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CHILDy 
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WALTER DE lA rt 



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WIMIFRED BRCOO 



$1.50 

A CHILD'S DAY 

A Book of Rhymes, by 

WALTER DE LA MARE 

With Illustrations by Winifred Bromhall 



Here is a book of verses about the happy 
things which make up Elizabeth Ann's 
long, long day with only herself to play 
with. Getting washed and getting 
dressed, playing in the greenwood, 
dabbling her feet in a rush-bordered 
pool, weaving a daisy chain, eating her 
good dinner, looking at picture books, 
rummaging in old wardrobes, and finally, 
going to bed and dreaming — all these 
are here and told in poetry which is 
simple but never silly, delicate without 
being thin. 

It is not surprising that this collection 
of poems has been a children's classic 
for sixteen years. There is a humor and 
freshness about its lines today which 
prove that it has not become dated. 
Elizabeth Ann's day is every happy 
child's yesterday and tomorrow, and 
Mr. de la Mare's poems are only the 
richer for the years since they were first 
published. 

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 

257 FOURTH AVENUE, NEW YORK CITY 



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AUTHORIZED EDITION 



First Printing May, IQ23 
Second Printing June, 1023 
Third Printijte. Noremher, 1024 
FourtJi Printing December, IQ26 
Fifth Prrnlin<; July, IQ28 
Sixth Printing November, iq2Q 
Seventh Printing September, 1Q31 
Eighth Printing March, iqjq 



! THE NEW YORK 

PUBLIC LIBRARY 

ASTOR tENOX AND 
TILDEN FOUNDATIONS 

O I- 



THE PLIMPTON PRESS 
NORWOOD- MASS • U-S-A 



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A CHILD'S DAY 



\ 



A CHILD'S DAY 



I sang a song to Rosamond Rose 

Only the wind in the twilight knows: 

I sang a song to Jeanetta Jennie, 

She flung from her window a silver penny: 

I sang a song to Matilda May, 

She took to her heels and ran away: 

I sang a song to Susannah Sue, 

She giggled the whole of the verses through 



A CHILD'S DAY 



But nevertheless, as sweet as I can, 
I'll sing a song to Elizabeth Ann — 
The same little Ann as there you see 
Smiling as happy as happy can be. 
And all that my song is meant to say 
Is just what she did one long, long day. 
With her own little self to play with only, 
Yet never once felt the least bit lonely. 



A CHILD'S DAY 



Softly, drowsily, 

Out of sleep; 

Into the world again 

Ann's eyes peep; 

Over the pictures 

Across the walls 

One little quivering 

Sunbeam falls. 

A thrush in the garden 

Seems to say, 

Wake, little Ann, 

'Tis day, 'tis day! 

Faint sweet breezes 

The casement stir, 

Breathing of pinks 

And lavender. 

At last from her pillow, 

With cheeks bright red. 

Up comes her round little 

Tousled head; 

And out she tumbles 

From her warm bed. 




A CHILD'S DAY 




Little birds bathe 
In the sunny dust. 
Whether they want to, 
Or not, they musl. 
Seal and Walrus 
And Polar Bear 
One green icy 
Wash-tub share. 
Alligator, 
Nor Hippopot- 
Amus ever 
His bath forgot. 
Out of his forest 
The Elephant tramps 



A CHILD'S DAY 



To squirt himself 

In liis gloomy swamps. 

On crackling fins 

From the deep sea fly 

Flying-fish into 

The air to dry. 

Silver Swans 

In shallows green 

Their dew-bespangled 

Pinions preen. 

And all day long 

Wash Duck and Drake 

In their duckweed pond — 

For washing's sake. 





So, in her lonesome, 

Slippety, bare, 

Elizabeth Ann's 

Splash — splashing there; 

And now from the watery 

Waves amonje 

Stands slooshing herself 

With that 'normous sponge. 




Puma, Panther, Leopard, and Lion 
Nothing but green grass have to dry on, 
Seals and Walruses in a trice 
Flick their water-drops into Ice; 



11 



A CHILD'S DAY 

Back to his forests the Elephant swings 

Caked in mud against bites and stings; 

As for the plump Hippopotamus, 

He steams himself dry to save a fuss; 

And the bird that cries to her mate Quack, Quack! 

Is oily by nature if not by knack, 

So the water pearls off her beautiful back. 

But sailing the world's wide ocean round, 

In a big broad bale from Turkey bound, 

All for the sake of Elizabeth Ann 

This towel's been sent by a Mussulman, 

And with might and main she must rub — rub — 

rub — 
Till she's warm and dry from her morning tub. 




12 




Now twelve above, 
And twice six beneath, 
She must polish and polish 
Her small, sharp teeth. 



13 



A CHILD'S DAY 



The picture, you see, 
Entirely fails 
To show how nicely 
She's nipped her nails. 
But it's perfectly clear 
With what patient care 
She has drawn back neatly 
Her smooth brown hair. 
All tiresome things, 
I'm bound to say. 
For beasts just scratch 
Their claws away. 
And never from Egypt 
Up to Rome 
Walked monkey using 
An ivory comb. 
But there, Ann dear, 
You'd rather be 
A slim-tailed mermaid 
In the sea: 
And she has only 
One small care — 
To sleek and sleek and sleek 
Her hair. 



14 




Here all we see 

Is Ann's snaall nose, 
A smile, two legs. 
And ten pink toes, 
Neatly arranged 
In two short rows. 



17 




The Queen of Arabia, Uanjinee, 
Slaves to dress her had thirty-three; 
Eleven in scarlet, eleven in rose. 
Eleven in orange, as every one knows; 
And never was lady lovelier than she — 
The Queen of Arabia, Uanjinee. 



