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PROEM THE BOOK OF JOYOUS CHILDREN AN IMPROMPTU FAIRY-TALE DREAM-MARCH ELMER BROWN NO BOY KNOWS WHEN WE FIRST PLAYED "SHOW" A DIVERTED TRAGEDY THE RAMBO-TREE FIND THE FAVORITE THE BOY PATRIOT EXTREMES INTELLECTUAL LIMITATIONS A MASQUE OF THE SEASONS THOMAS THE PRETENDER LITTLE DICK AND THE CLOCK FOOL-YOUNGENSZ THE KATYDIDS BILLY AND HIS DRUM THE NOBLE OLD ELM THE PENALTY OF GENIUS EVENSONG THE TWINS THE LITTLE LADY "COMPANY MANNERS" IN FERVENT PRAISE OF PICNICS THE GOOD, OLD-FASHIONED PEOPLE THE BEST TIMES "HIK-TEE-DIK!" A CHRISTMAS MEMORY "OLD BOB WHITE"

A SESSION WITH UNCLE SIDNEY:

A DUBIOUS "OLD KRISS" A SONG OF SINGING THE JAYBIRD A BEAR FAMILY

OLD MAN WHISKERY-WHEE-KUM-WHEEZE LITTLE-GIRL-TWO-LITTLE-GIRLS A GUSTATORY ACHIEVEMENT CLIMATIC SORCERY A PARENT REPRIMANDED THE TREASURE OF THE WISE MAN

NOT IN CLASSIC LOOK, BUT RICH IN THE CHILD-SAGAS OF THE KITCHEN KNEEL, ALL GLOWING, TO THE COOL SPRING NO BOY KNOWS WHEN HE GOES TO SLEEP JAMESY ON THE SLACK-ROPE ACROSS THE ORCHARD WHILE ALL THE ARMY, FOLLOWING, IN CHORUS CHEERS AND SINGS WHERE IT GOES WHEN THE FIRE GOES OUT? THE FAIRY QUEEN OF THE SEASONS PORE PA! PORE PA! SQUINT' OUR EYES AN' LAUGH' AGAIN HE'S A-MARCHIN' ROUND THE ROOM THE OLD TREE SAYS HE'S ALL OUR TREE THEREFORE READ NO LONGER SHE'S BUT A RACING SCHOOL-GIRL THEY WAS GOD'S PEOPLE THEM WUZ THE BEST TIMES EVER WUZ HE'S GO' HITCH UP, CHRIS'MUS-DAY, AN' COME TAKE ME BACK AGAIN WHEN WE DROVE TO HARMONY A BIG, HOLLOW, OLD OAK-TREE, WHICH HAD BEEN BLOWN DOWN BY A STORM THE YOUNG FOXES IN IT, ON THE HEARTH BESIDE HER AN' ALL BE POETS AN' ALL RECITE ALONG THE BRINK OF WILD BROOK-WAYS I LIKE TO WATCH HIM WHILE KATE PICKS BY, YET LOOKS NOT THERE LEND ME THE BREATH OF A FRESHENING GALE BOW TO ME IN THE WINDER THERE OUR "OLD-KRISS"-MILKMAN THE CHILDISH DREAMS IN HIS WISE OLD HEAD

THE BOOK OF JOYOUS CHILDREN

Bound and bordered in leaf-green, Edged with trellised buds and flowers And glad Summer-gold, with clean White and purple morning-glories Such as suit the songs and stories Of this book of ours, Unrevised in text or scene,-- The Book of Joyous Children.

Wild and breathless in their glee-- Lawless rangers of all ways Winding through lush greenery Of Elysian vales--the viny, Bowery groves of shady, shiny Haunts of childish days. Spread and read again with me The Book of Joyous Children.

What a whir of wings, and what Sudden drench of dews upon The young brows, wreathed, all unsought, With the apple-blossom garlands Of the poets of those far lands Whence all dreams are drawn Set herein and soiling not The Book of Joyous Children.

In their blithe companionship Taste again, these pages through, The hot honey on your lip Of the sun-smit wild strawberry, Or the chill tart of the cherry; Kneel, all glowing, to The cool spring, and with it sip The Book of Joyous Children.

As their laughter needs no rule, So accept their language, pray.-- Touch it not with any tool: Surely we may understand it,-- As the heart has parsed or scanned it Is a worthy way, Though found not in any School The Book of Joyous Children.

AN IMPROMPTU FAIRY-TALE

He have a goldun trumput, An' when he blow' on that, It's a sign he want' his boots, Er his coat er hat: They's a sign fer ever'thing,-- An' all the Fairies knowed Ever' sign, an' come a-hoppin' When the King blowed!

Wunst he blowed an' telled 'em all: "Saddle up yer bees-- Fireflies is gittin' fat An' sassy as you please!-- Guess we'll go a-huntin'!" So they hunt' a little bit, Till the King blowed "Supper-time," Nen they all quit.

