Brother of the greatest poets, true to nature, true to art; Lover of Immortal Love, uplifter of the human heart, Who shall cheer us with high music, who shall sing, if thou depart? Silence here for love is silent, gazing on the lessening sail; for grief is voiceless when the mighty minstrels fail; . Silence here but, far beyond us, many voices crying, Hail ! AN ANGLER'S WISH1 5 I WHEN tulips bloom in Union Square, Go wandering down the dusty town, When every long, unlovely row And leads the eyes towards sunset skies Then weary seems the street parade, I'm only wishing to go a-fishing; 10 15 I II guess the pussy willows now Are creeping out on every bough Along the brook; and robins look For early worms behind the plow. 20 1 From The Builders and Other Poems. Copyright, 1897, by Charles Scribner's Sons. The thistle birds have changed their dun And in the same array of flame The flocks of young anemones Are dancing round the budding trees: 5 III I think the meadow lark's clear sound While on the wing the bluebirds ring The flirting chewink calls his dear Where water flows, where green grass grows, And, best of all, through twilight's calm How much I'm wishing to go a-fishing IV 'Tis not a proud desire of mine; I ask for nothing superfine; No heavy weight, no salmon great, To break the record or my line: Only an idle little stream, Whose amber waters softly gleam, Where I may wade, through woodland shade, And cast the fly, and loaf, and dream : Only a trout or two, to dart From foaming pools, and try my art: No more I'm wishing — old-fashioned fishing, THE SONG SPARROW1 THERE is a bird I know so well, It seems as if he must have sung The name of even the smallest bird, Now see if you can tell, my dear, What bird it is that, every year, Sings "Sweet-sweet-sweet-very merry cheer." He comes in March when winds are strong, And snow returns to hide the earth; But still he warms his heart with mirth, As if to say, we need not fear The season's change, if love is here With "Sweet · sweet — sweet — very merry cheer." He does not wear a Joseph's coat 5 10 15 20 Of many colors, smart and gay; His suit is Quaker brown and gray, 25 And yet of all the well-dressed throng With darker patches at his throat. Not one can sing so brave a song. 1 From The Builders and Other Poems. Copyright, 1897, by Charles Scribner's Sons. It makes the pride of looks appear very merry cheer." EUGENE FIELD 1850-1895 AMERICA has produced no more popular writer of verse for children than Eugene Field. He was born in St. Louis, Missouri, of New England ancestry, and died at Chicago, in the prime of his powers. His education was received at Williams College and at the University of Missouri. His vocation was journalism. He did work for newspapers at St. Louis, Kansas City, and Denver, and during the last years of his life he was connected with the Chicago Daily News. He found time to write several volumes of charming stories and verse. His untimely death has been sincerely deplored. He was sunny in temper and possessed a nimble imagination and a facile pen. "Where are you going, and what do you wish? The old moon asked the three. "We have come to fish for the herring-fish That live in this beautiful sea; Nets of silver and gold have we," Said Wynken And Nod. The old moon laughed and sang a song, As they rocked in the wooden shoe; 5 ΙΟ 15 1 From With Trumpet and Drum. Copyright, 1892, by Mary French Field. Published by Charles Scribner's Sons. And the wind that sped them all night long Ruffled the waves of dew; The little stars were the herring-fish That lived in the beautiful sea. "Now cast your nets wherever you wish, Never afeard are we!" So cried the stars to the fishermen three, Wynken, And Nod. All night long their nets they threw To the stars in the twinkling foam, Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe, Bringing the fishermen home: 'Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed As if it could not be ; And some folks thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed Of sailing that beautiful sea; But I shall name you the fishermen three: Wynken, Blynken, And Nod. Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes, And Nod is a little head, And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies Is a wee one's trundle-bed; So shut your eyes while Mother sings Of wonderful sights that be, And you shall see the beautiful things As you rock on the misty sea Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three, – Wynken, Blynken, And Nod. |