Eugene Field
Stoves and sunshine
Prate, ye who will, of so-called charms you find across the sea The land of stoves and sunshine is good enough for me! I’ve done the grand for fourteen months in every foreign clime,
Long ago
I once knew all the birds that came And nested in our orchard trees; For every flower I had a name My friends were woodchucks, toads, and bees; I knew where thrived in yonder
Little Willie
When Willie was a little boy, No more than five or six, Right constantly he did annoy His mother with his tricks. Yet not a picayune cared I For what he did or said,
Star of the east
Star of the East, that long ago Brought wise men on their way Where, angels singing to and fro, The Child of Bethlehem lay Above that Syrian hill afar Thou shinest out to-night, O
When i was a boy
Up in the attic where I slept When I was a boy, a little boy, In through the lattice the moonlight crept, Bringing a tide of dreams that swept Over the low, red trundle-bed,
A paraphrase
Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name; Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth, in Heaven the same; Give us this day our daily bread, and may our debts
Chrystmasse of Olde
God rest you, Chrysten gentil men, Wherever you may be, God rest you all in fielde or hall, Or on ye stormy sea; For on this morn oure Chryst is born That saveth you
In The Firelight
The fire upon the hearth is low, And there is stillness everywhere, While like winged spirits, here and there, The firelight shadows fluttering go. And as the shadows round me creep, A childish treble
Mysterious doings
As once I rambled in the woods I chanced to spy amid the brake A huntsman ride his way beside A fair and passing tranquil lake; Though velvet bucks sped here and there, He
Seein' things
I ain’t afeard uv snakes, or toads, or bugs, or worms, or mice, An’ things ‘at girls are skeered uv I think are awful nice! I’m pretty brave, I guess; an’ yet I hate
A Chaucerian Paraphrase of Horace
Syn that you, Chloe, to your moder sticken, Maketh all ye yonge bacheloures full sicken; Like as a lyttel deere you ben y-hiding Whenas come lovers with theyre pityse chiding; Sothly it ben faire
Lyman, frederick, and jim
(FOR THE FELLOWSHIP CLU Lyman and Frederick and Jim, one day, Set out in a great big ship Steamed to the ocean adown the bay Out of a New York slip. “Where are you
The drum
I’m a beautiful red, red drum, And I train with the soldier boys; As up the street we come, Wonderful is our noise! There’s Tom, and Jim, and Phil, And Dick, and Nat, and
A piteous plaint
I cannot eat my porridge, I weary of my play; No longer can I sleep at night, No longer romp by day! Though forty pounds was once my weight, I’m shy of thirty now;
Little-oh dear
See, what a wonderful garden is here, Planted and trimmed for my Little-Oh-Dear! Posies so gaudy and grass of such brown – Search ye the country and hunt ye the town And never ye’ll