DREAM-MARCH

"Wasn't it a funny dream!--perfectly bewild'rin'!-- Last night, and night before, and night before that, Seemed like I saw the march o' regiments o' children, Marching to the robin's fife and cricket's rat-ta-tat! Lily-banners overhead, with the dew upon 'em, On flashed the little army, as with sword and flame; Like the buzz o' bumble-wings, with the honey on 'em, Came an eerie, cheery chant, chiming as it came:--

Smooth roads or rough roads, warm or winter weather, On go the children, tow-head and brown, Brave boys and brave girls, rank and file together, Marching out of Morning-Land, over dale and down:

Some go a-gypsying out in country places-- Out through the orchards, with blossoms on the boughs Wild, sweet, and pink and white as their own glad faces; And some go, at evening, calling home the cows.

Some go through grassy lanes leading to the city-- Thinner grow the green trees and thicker grows the dust; Ever, though, to little people any path is pretty So it leads to newer lands, as they know it must. Some go to singing less; some go to list'ning; Some go to thinking over ever-nobler themes; Some go anhungered, but ever bravely whistling, Turning never home again only in their dreams.

ELMER BROWN

NO BOY KNOWS

There are many things that boys may know-- Why this and that are thus and so,-- Who made the world in the dark and lit The great sun up to lighten it: Boys know new things every day-- When they study, or when they play,-- When they idle, or sow and reap-- But no boy knows when he goes to sleep.

Boys who listen--or should, at least,-- May know that the round old earth rolls East;-- And know that the ice and the snow and the rain-- Ever repeating their parts again-- Are all just water the sunbeams first Sip from the earth in their endless thirst, And pour again till the low streams leap.-- But no boy knows when he goes to sleep.

A boy may know what a long glad while It has been to him since the dawn's first smile, When forth he fared in the realm divine Of brook-laced woodland and spun-sunshine;-- He may know each call of his truant mates, And the paths they went,--and the pasture-gates Of the 'cross-lots home through the dusk so deep.-- But no boy knows when he goes to sleep.

O I have followed me, o'er and o'er, From the flagrant drowse on the parlor-floor, To the pleading voice of the mother when I even doubted I heard it then-- To the sense of a kiss, and a moonlit room, And dewy odors of locust-bloom-- A sweet white cot--and a cricket's cheep.-- But no boy knows when he goes to sleep.

WHEN WE FIRST PLAYED "SHOW"

Wasn't it a good time, Long Time Ago-- When we all were little tads And first played "Show"!-- When every newer day Wore as bright a glow As the ones we laughed away-- Long Time Ago!

Calf was in the back-lot; Clover in the red; Bluebird in the pear-tree; Pigeons on the shed; Tom a-chargin' twenty pins At the barn; and Dan Spraddled out just like "The 'Injarubber'-Man!"

Me and Bub and Rusty, Eck and Dunk and Sid, 'Tumblin' on the sawdust Like the A-rabs did; Jamesy on the slack-rope In a wild retreat, Grappling back, to start again-- When he chalked his feet!

Wasn't Eck a wonder, In his stocking-tights?

Wasn't Dunk--his leaping lion-- Chief of all delights! Yes, and wasn't "Little Mack" Boss of all the Show,-- Both Old Clown and Candy-Butcher-- Long Time Ago!

And NOW--who will tell me,-- Where are they all? Dunk's a sanatorium doctor, Up at Waterfall; Sid's a city street-contractor; Tom has fifty clerks; And Jamesy he's the "Iron Magnate" Of "The Hecla Works."

And Bub's old and bald now, Yet still he hangs on,-- Dan and Eck and "Little Mack," Long, long gone! But wasn't it a good time, Long Time Ago-- When we all were little tads And first played "Show"!

A DIVERTED TRAGEDY

Jule wuz a-bringin' their basket o' clo'es Ist then into their hall down there,-- An' she ist stop' when Gracie bawl, An' Jule she say "She ist declare She's ist in time!" An' what you s'pose? She sets her basket down in the hall, An' wite on top o' the snowy clo'es Wuz Gracie's dolly a-layin' there An' ist ain't bu'st ner hurt a-tall!

THE RAMBO-TREE

When Autumn shakes the rambo-tree-- It's a long, sweet way across the orchard!-- The bird sings low as the bumble-bee-- It's a long, sweet way across the orchard!-- The poor shote-pig he says, says he: "When Autumn shakes the rambo-tree There's enough for you and enough for me."-- It's a long, sweet way across the orchard.

FIND THE FAVORITE

They don't know their names, an' don't Hear us when we call "Come in, Nick an' Finn!"--they won't Come fer us at all!

I ist 'spect sometimes he hate White cats' stupid ways:-- He won't hardly 'sociate With 'em, lots o' days!

Trees grows by her winder.--So, She lean out an' see Mowg up there, 'way out, you know, In the clingstone-tree;--

THE BOY PATRIOT

I want to be a Soldier!-- A Soldier!-- A Soldier!-- I want to be a Soldier, with a sabre in my hand Or a little carbine rifle, or a musket on my shoulder, Or just a snare-drum, snarling in the middle of the band; I want to hear, high overhead, The Old Flag flap her wings While all the Army, following, in chorus cheers and sings; I want to hear the tramp and jar Of patriots a million, As gayly dancing off to war As dancing a cotillion.

EXTREMES

A little boy once played so loud That the Thunder, up in a thunder-cloud, Said, "Since I can't be heard, why, then I'll never, never thunder again!"

And a little girl once kept so still That she heard a fly on the window-sill Whisper and say to a lady-bird,-- "She's the stilliest child I ever heard!"

INTELLECTUAL LIMITATIONS

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