The Bay and Padie Book | Page 2

I woke!
Wot's the good of sudlight dow,?Ad wot's the good of raid??Ad wot's the good of eddythig?Wed all your head's a paid?
Raid, raid go away,?Ad dote cub back udtil I say,?Ad that wote be for beddy a day.
WHOM THE GODS LOVE
He's so chubby and happy and wonderful,?Dainty and perfectly made,?That when he kicks at the sunbeams there,?Out on the grass in his cradle chair,?Somehow I feel afraid.
We ought to hide him away, I think,?Real beauty was always a bane,?If the gods get to know of his baby wiles,?Of his firm round limbs, or his magic smiles,?They'll want him back again.
LITTLE BOYS
The roads go out to Macedon, the roads go out to Rome,?Some die in snowy Buffaloes and some turn home;?I've done the Alps and Apennines, and Naples to the moon, For fancies cover splendid ground in a Summer afternoon. And then I come to gloryland, and whom do I see there?But little Boyo Browneyes and Billy Wirehair?
Little Imps of Gloryland with great big eyes?Follow me with questionings and laughter and surprise;?Little cheeky pixie boys whom nothing can suppress,?Whose pandects, codes and institutes are bound in mother's "Yes."
When Uncle comes in Sunday clothes they clamour to be kissed, Black-currants sticking to each face and pancakes in each fist. Four fists that is, all over jam, and four black sticky lips Just come from playing motor-chairs and sailing sofa-ships. And if you wander on the lawn untended in the dark?With tricycles and wheelbarrows your shins will lose some bark!
For what's your talk of tidiness and putting things "right there" To little Boyo Browneyes and Billy Wirehair?
I'm picking up the channel or I'm trucking up the slope, I'm hauling on the shear-head with a length of yellow rope; No matter where I'm wandering, in dreaming or in fact,?Wool-loaded down the blacksoil plains or past the desert tract, About the city clamorous with many brakes and bells,?It takes no sweep of wizard wand nor moonlit fairy spells To bring me back to kitchen land, and whom do I see there But little Boyo Browneyes and Billy Wirehair!
PEEP SONG
Oh, Friday night's the laundry night,?Down the street in the dark--?And Saturday night's the picture night,?When bands play in the park.
But Sunday morning is the time?We do the pillow-peep,?To see what things the fairies brought?While two boys were asleep.
NATURE STUDY
A mouse jumped into the watering-can?And peeped out of the spout,?And said: "If it wasn't for that young man?I'm sure I could get out!"
But Sufi sprang from an unknown spot,?And the two boys wondered, afraid,?When he carried the mouse to a garden plot?And played, and played, and played.
THE SKY IN THE POOL
Down by the glassy pool?Sand and water meet,?There's a little wooden stool,?Marks of little feet.
When the broth was in the bowl,?Mother called to-day;?Mother called and no one came,?Someone was away.
Then there came a little boy,?Whose broth was very cool,?Stuttering in wonderment,?"The sky is in the pool!"
And mother wept, because the clear?Depths of all pool-skies,?The soul's wonder, the heart's fear,
NEELY LORST
There's women and there's men as well and little baby things, And some haves only dresses on and some of 'em haves wings, They nibble dandelions for meat, they drink the bubble frorf, They never spill their cocoa-milk all down the table-clorf, They never cry because it hurts, they always eat their brorf.
Last night we heard a trumpet in the tea-tree down the street, And Padie left the table that was full of things to eat, He galloped for the music that seemed not so far away,?And neely found the fairies where the trumpet used to play!
Our mother went and catched him and he neely wasn't found, He neely fell into the creek through looking round and round. A naughty sea-shell cutted him, he had a bleedy toe,?He lorst one Sunday sandal and he didn't seem to know;?He only stood and wondered why all fairies live in moons, And go home in the twilight with their trumpets blowing tunes.
A WHISPER SONG
When you're coming in the door,?Please come gently, very gently!?Micky might be on the floor!?Fact, he might be anywhere!?Near the hallstand, by the stair!?Hush! step gently, very gently!?When you're coming in the door.
Tip-toe, tip-toe, hush the noise,?There's a wide-eye-whisper tune!?Micky's making songs for boys?Sleepy after the afternoon.
Anyone seen Micky here??Him that lives above the ceiling??Sometimes far and sometimes near?Boys have heard his little squealing.
Hush you! Hush! I heard a patter?On the 'randah in the wet!?Now'n again we've heard him chatter,?But we've never seen him yet.
Tip-toe, tip-toe, through the house,?'Round the pantry, down the hall!?P'raps he's only just a mouse,?P'raps he's nuffing real at all.
Hush you! Hush! I think I hear?Just a little noise of humming!?If you see him waiting near,?Please don't whisper him we're coming.
Someone smashed the photo-lady;?Who upset the pot of musk??Was it Micky? Was it Padie?Hunting Micky in the dusk?
In the after afternoons?When there comes big,