One night a tiny dewdrop fell Into the bosom of a rose,-- "Dear little one, I love thee well, Be ever here thy sweet repose!"
Seeing the rose with love bedight, The envious sky frowned dark, and then Sent forth a messenger of light And caught the dewdrop up again.
"Oh, give me back my heavenly child,-- My love!" the rose in anguish cried; Alas! the sky triumphant smiled, And so the flower, heart-broken, died.
It's when the birds go piping and the daylight slowly breaks, That, clamoring for his dinner, our precious baby wakes; Then it's sleep no more for baby, and it's sleep no more for me, For, when he wants his dinner, why it's dinner it must be! And of that lacteal fluid he partakes with great ado, While gran'ma laughs, And gran'pa laughs, And wife, she laughs, And I - well, I laugh, too!
You'd think, to see us carrying on about that little tad, That, like as not, that baby was the first we'd ever had; But, sakes alive! he isn't, yet we people make a fuss As if the only baby in the world had come to us! And, morning, noon, and night-time, whatever he may do, Gran'ma, she laughs, Gran'pa, he laughs, Wife, she laughs, And I, of course, laugh, too!
But once - a likely spell ago - when that poor little chick From teething or from some such ill of infancy fell sick, You wouldn't know us people as the same that went about A-feelin' good all over, just to hear him crow and shout; And, though the doctor poohed our fears and said he'd pull him through, Old gran'ma cried, And gran'pa cried, And wife, she cried, And I - yes, I cried, too!
It makes us all feel good to have a baby on the place, With his everlastin' crowing and his dimpling, dumpling face; The patter of his pinky feet makes music everywhere, And when he shakes those fists of his, good-by to every care! No matter what our trouble is, when he begins to coo, Old gran'ma laughs, And gran'pa laughs, Wife, she laughs, And I - you bet, I laugh, too!
'T is when the lark goes soaring And the bee is at the bud, When lightly dancing zephyrs Sing over field and flood; When all sweet things in nature Seem joyfully achime - 'T is then I wake my darling, For it is kissing time!
Go, pretty lark, a-soaring, And suck your sweets, 0 bee; Sing, 0 ye winds of summer, Your songs to mine and me; For with your song and rapture Cometh the moment when It's half-past kissing time And time to kiss again!
So - so the days go fleeting Like golden fancies free, And every day that cometh Is full of sweets for me; And sweetest are those moments My darling comes to climb Into my lap to mind me That it is kissing time.
Sometimes, maybe, he wanders A heedless, aimless way - Sometimes, maybe, he loiters In pretty, prattling play; But presently bethinks him And hastens to me then, For it's half-past kissing time And time to kiss again!
It's June ag'in, an' in my soul I feel the fillin' joy That's sure to come this time o' year to every little boy; For, every June, the Sunday-schools at picnics may be seen, Where "fields beyont the swellin' floods stand dressed in livin' green"; Where little girls are skeered to death with spiders, bugs, and ants, An' little boys get grass-stains on their go-to meetin' pants. It's June ag'in, an' with it all what happiness is mine - There's goin' to be a picnic, an' I'm goin' to jine!
One year I jined the Baptists, an' goodness! how it rained! (But grampa says that that's the way "baptizo" is explained.) And once I jined the 'Piscopils an' had a heap o' fun - But the boss of all the picnics was the Presbyteriun! They had so many puddin's, sallids, sandwidges, an' pies, That a feller wisht his stummick was as hungry as his eyes! Oh, yes, the eatin' Presbyteriuns give yer is so fine That when they have a picnic, you bet I'm goin' to jine!
But at this time the Methodists have special claims on me, For they're goin' to give a picnic on the 21st, D. V.; Why should a liberal universalist like me object To share the joys of fellowship with every friendly sect? However het'rodox their articles of faith elsewise may be, Their doctrine of fried chick'n is a savin' grace to me! So on the 21st of June, the weather bein' fine, They're goin' to give a picnic, and I'm goin' to jine!
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night Sailed off in a wooden shoe,-- Sailed on a river of misty 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 sung 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 the beautiful sea. "Now cast your nets wherever you wish, But never afeard are we!" So cried the stars to the fishermen three, Wynken, Blynken, And Nod.
All night long their nets they threw For the fish in the twinkling foam, Then down from the sky came the wooden shoe, Bringing the fishermen home; 'T was all so pretty a sail, it seemed As if it could not be; And some folk thought 't was 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 As you rock on the misty sea Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three,-- Wynken, Blynken, And Nod.
Sweet, bide with me and let my love Be an enduring tether; Oh, wanton not from spot to spot, But let us dwell together.
You've come each morn to sip the sweets With which you found me dripping, Yet never knew it was not dew But tears that you were sipping.
You gambol over honey meads Where siren bees are humming; But mine the fate to watch and wait For my beloved's coming.
The sunshine that delights you now Shall fade to darkness gloomy; You should not fear if, biding here, You nestled closer to me.
So rest you, love, and be my love, That my enraptured blooming May fill your sight with tender light, Your wings with sweet perfuming.
Or, if you will not bide with me Upon this quiet heather, Oh, give me wing, thou beauteous thing, That we may soar together.
Have you ever heard of the Sugar-Plum Tree? 'T is a marvel of great renown! 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. 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! 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.
A bottle tree bloometh in Winkyway land - Heigh-ho for a bottle, I say! A snug little berth in that ship I demand That rocketh the Bottle-Tree babies away Where the Bottle Tree bloometh by night and by day And reacheth its fruit to each wee, dimpled hand; You take of that fruit as much as you list, For colic's a nuisance that doesn't exist! So cuddle me and cuddle me fast, And cuddle me snug in my cradle away, For I hunger and thirst for that precious repast - Heigh-ho for a bottle, I say!
The Bottle Tree bloometh by night and by day! Heigh-ho for Winkyway land! And Bottle-Tree fruit (as I've heard people say) Makes bellies of Bottle-Tree babies expand - And that is a trick I would fain understand! Heigh-ho for a bottle to-day! And heigh-ho for a bottle to-night - A bottle of milk that is creamy and white! So cuddle me close, and cuddle me fast, And cuddle me snug in my cradle away, For I hunger and thirst for that precious repast - Heigh-ho for a bottle, I say!
Born in 1850, he was an American writer and newspaper columnist. He began his career in journalism and later gained fame for his light verse and children's poetry. His work often evokes a sense of childhood wonder and nostalgia. Imagery of lullabies, toys, and dreamlike adventures recur throughout his poems. Among his best-known works are 'Wynken, Blynken, and Nod' and 'The Duel.' These poems exhibit a playful rhyme and a gentle, whimsical tone. Field's contributions to children's literature have made him a beloved figure in American poetry. He is sometimes referred to as the 'Poet of Childhood.'
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