The blooming cherry trees are free for all to look upon;
The dogwood buds for all of us, and not some favorite one;
The wide outdoors is no man’s own; the stranger on the street
Can cast his eyes on many a rose and claim its fragrance sweet.

Small gardens are shut in by walls, but none can wall the sky,
And none can hide the friendly trees from all who travel by;
And none can hold the apple boughs and claim them for his own,
For all the beauties of the earth belong to God alone.

So let me walk the world just now and wander far and near;
Earth’s loveliness is mine to see, its music mine to hear;
There’s not a single apple bough that spills its blooms about
But I can claim the joy of it, and none can shut me out.

“Where’s Mamma?”

Comes in flying from the street;
      “Where’s Mamma?”
Friend or stranger thus he’ll greet: 
      “Where’s Mamma?”
Doesn’t want to say hello,
Home from school or play he’ll go
Straight to what he wants to know: 
      “Where’s Mamma?”

Many times a day he’ll shout,
      “Where’s Mamma?”
Seems afraid that she’s gone out;
      “Where’s Mamma?”
Is his first thought at the door—­
She’s the one he’s looking for,
And he questions o’er and o’er,
      “Where’s Mamma?”

Can’t be happy till he knows: 
      “Where’s Mamma?”
So he begs us to disclose
      “Where’s Mamma?”
And it often seems to me,
As I hear his anxious plea,
That no sweeter phrase can be: 
      “Where’s Mamma?”

Like to hear it day by day;
      “Where’s Mamma?”
Loveliest phrase that lips can say: 
      “Where’s Mamma?”
And I pray as time shall flow,
And the long years come and go,
That he’ll always want to know
      “Where’s Mamma?”

Summer Dreams

Drowsy old summer, with nothing to do,
I’d like to be drowsin’ an’ dreamin’ with you;
I’d like to stretch out in the shade of a tree,
An’ fancy the white clouds were ships out at sea,
Or castles with turrets and treasures and things,
And peopled with princesses, fairies and kings,
An’ just drench my soul with the glorious joy
Which was mine to possess as a barefooted boy.

Drowsy old summer, your skies are as blue
As the skies which a dreamy-eyed youngster once knew,
An’ I fancy to-day all the pictures are there—­
The ships an’ the pirates an’ princesses fair,
The red scenes of battle, the gay, cheering throngs
Which greeted the hero who righted all wrongs;
But somehow or other, these old eyes of mine
Can’t see what they did as a youngster of nine.

Drowsy old summer, I’d like to forget
Some things which I’ve learned an’ some hurts I have met;
I’d like the old visions of splendor an’ joy
Which were mine to possess as a barefooted boy
When I dreamed of the glorious deeds I would do
As soon as I’d galloped my brief boyhood through;
I’d like to come back an’ look into your skies
With that wondrous belief an’ those far-seeing eyes.