FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS

  NOT IN CLASSIC LOOK, BUT RICH IN THE CHILD-SAGAS OF THE KITCHEN
  KNEEL, ALL GLOWING, TO THE COOL SPRING
  NO BOY KNOWS WHEN HE GOES TO SLEEP
  JAMESY ON THE SLACK-ROPE
  ACROSS THE ORCHARD
  WHILE ALL THE ARMY, FOLLOWING, IN CHORUS CHEERS AND SINGS
  WHERE IT GOES WHEN THE FIRE GOES OUT? 
  THE FAIRY QUEEN OF THE SEASONS
  PORE PA!  PORE PA! 
  SQUINT’ OUR EYES AN’ LAUGH’ AGAIN
  HE’S A-MARCHIN’ ROUND THE ROOM
  THE OLD TREE SAYS HE’S ALL OUR TREE
  THEREFORE READ NO LONGER
  SHE’S BUT A RACING SCHOOL-GIRL
  THEY WAS GOD’S PEOPLE
  THEM WUZ THE BEST TIMES EVER WUZ
  HE’S GO’ HITCH UP, CHRIS’MUS-DAY, AN’ COME TAKE ME BACK AGAIN
  WHEN WE DROVE TO HARMONY
  A BIG, HOLLOW, OLD OAK-TREE, WHICH HAD BEEN BLOWN DOWN BY A STORM
  THE YOUNG FOXES IN IT, ON THE HEARTH BESIDE HER
  AN’ ALL BE POETS AN’ ALL RECITE
  ALONG THE BRINK OF WILD BROOK-WAYS
  I LIKE TO WATCH HIM
  WHILE KATE PICKS BY, YET LOOKS NOT THERE
  LEND ME THE BREATH OF A FRESHENING GALE
  BOW TO ME IN THE WINDER THERE
  OUR “OLD-KRISS"-MILKMAN
  THE CHILDISH DREAMS IN HIS WISE OLD HEAD

* * * * *

THE BOOK OF JOYOUS CHILDREN

  Bound and bordered in leaf-green,
    Edged with trellised buds and flowers
  And glad Summer-gold, with clean
      White and purple morning-glories
      Such as suit the songs and stories
    Of this book of ours,
  Unrevised in text or scene,—­
        The Book of Joyous Children.

  Wild and breathless in their glee—­
    Lawless rangers of all ways
  Winding through lush greenery
      Of Elysian vales—­the viny,
      Bowery groves of shady, shiny
    Haunts of childish days. 
  Spread and read again with me
        The Book of Joyous Children.

  What a whir of wings, and what
    Sudden drench of dews upon
  The young brows, wreathed, all unsought,
      With the apple-blossom garlands
      Of the poets of those far lands
    Whence all dreams are drawn
  Set herein and soiling not
        The Book of Joyous Children.

  In their blithe companionship
    Taste again, these pages through,
  The hot honey on your lip
      Of the sun-smit wild strawberry,
      Or the chill tart of the cherry;
    Kneel, all glowing, to
  The cool spring, and with it sip
        The Book of Joyous Children.

  As their laughter needs no rule,
    So accept their language, pray.—­
  Touch it not with any tool: 
      Surely we may understand it,—­
      As the heart has parsed or scanned it
    Is a worthy way,
  Though found not in any School
        The Book of Joyous Children.

[Illustration:  “KNEEL, ALL GLOWING, TO THE COOL SPRING.”]