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The Wonderful World

Great, wide, beautiful, wonderful World,

With the wonderful water round you curled,

And the wonderful grass upon your breast,

World, you are beautifully drest.

The wonderful air is over me,

And the wonderful wind is shaking the tree—

It walks on the water, and whirls the mills,

And talks to itself on the top of the hills.

You friendly Earth, how far do you go,

With the wheat-fields that nod and the rivers that flow,

With cities and gardens, and cliffs and isles,

And people upon you for thousands of miles?

Ah! you are so great, and I am so small,

I hardly can think of you, World, at all;

And yet, when I said my prayers to-day,

My mother kissed me, and said, quite gay, "If the wonderful World is great to you, And great to father and mother, too, You are more than the Earth, though you are such a dot! You can love and think, and the Earth cannot!"

William Brighty Rands.

A Day

I'll tell you how the sun rose,

A ribbon at a time.

The steeples swam in amethyst,

The news like squirrels ran.

The hills untied their bonnets,

The bobolinks begun.

Then I said softly to myself,

"That must have been the sun!"

… . … . But how he set, I know not. There seemed a purple stile Which little yellow boys and girls Were climbing all the while Till when they reached the other side, A dominie in gray Put gently up the evening bars, And led the flock away.

Emily Dickinson.

Good-Morning

The year's at the Spring,

And day's at the morn;

Morning's at seven;

The hill-side's dew-pearled;

The lark's on the wing;

The snail's on the thorn;

God's in his heaven—

All's right with the world.

Robert Browning.

What the Winds Bring

Which is the Wind that brings the cold?

The North-Wind, Freddy, and all the snow;

And the sheep will scamper into the fold

When the North begins to blow.

Which is the Wind that brings the heat?

The South-Wind, Katy; and corn will grow,

And peaches redden for you to eat,

When the South begins to blow.

Which is the Wind that brings the rain?

The East-Wind, Arty; and farmers know

The cows come shivering up the lane,

When the East begins to blow. Which is the Wind that brings the flowers? The West-Wind, Bessy; and soft and low The birdies sing in the summer hours, When the West begins to blow.

Edmund Clarence Stedman.

Lady Moon

Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving?

"Over the sea."

Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving?

"All that love me."

Are you not tired with rolling, and never

Resting to sleep?

Why look so pale and so sad, as forever

Wishing to weep?

"Ask me not this, little child, if you love me:

You are too bold:

I must obey my dear Father above me,

And do as I'm told."

Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving?

"Over the sea."

Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving?

"All that love me."

Lord Houghton.

O Lady Moon[B]

O Lady Moon, your horns point toward the east:

Shine, be increased;

O Lady Moon, your horns point toward the west:

Wane, be at rest.

Christina G. Rossetti.

Windy Nights[C]

Whenever the moon and stars are set,

Whenever the wind is high,

All night long in the dark and wet,

A man goes riding by,

Late at night when the fires are out,

Why does he gallop and gallop about?

Whenever the trees are crying aloud,

And ships are tossed at sea,

By, on the highway, low and loud,

By at the gallop goes he.

By at the gallop he goes, and then

By he comes back at the gallop again.

Robert Louis Stevenson.

Wild Winds

Oh, oh, how the wild winds blow!

Blow high,

Blow low,

And whirlwinds go,

To chase the little leaves that fly—

Fly low and high,

To hollow and to steep hill-side;

They shiver in the dreary weather,

And creep in little heaps together,

And nestle close and try to hide.

Oh, oh, how the wild winds blow!

Blow low,

Blow high,

And whirlwinds try

To find a crevice—to find a crack,

They whirl to the front; they whirl to the back.

But Tommy and Will and the baby together

Are snug and safe from the wintry weather.

All the winds that blow

Cannot touch a toe—

Cannot twist or twirl

One silken curl.

They may rattle the doors in a noisy pack,

But the blazing fires will drive them back.

Mary F. Butts.

Now the Noisy Winds Are Still[D]

Now the noisy winds are still;

April's coming up the hill!

All the spring is in her train,

Led by shining ranks of rain;

Pit, pat, patter, clatter,

Sudden sun, and clatter, patter!—

First the blue, and then the shower;

Bursting bud, and smiling flower;

Brooks set free with tinkling ring;

Birds too full of song to sing;

Crisp old leaves astir with pride,

Where the timid violets hide—

All things ready with a will—

April's coming up the hill!

Mary Mapes Dodge.

The Wind

The wind has a language, I would I could learn;

Sometimes 'tis soothing, and sometimes 'tis stern;

Sometimes it comes like a low, sweet song,

And all things grow calm, as the sound floats along;

And the forest is lulled by the dreamy strain;

And slumber sinks down on the wandering main; And its crystal arms are folded in rest, And the tall ship sleeps on its heaving breast.

Letitia Elizabeth Landon.

The Fountain

Into the sunshine,

Full of the light,

Leaping and flashing

From morn till night!

Into the moonlight,

Whiter than snow,

Waving so flower-like

When the winds blow!

Into the starlight,

Rushing in spray,

Happy at midnight,

Happy by day;

Ever in motion,

Blithesome and cheery,

Still climbing heavenward,

Never aweary;

Glad of all weathers;

Still seeming best,

Upward or downward;

Motion thy rest; Full of a nature Nothing can tame, Changed every moment, Ever the same; Ceaseless aspiring, Ceaseless content, Darkness or sunshine Thy element; Glorious fountain! Let my heart be Fresh, changeful, constant, Upward like thee!

James Russell Lowell.

The Waterfall

Tinkle, tinkle! Listen well! Like a fairy silver bell In the distance ringing, Lightly swinging In the air; 'Tis the water in the dell Where the elfin minstrels dwell, Falling in a rainbow sprinkle, Dropping stars that brightly twinkle, Bright and fair, On the darkling pool below, Making music so; 'Tis the water elves who play On their lutes of spray. Tinkle, tinkle! Like a fairy silver bell; Like a pebble in a shell; Tinkle, tinkle! Listen well!

Frank Dempster Sherman.

The Voice of the Grass

Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;

By the dusty roadside,

On the sunny hill-side,

Close by the noisy brook,

In every shady nook,

I come creeping, creeping everywhere.

Here I come creeping, smiling everywhere;

All around the open door,

Where sit the aged poor;

Here where the children play,

In the bright and merry May,

I come creeping, creeping everywhere.

Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;

In the noisy city street

My pleasant face you'll meet,

Cheering the sick at heart

Toiling his busy part—

Silently creeping, creeping everywhere.

Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;

You cannot see me coming,

Nor hear my low sweet humming;

For in the starry night,

And the glad morning light,

I come quietly creeping everywhere.

Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;

More welcome than the flowers

In summer's pleasant hours;

The gentle cow is glad,

And the merry bird not sad,

To see me creeping, creeping everywhere.

… . … . Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere; My humble song of praise Most joyfully I raise To him at whose command I beautify the land, Creeping, silently creeping everywhere.