Lullaby-Land: Songs of Childhood — The Sugar-Plum Tree, Krinken, Pittypat and Tippytoe, Little Blue Pigeon, Teeny-Weeny, Buttercup, Poppy, Forget-me-not, Wynken, Blynken, and Nod, Little Mistress Sans-Merci
[Illustration: When you’ve got to the tree,] It blooms on the shore of the Lollipop sea In the garden of Shut-Eye Town;
The fruit that it bears is so wondrously sweet (As those who have tasted it say) That good little children have only to eat Of that fruit to be happy next day.
[Illustration] When you’ve got to the tree, you would have a hard time To capture the fruit which I sing;
The tree is so tall that no person could climb To the boughs where the sugar-plums swing!
But up in that tree sits a chocolate cat, And a gingerbread dog prowls below-- And this is the way you contrive to get at Those sugar-plums tempting you so: You say but the word to that gingerbread dog And he barks with such terrible zest That the chocolate cat is at once all agog, As her swelling proportions attest.
And the chocolate cat goes cavorting around From this leafy limb unto that, And the sugar-plums tumble, of course, to the ground-- Hurrah for that chocolate cat!
There are marshmallows, gumdrops, and peppermint canes, With stripings of scarlet or gold, And you carry away of the treasure that rains As much as your apron can hold!
[Illustration: “AS MUCH AS YOUR APRON CAN HOLD!
”] So come, little child, cuddle closer to me In your dainty white nightcap and gown, And I’ll rock you away to that Sugar-Plum Tree In the garden of Shut-Eye Town.
[Illustration] [Illustration: Krinken.
] [Illustration] [Illustration: KRINKEN.
] Krinken was a little child,-- It was summer when he smiled, Oft the hoary sea and grim Stretched its white arms out to him;
Calling, “Sun-child, come to me;
Let me warm my heart with thee!
” But the child heard not the sea.
Krinken on the beach one day Saw a maiden Nis at play;
Fair, and very fair, was she, Just a little child was he.
“Krinken,” said the maiden Nis, “Let me have a little kiss,-- Just a kiss, and go with me To the summer-lands that be Down within the silver sea.
” Krinken was a little child, By the maiden Nis beguiled;
Down into the calling sea With the maiden Nis went he.
But the sea calls out no more, It is winter on the shore,-- Winter where that little child Made sweet summer when he smiled;
Though ’tis summer on the sea Where with maiden Nis went he,-- Summer, summer evermore,-- It is winter on the shore, Winter, winter evermore.
Of the summer on the deep Come sweet visions in my sleep;
_His_ fair face lifts from the sea, _His_ dear voice calls out to me,-- These my dreams of summer be.
Krinken was a little child, By the maiden Nis beguiled;
Oft the hoary sea and grim Reached its longing arms to him, Crying, “Sun-child, come to me;
Let me warm my heart with thee!
” But the sea calls out no more;
It is winter on the shore,-- Winter, cold and dark and wild;
Krinken was a little child,-- It was summer when he smiled;
Down he went into the sea, And the winter bides with me.
Just a little child was he.
[Illustration] [Illustration: Pittypat and Tippytoe.
] [Illustration] [Illustration: PITTYPAT AND TIPPYTOE.
] All day long they come and go-- Pittypat and Tippytoe;
Footprints up and down the hall, Playthings scattered on the floor, [Illustration: ‘Only buttered bread will do,’] [Illustration: ‘Inches thick with sugar too.
’] Finger-marks along the wall, Tell-tale smudges on the door-- By these presents you shall know Pittypat and Tippytoe.
How they riot at their play!
And a dozen times a day In they troop, demanding bread-- Only buttered bread will do, And the butter must be spread Inches thick with sugar too!
And I never can say “No, Pittypat and Tippytoe!
” Sometimes there are griefs to soothe, Sometimes ruffled brows to smooth;
For (I much regret to say) Tippytoe and Pittypat Sometimes interrupt their play With an internecine spat;
Fie, for shame!
to quarrel so-- Pittypat and Tippytoe!
Oh the thousand worrying things Every day recurrent brings!
Hands to scrub and hair to brush, Search for playthings gone amiss, Many a wee complaint to hush, Many a little bump to kiss;
Life seems one vain, fleeting show To Pittypat and Tippytoe!
And when day is at an end, There are little duds to mend: Little frocks are strangely torn, Little shoes great holes reveal, Little hose, but one day worn, Rudely yawn at toe and heel!
Who but _you_ could work such woe, Pittypat and Tippytoe!
On the floor and down the hall, Rudely smutched upon the wall, There are proofs in every kind Of the havoc they have wrought, And upon my heart you’d find Just such trade-marks, if you sought;
Oh, how glad I am ’tis so, Pittypat and Tippytoe!
[Illustration] [Illustration: Little Blue Pigeon.
] [Illustration] [Illustration: LITTLE BLUE PIGEON.
] Sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings-- Little blue pigeon with velvet eyes;
Sleep to the singing of mother-bird swinging-- Swinging the nest where her little one lies.
Away out yonder I see a star-- Silvery star with a tinkling song;
To the soft dew falling I hear it calling-- Calling and tinkling the night along.
In through the window a moonbeam comes-- Little gold moonbeam with misty wings;
All silently creeping, it asks: “Is he sleeping-- Sleeping and dreaming while mother sings?
” Up from the sea there floats the sob Of the waves that are breaking upon the shore, As though they were groaning in anguish, and moaning-- Bemoaning the ship that shall come no more.
But sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings-- Little blue pigeon with mournful eyes;
Am I not singing?
