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Happy Days for Boys and Girls
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But if you are tempted in weakness,
Have courage, my boy, to say NO!
THE RUSTIC MIRROR
SADIE’S boudoir is a meadow,
Carpeted with blue-eyed grass;
Slender birches, rounded maples,
Frame her inlaid looking-glass.
Curtains woven up in cloud-land
Trail their fringes over all,
Shifting shadows gray and purple,
Which aerial elves let fall.
Hither Sadie, morn and evening,
Comes for water from the spring,
Pausing ere she fills her pitcher
Where the greenest mosses cling, —
Pausing where, as in a mirror,
She a wistful face beholds;
Magic mirror, for within it
Many a vision fair unfolds.
When the April clouds are driven
Over depths of azure skies,
Windows open into heaven,
And she sees her mother’s eyes.
When she binds upon her forehead
Wreath of daisies twined with wheat,
She is queen, and wears a jewelled
Crown, with slippers on her feet.
When the glories of October,
Crimson maple, golden birch,
Make her mirror finer, richer,
Than stained windows of a church, —
She of golden-rod and aster
Weaves a garland for her hair,
Leans above the magic mirror,
Murmuring, “Mother called me fair.”
But ’tis best when clouds are flying
O’er the clear blue April skies,
And through dreamy depths she gazes
Into heaven and mother’s eyes.
M. R. W.
LITTLE RED RIDING-HOOD
COME back, come back together,
All ye fancies of the past,
Ye days of April weather,
Ye shadows that are cast
By the haunted hours before!
Come back, come back, my childhood;
Thou art summoned by a spell
From the green leaves of the wildwood,
From beside the charmed well,
For Red Riding-Hood, the darling,
The flower of fairy lore.
The fields were covered over
With colors as she went;
Daisy, buttercup and clover
Below her footsteps bent;
Summer shed its shining store;
She was happy as she pressed them;
Beneath her little feet;
She plucked them and caressed them;
They were so very sweet;
They had never seemed so sweet before
To Red Riding-Hood, the darling,
The flower of fairy lore.
How the heart of childhood dances
Upon a sunny day!
It has its own romances,
And a wide, wide world have they —
A world where Phantasie is king,
Made all of eager dreaming;
When once grown up and tall —
Now is the time for scheming —
Then we shall do them all!
Do such pleasant fancies spring
For Red Riding-Hood, the darling,
The flower of fairy lore?
She seems like an ideal love,
The poetry of childhood shown,
And yet loved with a real love,
As if she were our own —
A younger sister for the heart;
Like the woodland pheasant,
Her hair is brown and bright;
And her smile is pleasant,
Have courage, my boy, to say NO!
THE RUSTIC MIRROR
SADIE’S boudoir is a meadow,
Carpeted with blue-eyed grass;
Slender birches, rounded maples,
Frame her inlaid looking-glass.
Curtains woven up in cloud-land
Trail their fringes over all,
Shifting shadows gray and purple,
Which aerial elves let fall.
Hither Sadie, morn and evening,
Comes for water from the spring,
Pausing ere she fills her pitcher
Where the greenest mosses cling, —
Pausing where, as in a mirror,
She a wistful face beholds;
Magic mirror, for within it
Many a vision fair unfolds.
When the April clouds are driven
Over depths of azure skies,
Windows open into heaven,
And she sees her mother’s eyes.
When she binds upon her forehead
Wreath of daisies twined with wheat,
She is queen, and wears a jewelled
Crown, with slippers on her feet.
When the glories of October,
Crimson maple, golden birch,
Make her mirror finer, richer,
Than stained windows of a church, —
She of golden-rod and aster
Weaves a garland for her hair,
Leans above the magic mirror,
Murmuring, “Mother called me fair.”
But ’tis best when clouds are flying
O’er the clear blue April skies,
And through dreamy depths she gazes
Into heaven and mother’s eyes.
M. R. W.
LITTLE RED RIDING-HOOD
COME back, come back together,
All ye fancies of the past,
Ye days of April weather,
Ye shadows that are cast
By the haunted hours before!
Come back, come back, my childhood;
Thou art summoned by a spell
From the green leaves of the wildwood,
From beside the charmed well,
For Red Riding-Hood, the darling,
The flower of fairy lore.
The fields were covered over
With colors as she went;
Daisy, buttercup and clover
Below her footsteps bent;
Summer shed its shining store;
She was happy as she pressed them;
Beneath her little feet;
She plucked them and caressed them;
They were so very sweet;
They had never seemed so sweet before
To Red Riding-Hood, the darling,
The flower of fairy lore.
How the heart of childhood dances
Upon a sunny day!
It has its own romances,
And a wide, wide world have they —
A world where Phantasie is king,
Made all of eager dreaming;
When once grown up and tall —
Now is the time for scheming —
Then we shall do them all!
Do such pleasant fancies spring
For Red Riding-Hood, the darling,
The flower of fairy lore?
She seems like an ideal love,
The poetry of childhood shown,
And yet loved with a real love,
As if she were our own —
A younger sister for the heart;
Like the woodland pheasant,
Her hair is brown and bright;
And her smile is pleasant,
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Последний отзыв
Книга дельная. Без воды, приводятся реальные кейсы и способы их разрешения. Много практичных полезных советов и методик. Кое-что уже испробовала в дел...
Далее