The Home Book of Verse
Chapter 1 : The Home Book of Verse. Vol. 1. by Various. Editor: Burton Egbert Stevenson. PART IPOEMS

The Home Book of Verse.

Vol. 1.

by Various.

Editor: Burton Egbert Stevenson.

PART I

POEMS OF YOUTH AND AGE

THE HUMAN SEASONS

Four Seasons fill the measure of the year; There are four seasons in the mind of man: He has his l.u.s.ty Spring, when fancy clear Takes in all beauty with an easy span:

He has his Summer, when luxuriously Spring's honeyed cud of youthful thought he loves To ruminate, and by such dreaming high Is nearest unto Heaven: quiet coves

His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings He furleth close; contented so to look On mists in idleness--to let fair things Pa.s.s by unheeded as a threshold brook:--

He has his Winter too of pale misfeature, Or else he would forego his mortal nature.

John Keats [1795-1821]

THE BABY

"ONLY A BABY SMALL"

Only a baby small, Dropped from the skies, Only a laughing face, Two sunny eyes; Only two cherry lips, One chubby nose; Only two little hands, Ten little toes.

Only a golden head, Curly and soft; Only a tongue that wags Loudly and oft; Only a little brain, Empty of thought; Only a little heart, Troubled with naught.

Only a tender flower Sent us to rear; Only a life to love While we are here; Only a baby small, Never at rest; Small, but how dear to us, G.o.d knoweth best.

Matthias Barr [1831-?]

ONLY

Something to live for came to the place, Something to die for maybe, Something to give even sorrow a grace, And yet it was only a baby!

Cooing, and laughter, and gurgles, and cries, Dimples for tenderest kisses, Chaos of hopes, and of raptures, and sighs, Chaos of fears and of blisses.

Last year, like all years, the rose and the thorn; This year a wilderness maybe; But heaven stooped under the roof on the morn That it brought them only a baby.

Harriet Prescott Spofford [1835-1921]

INFANT JOY

"I have no name; I am but two days old."

What shall I call thee?

"I happy am, Joy is my name."

Sweet joy befall thee!

Pretty joy!

Sweet joy, but two days old.

Sweet joy I call thee; Thou dost smile, I sing the while; Sweet joy befall thee!

William Blake [1757-1827]

BABY From "At the Back of the North Wind"

Where did you come from, baby dear?

Out of the everywhere into the here.

Where did you get those eyes so blue?

Out of the sky as I came through.

What makes the light in them sparkle and spin?

Some of the starry spikes left in.

Where did you get that little tear?

I found it waiting when I got here.

What makes your forehead so smooth and high?

A soft hand stroked it as I went by.

What makes your cheek like a warm white rose?

I saw something better than any one knows.

Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss?

Three angels gave me at once a kiss.

Where did you get this pearly ear?