--see, I am swinging-- Swinging the nest where my darling lies.
[Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration: Teeny-Weeny.
] [Illustration] [Illustration: TEENY-WEENY.
] Every evening, after tea, Teeny-Weeny comes to me.
And, astride my willing knee, Plies his lash and rides away;
Though that palfrey, all too spare, Finds his burden hard to bear, Teeny-Weeny doesn’t care;
He commands, and I obey!
First it’s trot, and gallop then;
Now it’s back to trot again;
Teeny-Weeny likes it when He is riding fierce and fast.
Then his dark eyes brighter grow And his cheeks are all aglow: “More!
” he cries, and never “Whoa!
” Till the horse breaks down at last.
Oh, the strange and lovely sights Teeny-Weeny sees of nights, As he makes those famous flights On that wondrous horse of his!
Oftentimes before he knows, Wearylike his eyelids close, And, still smiling, off he goes Where the land of By-low is.
[Illustration] There he sees the folk of fay Hard at ring-a-rosie play, And he hears those fairies say: “Come, let’s chase him to and fro!
” But, with a defiant shout, Teeny puts that host to rout;
Of this tale I make no doubt, Every night he tells it so.
So I feel a tender pride In my boy who dares to ride That fierce horse of his astride, Off into those misty lands;
And as on my breast he lies, Dreaming in that wondrous wise, I caress his folded eyes, Pat his little dimpled hands.
[Illustration] On a time he went away, Just a little while to stay, And I’m not ashamed to say I was very lonely then;
Life without him was so sad, You can fancy I was glad And made merry when I had Teeny-Weeny back again!
So of evenings, after tea, When he toddles up to me And goes tugging at my knee, You should hear his palfrey neigh!
You should see him prance and shy, When, with an exulting cry, Teeny-Weeny, vaulting high, Plies his lash and rides away!
[Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration: Buttercup, Poppy, Forget-me-not.
] [Illustration] [Illustration: BUTTERCUP,
POPPY, FORGET-ME-NOT.
] Buttercup, Poppy, Forget-me-not-- These three bloomed in a garden spot;
And once, all merry with song and play, A little one heard three voices say: “Shine and shadow, summer and spring, O thou child with the tangled hair And laughing eyes!
we three shall bring Each an offering passing fair.
” The little one did not understand, But they bent and kissed the dimpled hand.
Buttercup gamboled all day long, Sharing the little one’s mirth and song;
Then, stealing along on misty gleams, Poppy came bearing the sweetest dreams.
Playing and dreaming--and that was all Till once a sleeper would not awake;
Kissing the little face under the pall, We thought of the words the third flower spake;
And we found betimes in a hallowed spot The solace and peace of Forget-me-not.
Buttercup shareth the joy of day, Glinting with gold the hours of play;
Bringeth the poppy sweet repose, When the hands would fold and the eyes would close;
And after it all--the play and the sleep Of a little life--what cometh then?
To the hearts that ache and the eyes that weep A new flower bringeth God’s peace again.
Each one serveth its tender lot-- Buttercup, Poppy, Forget-me-not.
[Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration: Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.
] [Illustration] [Illustration: WYNKEN, BLYNKEN, _AND_ NOD.
] Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night Sailed off in a wooden shoe-- Sailed on a river of crystal light, Into a sea of dew.
“Where are you going, and what do you wish?
” The old moon asked the three.
“We have come to fish for the herring fish That live in this beautiful sea;
Nets of silver and gold have we!
” Said Wynken, Blynken, And Nod.
The old moon laughed and sang a song, As they rocked in the wooden shoe, And the wind that sped them all night long Ruffled the waves of dew.
The little stars were the herring fish That lived in that beautiful sea-- “Now cast your nets wherever you wish-- Never afeard are we”;
So cried the stars to the fishermen three: Wynken, Blynken, And Nod.
[Illustration] All night long their nets they threw To the stars in the twinkling foam-- Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe, Bringing the fishermen home;
’Twas all so pretty a sail it seemed As if it could not be, And some folks thought ’twas a dream they’d dreamed Of sailing that beautiful sea-- But I shall name you the fishermen three: Wynken, Blynken, And Nod.
Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes, And Nod is a little head, And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies Is a wee one’s trundle-bed.
So shut your eyes while mother sings Of wonderful sights that be, And you shall see the beautiful things [Illustration] As you rock in the misty sea, Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three: Wynken, Blynken, And Nod.
[Illustration] [Illustration: Little Mistress Sans-Merci.
] [Illustration] [Illustration: LITTLE MISTRESS SANS-MERCI.
] Little Mistress Sans-Merci Fareth world-wide, fancy free: Trotteth cooing to and fro, And her cooing is command-- Never ruled there yet, I trow, Mightier despot in the land.
And my heart it lieth where Mistress Sans-Merci doth fare.
[Illustration] Little Mistress Sans-Merci-- She hath made a slave of me!
“Go,” she biddeth, and I go-- “Come,” and I am fain to come-- Never mercy doth she show, Be she wroth or frolicsome, Yet am I content to be Slave to Mistress Sans-Merci!
Little Mistress Sans-Merci Hath become so dear to me That I count as passing sweet All the pain her moods impart, And I bless the little feet That go trampling on my heart: Ah, how lonely life would be But for little Sans-Merci!
Little Mistress Sans-Merci, Cuddle close this night to me, And the heart, which all day long Ruthless thou hast trod upon, Shall outpour a soothing song For its best belovèd one-- All its tenderness for thee, Little Mistress Sans-Merci!
[Illustration] [Illustration: Hi-Spy.
] [Illustration]
