Piping Down the Valleys Wild Piping down the valleys wild,

Piping songs of pleasant glee, On a cloud I saw a child,

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And he, laughing, said to me:

'Pipe a song about a lamb."
So I piped with merry cheer.
Piper, pipe that song again."
So I piped; he wept to hear.

"Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe,
Sing thy songs of happy cheer."
So I sang the same again,

While he wept with joy to hear.

"Piper, sit thee down and write,
In a book, that all may read."—
So he vanished from my sight,
And I plucked a hollow reed,

And I made a rural pen ;

And I stained the water clear And I wrote my happy songs Every child may joy to hear.

William Blake,

Lips, lips, open!

A Sleeping Child

Up comes a little bird that lives inside,

Up comes a little bird, and peeps, and out he flies.

All the day he sits inside, and sometimes he

sings;

Up he comes and out he goes at night to spread his wings.

Little bird, little bird, whither will you go?
Round about the world while nobody can know.
Little bird, little bird, whither do you flee?
Far away round the world while nobody can see.

Little bird, little bird, how long will you roam?
All round the world and around again home.

Round the round world, and back through the air,

When the morning comes, the little bird is there.

Back comes the little bird, and looks, and in he flies.

Up wakes the little boy, and opens both his eyes.

Sleep, sleep, little boy, little bird's away,

Little bird will come again by the peep of day;

Sleep, sleep, little boy, little bird must go
Round about the world, while nobody can know.

Sleep, sleep sound, little bird goes round,
Round and round he goes,-sleep, sleep sound!
Arthur Hugh Clough.

There's no dew left on the daisies and clover,
There's no rain left in heaven;

I've said

66 my seven times " over and overSeven times one are seven.

I am old! so old I can write a letter;
My birthday lessons are done:

The lambs play always, they know no better;
They are only one times one.

* From “Rhymes and Jingles." By permission of Charles Scribner's Sons.

O Moon! in the night I have seen you sailing, And shining so round and low;

You were bright! ah, bright! but your light is failing;

You are nothing now but a bow.

You Moon! have you done something wrong in heaven,

That God has hidden your face?

I hope, if you have, you will soon be forgiven,
And shine again in your place.

O velvet Bee! you're a dusty fellow,
You've powdered your legs with gold;
O brave marsh Mary-buds, rich and yellow!
Give me your money to hold.

O Columbine! open your folded wrapper
Where two twin turtle-doves dwell;
O Cuckoo-pint! toll me the purple clapper,
That hangs in your clear, green bell.

And show me your nest with the young ones in it

I will not steal them away,

am old! you may trust me, Linnet, Linnet,— I am seven times one to-day.

Jean Ingelow.

I Remember, I Remember

I remember, I remember,

The house where I was born;
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day;
But now I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away!

I remember, I remember,
The roses, red and white,
The violets, and the lily-cups-
Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum, on his birthday,—
The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember,

Where I was used to swing, And thought the air must rush as fresh

To swallows on the wing; My spirit flew in feathers then,

That is so heavy now.

And summer pools could hardly cool

The fever on my brow!