Louisa May Alcott

    "No, no, come and fly
    Through the sunny sky,
    Or honey sip
    From the rose's lip,
    Or dance in the air,
    Like spirits fair.
    Come away, come away;
    'Tis our holiday."

    "Splash, dash!
    Rumble and crash!
    Here come the beavers gay;
    See what they do,
    Rosy, for you,
    Because you helped me one day."


    "They come at my call;
    And though they are small,
    They'll dig the passage clear:
    I never forget;
    We'll save them yet,
    For love of Rosy dear."

    "Summer days are over,
    Summer work is done;
    Harvests have been gathered
    Gayly one by one.
    Now the feast is eaten,
    Finished is the play;
    But one rite remains for
    Our Thanksgiving-day.

    "Best of all the harvest
    In the dear God's sight,
    Are the happy children
    In the home to-night;
    And we come to offer
    Thanks where thanks are due,
    With grateful hearts and voices,
    Father, mother, unto you."

    "Sweet are the flowers of life,
    Swept o'er my happy days at home;
    Sweet are the flowers of life
    When I was a little child.


    "Sweet are the flowers of life
    That I spent with my father at home;
    Sweet are the flowers of life
    When children played about the house.


    "Sweet are the flowers of life
    When the lamps are lighted at night;
    Sweet are the flowers of life
    When the flowers of summer bloomed.


    "Sweet are the flowers of life
    Dead with the snows of winter;
    Sweet are the flowers of life
    When the days of spring come on.

    (1) These lines were actually composed by a six-year old child.

    'Sweetest of maidens, oh, how can I tell
    The love that transfigures the whole earth to me?
    The longing that causes my bosom to swell,
    When I dream of a life all devoted to thee?'

    "Sweet! Sweet!
    Come, come and eat,
    Dear little girls
    With yellow curls;
    For here you'll find
    Sweets to your mind.
    On every tree
    Sugar-plums you'll see;
    In every dell
    Grows the caramel.
    Over every wall
    Gum-drops fall;
    Molasses flows
    Where our river goes
    Under your feet
    Lies sugar sweet;
    Over your head
    Grow almonds red.
    Our lily and rose
    Are not for the nose;
    Our flowers we pluck
    To eat or suck
    And, oh! what bliss
    When two friends kiss,
    For they honey sip
    From lip to lip!
    And all you meet,
    In house or street,
    At work or play,
    Sweethearts are they.
    So, little dear,
  ...

"Sweet! Sweet!
Come, come and eat,
Dear little girls
With yellow curls;
For here you'll find
Sweets to your mind.
On every tree
Sugar-plums you'll see;
In every dell
Grows the caramel.
Over every wall
Gum-drops fall;
Molasses flows
Where our river goes.
Under your feet
Lies sugar sweet;
Over your head
Grow almonds red.
Our lily and rose
Are not for the nose;
Our flowers we pluck
To eat or suck.
And, oh! what bliss
When two friends kiss,
For they honey sip
From lip to lip!
And all you meet,
In house or street,
At work or play,
Sweethearts are they.
So, little dear,
Pray feel no fear;
Go where you will;
Eat, eat your fill.
Here is a feast
From west to east;
And yo...

    Sweet, sweet days are passing
    O'er my happy home.
    Passing on swift wings through the valley of life.
    Cold are the days when winter comes again.
    When my sweet days were passing at my happy home,
    Sweet were the days on the rivulet's green brink ;
    Sweet were the days when I read my father's books;
    Sweet were the winter days when bright fires are blazing."

    'Tell the dear old body
    This day I cannot run,
    For the pots are boiling over
    And the mutton isn't done.'"

"What shall little children bring
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day?
What shall little children bring
On Christmas Day in the morning?
This shall little children bring
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day;
Love and joy to Christ their king,
On Christmas Day in the morning!


"What shall little children sing
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day?
What shall little children sing
On Christmas Day in the morning?
The grand old carols shall they sing
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day;
With all their hearts, their offerings bring
On Christmas Day in the morning."

Two Yankee maids of simple mien,
And earnest, high endeavour,
Come sailing to the land of France,
To escape the winter weather.
When first they reached that vicious shore
They scorned the native ways,
Refused to eat the native grub,
Or ride in native shays.
'Oh, for the puddings of our home!
Oh, for some simple food!
These horrid, greasy, unknown things,
How can you think them good?'
Thus to Amanda did they say,
An uncomplaining maid,
Who ate in peace and answered not
Until one day they said--
How _can_ you eat this garbage vile
Against all nature's laws?
How _can_ you eat your nails in points,
Until they look like claws?'
Then patiently Amanda said,
'My loves, just wait a while,
The time will come you will not think
The nail...

There grew a fragrant rose-tree where the brook flows,
With two little tender buds, and one full rose;
When the sun went down to his bed in the west,
The little buds leaned on the rose-mother's breast,
While the bright eyed stars their long watch kept,
And the flowers of the valley in their green cradles slept;
Then silently in odors they communed with each other,
The two little buds on the bosom of their mother.
"O sister," said the little one, as she gazed at the sky,
"I wish that the Dew Elves, as they wander lightly by,
Would bring me a star; for they never grow dim,
And the Father does not need them to burn round him.
The shining drops of dew the Elves bring each day
And place in my bosom, so soon pass away;
But a star would glitter brightly through the long summer...

    God bless you, dear Queen Bess!
    May nothing you dismay,
    But health and peace and happiness
    Be yours, this Christmas day.

    Here's fruit to feed our busy bee,
    And flowers for her nose.
    Here's music for her pianee,
    An afghan for her toes,

    A portrait of Joanna, see,
    By Raphael No. 2,
    Who laboured with great industry
    To make it fair and true.

    Accept a ribbon red, I beg,
    For Madam Purrer's tail,
    And ice cream made by lovely Peg,
    A Mont Blanc in a pail.

    Their dearest love my makers laid
    Within my breast of snow.
    Accept it, and the Alpine maid,
    From Laurie and from Jo.

They saw again the crocus bloom,
And, leaning from that lofty room,
Sir Launcelot with face of gloom
Look down to Camelot.
Up flew their veils and floated wide,
But Livy pinned them to her side,
'The curse has come upon us!' cried
The ladies of Shalott.

    'Oh, were I a heliotrope,
    I would play poet,
    And blow a breeze of fragrance
    To you; and none should know it.


    'Your form like the stately elm
    When Phoebus gilds the morning ray;
    Your cheeks like the ocean bed
    That blooms a rose in May.


    'Your words are wise and bright,
    I bequeath them to you a legacy given;
    And when your spirit takes its flight,
    May it bloom aflower in heaven.


    'My tongue in flattering language spoke,
    And sweeter silence never broke
    in busiest street or loneliest glen.
    I take you with the flashes of my pen.


    'Consider the lilies, how they grow;
    They toil not, yet are fair,
    Gems and flowers and Solomon's seal.
 ...

"There are no flowers in the fields,
No green leaves on the tree,
No columbines, no violets,
No sweet anemone.
So I have gathered from my pots
All that I have to fill
The basket that I hang to-night,
With heaps of love from Jill."

"To one who teaches me
The sweetness and the beauty
Of doing faithfully
And cheerfully my duty."

    In high Olympus' sacred shade
    A gift Minerva wrought
    For her beloved philosopher
    Immersed in deepest thought.

    A shield to guard his aged breast
    With its enchanted mesh
    When he his nectar and ambrosia took
    To strengthen and refresh.

    Long may he live to use the life
    The hidden goddess gave,
    To keep unspotted to the end
    The gentle, just, and brave.

December, 1887.