In “Good-Children Street,” Eugene Field paints a sunny neighborhood where the sounds of children at play fill every corner. You can almost hear the toy drums, the shouts, the “tinkle of tongues and patter of feet.” The speaker delights in each small detail—the captain on his prancing stick-horse, and even poor Odette’s doll, which is missing a foot and an eye, its voice gone asthmatically shrill. As night falls, a white angel descends to sing lullabies and watch over the sleeping children, bringing a sense of peace. In the final lines, the speaker reveals why this place matters so much to him. No matter what toil or care he faces, the thought of that dear little home fills him with a joy that nothing can disturb. The poem leaves a warm, softly nostalgic glow—a comforting reminder that the innocence of childhood can be a light against adult worries.
Good-Children Street — Summary
There's a dear little home in Good-Children street - My heart turneth fondly to-day Where tinkle of tongues and patter of feet Make sweetest of music at play; Where the sunshine of love illumines each face And warms every heart in that old-fashioned place.
For dear little children go romping about With dollies and tin tops and drums, And, my! how they frolic and scamper and shout Till bedtime too speedily comes! Oh, days they are golden and days they are fleet With little folk living in Good-Children street.
See, here comes an army with guns painted red, And swords, caps, and plumes of all sorts; The captain rides gaily and proudly ahead On a stick-horse that prances and snorts! Oh, legions of soldiers you're certain to meet - Nice make-believe soldiers - in Good-Children street.
And yonder Odette wheels her dolly about - Poor dolly! I'm sure she is ill, For one of her blue china eyes has dropped out And her voice is asthmatic'ly shrill. Then, too, I observe she is minus her feet, Which causes much sorrow in Good-Children street.
'T is so the dear children go romping about With dollies and banners and drums, And I venture to say they are sadly put out When an end to their jubilee comes: Oh, days they are golden and days they are fleet With little folk living in Good-Children street!
But when falleth night over river and town, Those little folk vanish from sight, And an angel all white from the sky cometh down And guardeth the babes through the night, And singeth her lullabies tender and sweet To the dear little people in Good-Children Street.
Though elsewhere the world be o'erburdened with care, Though poverty fall to my lot, Though toil and vexation be always my share, What care I - they trouble me not! This thought maketh life ever joyous and Sweet: There's a dear little home in Good-Children street.