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80 illustrations, some color, some black-and-white. According to Wikipedia: "A Child's Garden of Verses is a collection of poetry for children by the Scottish author Robert Louis Stevenson. The collection first appeared in 1885 under the title Penny Whistles, but has been reprinted many times, often in illustrated versions. It contains about 65 poems including the cherished classics "Foreign Children," "The Lamplighter," "The Land of Counterpane," "Bed in Summer," "My Shadow" and "The Swing."
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Seitenzahl: 42
Illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith
published by Samizdat Express, Orange, CT, USA
established in 1974, offering over 14,000 books
Books by Robert Louis Stevenson:
Across the Plains
The Art of Writing
Ballads
Black Arrow
The Bottle Imp
Catriona or David Balfour (sequel to Kidnapped)
A Child's Garden of Verses
The Ebb-Tide
Edinburgh
Essays
Essays of Travel
Fables
Familiar Studies of Men and Books
Father Damien
Footnote to History
In the South Seas
An Inland Voyage
Island Nights' Entertainments
Kidnapped
Lay Morals
Letters
Lodging for the Night
Markheim
Master of Ballantrae
Memoir of Fleeming Jenkin
Memories and Portraits
Merry Men
Moral Emblems
New Arabian Nights
New Poems
The Pavilion on the Links
Four Plays
The Pocket R. L. S.
Prayers Written at Vailima
Prince Otto
Records of a Family of Engineers
The Sea Fogs
The Silverado Squatters
Songs of Travel
St. Ives
The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
Tales and Fantasies
Thrawn Janet
Travels with a Donkey
Treasure Island
Underwoods
Vailima Letters
Virginibus Puerisque
The Waif Woman
Weir of Hermiston
The Wrecker
The Wrong Box
feedback welcome: [email protected]
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Originally published by
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, New York
Copyright, 1905, By CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONSPrinted in the United States of AmericaAll rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the permission of Charles Scribner's Sons
TO ALISON CUNNINGHAM
FROM HER BOY
For the long nights you lay awake
And watched for my unworthy sake:
For your most comfortable hand
That led me through the uneven land:
For all the story-books you read:
For all the pains you comforted:
For all you pitied, all you bore,
In sad and happy days of yore:—
My second Mother, my first Wife,
The angel of my infant life—
From the sick child, now well and old,
Take, nurse, the little book you hold!
And grant it, Heaven, that all who read
May find as dear a nurse at need,
And every child who lists my rhyme,
In the bright, fireside, nursery clime,
May hear it in as kind a voice
As made my childish days rejoice!
R. L. S.
In winter I get up at night
And dress by yellow candle-light.
In summer quite the other way,
I have to go to bed by day.
I have to go to bed and see
The birds still hopping on the tree,
Or hear the grown-up people's feet
Still going past me in the street.
And does it not seem hard to you,
When all the sky is clear and blue,
And I should like so much to play,
To have to go to bed by day?
Mary
Hans
It is very nice to think
The world is full of meat and drink,
With little children saying grace
In every Christian kind of place.
Biddy
Fifine
BED IN SUMMER
When I was down beside the sea
A wooden spade they gave to me
To dig the sandy shore.
My holes were empty like a cup.
In every hole the sea came up,
Till it could come no more.
All night long and every night,
When my mama puts out the light,
I see the people marching by,
As plain as day before my eye.
Armies and emperor and kings,
All carrying different kinds of things,
And marching in so grand a way,
You never saw the like by day.
So fine a show was never seen
At the great circus on the green;
For every kind of beast and man
Is marching in that caravan.
As first they move a little slow,
But still the faster on they go,
And still beside me close I keep
Until we reach the town of Sleep.
A child should always say what's true
And speak when he is spoken to,
And behave mannerly at table;
At least as far as he is able.
The rain is falling all around,
It falls on field and tree,
It rains on the umbrellas here,
And on the ships at sea.
Three of us afloat in the meadow by the swing,
Three of us abroad in the basket on the lea.
Winds are in the air, they are blowing in the spring,
And waves are on the meadow like the waves there are at sea.
Where shall we adventure, to-day that we're afloat,
Wary of the weather and steering by a star?
Shall it be to Africa, a-steering of the boat,
To Providence, or Babylon or off to Malabar?
Hi! but here's a squadron a-rowing on the sea--
Cattle on the meadow a-charging with a roar!
Quick, and we'll escape them, they're as mad as they can be,