurry by 
 Do fan her heavenly cares away. 
 
 The moon doth speed away the time 
 
 Through latticed sky 
 
 Swiftly on wings of Nebula she doth fly. 
 
 The sunset is the veil of dreams. 
 150 
 
The Poems of a Child 
 
 Hope rests on the shadow 
 Of the mighty wings of Faith. 
 
 Love doth make stars to shine 
 In the gray, grieving skies of care. 
 
 Mirth beautifies all the rainbowed firmament 
 
 of Hope. 
 Youth is crowned with all the glories of 
 
 Providence. 
 
 Thinking of the days past as — 
 
 Fallen to the waves of the river of life. 
 
 The valley lies in earthly peace. 
 
 THE END 
 
II IN ^ IHOti 
 

 ^^H|; In 
 
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 1