A Jolly Jingle-Book | Page 9

we let the flood begin;
The rainier it rains the more
we like it staying in.
[Illustration: Staying In]
THE SLEEPING TREES.
I know how the apple-tree went to sleep!
Its fluttering leaves were so
tired of play!--
Like frolicsome children when dusk grows deep,

And mother says "Come!" and they gladly creep
To knee and to nest
at the end of day.
Its work was all done and it longed to rest;
The reddening apples
dropped softly down;
The leaves fell in heaps to the brown earth's
breasts
And then, of a sudden, its limbs were dressed
(The better to
sleep) in a soft white gown.
The maples and beeches and oaks and all--
When summer was over,
each cool green tent
Seemed suddenly turned to a banquet hall,

Pavilions with banners, a flaming wall!
And then all was gone and
their glory spent.
Then quickly the sky shook her blankets out,
And robes that were
softer than wool to don
She gave all her children the winds to flout--

I wish I knew what they are dreaming about,
So quiet and still with
their white gowns on!
A SUMMER HOLIDAY
Can you guess where I have been?
On the hillsides fresh and green!

Out where all the winds are blowing,
Where the free, bright
streamlet's flowing
Leap and laugh and race and run
Like a child
that's full of fun!--
Crinkle, crinkle through the meadows,
Hiding in

the woodland shadows;
Making here and there a pool
In some leafy
covert cool
For the Lady Birch to see
Just how fair and sweet is
she.
Can you guess where I have been?
By a brook where willows lean;

With a book whereon to look,
In some little shady nook,
If that I
should weary grow
Of that lovelier book I know
Whose sweet
leaves the wind is turning--
Full of lessons for my learning.
There
are little songs to hear
If you bend a listening ear;
And no printed
book can be
Half so dear and sweet to me.
TWO POCKETS
There are two bulging pockets that I have in mind.
Just listen and see
if the owners you'll find.
In one--it's quite shocking--there's a round
wad of gum,
A china doll's head and a half finished sum,
A thimble,
a handkerchief--sticky, I fear--
A dolly's blue cap and some
jackstones are here.
In the other are marbles and fishhooks and strings,

Some round shiny stones and a red top that sings,
A few apple
cores and a tin full of bait,
A big black jack-knife in a sad bladeless
state.
And now I wonder how many can guess
Which pocket Bob
owns and which one does Bess?
REBECCA DEMING MOORE.
MY HORSE
I give my pony corn and hay,
With oats to tempt him twice a week;

I smooth and curry every day
Until his coat is bright and sleek;
At
night he has a cosy stall;
He does not seem to care at all.
I mount him often, hurriedly,
And ride him fast and ride him far;

With whip and spur I make him fly
Along the road where robbers are;

But when I've galloped madly home
He is not wet or flecked with
foam.

He does not plunge against the rein,
Nor take a ditch nor clear a rail.

He does not toss his flowing mane,
He does not even switch his tail.

Oh, well, he does his best, of course;
He's nothing but a
hobby-horse!
NANCY BYRD TURNER.
MAY-TIME
Sing a song of May-time,
And picnics in the park.
Such a happy
playtime!
Birds are singing--hark!
Bluebird calls to bluebird,

Robins chirp between,
And little lads and lasses
Are dancing on the
green.
Marigolds are golden
All along the brooks.
Violets are peeping
In
the shady nooks.
Out into the fields now!
Choose your happy queen;

For all the lads and lasses
Are dancing on the green.
HANNAH G. FERNALD.
BOOKS
My father's books are made of words,
As long and hard as words can
be,
They look so very dull to me!
No pictures there of beasts and
birds,
Of dear Miss Muffet eating curds,
And things a child would
like to see.
My books have pictures, large and small,
Some brightly colored,
some just plain,
I look them through and through again.
Friends
from their pages seem to call,
Jack climbs his bean-stalk thick and tall,

I know he will not climb in vain.
Here comes Red-Riding-Hood, and here
The Sleeping Beauty lies in
state,
The prince will come ere 'tis too late!
And this is Cinderella
dear.
The godmother will soon appear
And send her to her happy
fate.

Oh, father's books are very wise,
As wise as any books can be!
Yet
he wants stories, I can see;
For really, it's a great surprise
How
many picture-books he buys,
And reads the fairy tales to me!
HANNAH G. FERNALD.
THE LITTLE BOOK PEOPLE
At half past eight I say "good night" and snuggle up in bed. I'm never
lonely, for it's then I hear the gentle tread
Of all the tiny book people.
They come to visit me,
And lean above my pillow just as friendly as
can be!
Sometimes they cling against the wall or dance about in air. I
never hear them speak a word, but I can see them there. When
Cinderella comes she smiles with happy, loving eyes, And makes a
funny