18 




Yet — though, of course, 'twould be vain to tell a- 

Nother word about Cinderella — 

Except for a Mouse on the chimney shelf. 

She put on her slippers quite — quite by herself, 

And I can't help thinking the greater pleasure 

Is to dress in haste, and look lovely at leisure. 

Certainly summer or winter, Ann 

Always dresses as quick as she can. 

19 



A CHILD'S DAY 



And there she is (on the other side), 

The last button buttoned, the last tape tied. 

Her silky hair has perched upon it 

A flat little two-stringed linen bonnet. 

Each plump brown leg that comes out of her frock 

Hides its foot in a shoe and a sock. 



20 





But what we wear — O dearie me! — 

Is naught but a patch upon what we be. 

And rags and tatters often hide 

A brave little body bunched up inside. 

And one thing's certain; nobody knows 

The Good from the Wicked by just their Clothes, 



23 



A CHILD'S DAY 



England over, 
And ail June through, 
Daybreak's peeping 
At half-past two. 
Roses and dewdrops 
Begin to be 
Wonderful lovely 
At half-past three. 
Gulls and cormorants 
On the shore 
Squabble for fishes 
At half-past four. 
The great Queen Bee 
n her golden hive 
s sleek with nectar 
By half-past five. 




24 



A CHILD'S DAY 



The ravening birds 
In the farmer's ricks 
Are hungry for luncheon 
At half-past six. 
While all the pigs 
From York to Devon 
Have finished their wash 
Before half-past seven. 
But Elizabeth Ann 
Gets up so late 
She has only begun 
At half-past eight 
To gobble her porridge 

up — 
Hungry soul — 
Tucked up in a bib, 
Before her bowl. 




A CHILD'S DAY 



Thousands of years ago, 

In good King George's isles, 
Forest — to forest — to forest spread, 

For miles and miles and miles. 
All kinds of beasts roamed there. 

Drank of Teviot and Thames, 
Beasts of all shapes and sizes and colors. 

But without any names. 
And snug and shag in his coat, 

With green little eyes aglare. 
Trod on his paws, with tapping of claws, 

The beast men now call Bear; 
Lurched on his legs and stole 

Out of the rifts in the trees 
All the sweet oozy summer-sun comb 

Of the poor little bees; 
Sat in the glades and caught 

Flies by the hour, 
Munched 'em up, just like a dog. 

Sweet with the sour. 



26 




But Time, she nods her head — 

Like flights of the butterfly, 
Mammoths fade through her hours; 

And Man draws nigh. 
And it's ages and ages ago; 

Felled are the forests, in ruin; 
Gone are the thickets where lived on his lone 
Old Bruin. 



29 



A CHILD'S DAY 



When safe into the fields Ann got, 

She chose a dappled, shady spot, 

Beside a green, rush-bordered pool, 

Where, over water still and cool. 

The little twittering birds did pass, 

Like shadows in a looking glass. 

Ann slily looked this way, and that; 

And then took off her shady hat. 

She peeped — and peeped; off came her frock, 

Followed in haste by shoe and sock. 

Then softly, slowly, down she went 

To where the scented rushes bent, 

And all among the fishes put 

Like a great giant, her little foot, 

And paddled slowly to and fro 

Each little tiny thirsty toe. 

Then dabbling in the weeds she drew 

Her fingers the still water through. 

Trying in vain with groping hand 

To coax a stickleback to land; 

But when she had nearly housed him in, 

Away he'd dart on flickering fin, 

The softly wavering stalks between. 



30 




-^<^ 



^ I - 



Then back she climbed into the meadow, 
And sitting in the sun-flecked shadow, 
Safely beside old Bruin again, 
She wreathed a dainty daisy chain; 
Please to look and see it there, 
Dangling in her fleecy hair. 



33 




Soon after in her garden, 

While playing with her ball, 

Ann heard a distant music 

On the other side of the wall — 

A far-off singing, shrill and sweet, 

In the still and sunshine day, 

And these the words were of the song 

That voice did sing and say: — 



35 



A CHILD'S DAY 



"Happy, happy it is to be 

Where the greenwood hangs o'er the dark blue sea; 

To roam in the moonbeams clear and still 

And dance with the elves 

Over dale and hill; 

To taste their cups, and with them roam 

The fields for dewdrops and honeycomb. 

Climb then, and come, as quick as you can, 

And dwell with the fairies, Elizabeth Ann!" 

Ann held her ball, and listened; 

The faint song died away; 

And it seemed it was a dream she'd dreamed 

In the hot and sunshine day; 

She heard the whistling of the birds, 

The droning of the bees; 

And then once more the singing came, 

And now the words were these: — 



37 



A CHILD'S DAY 



"Never, never, comes tear or sorrow, 
In the mansions old where the fairies dwell; 
But only the harping of their sweet harp-strings. 
And the lonesome stroke of a distant bell, 
Where upon hills of thyme and heather. 
The shepherd sits with his wandering sheep; 
And the curlew wails, and the skylark hovers 
Over the sand where the conies creep; 
Climb then, and come, as quick as you can. 
And dwell with the fairies, Elizabeth Ann!" 



38 



A CHILD'S DAY 

And just as Ann a-tiptoe crept, 

Under the old green wall, 

To where a stooping cherry tree 

Grew shadowy and tall; 

Above the fairy's singing 

Hollow and shrill and sweet, 

That seemed to make her heart stand still. 

And then more wildly beat, 

Came Susan's voice a-calling "Ann! 

Come quick as you are able; 

And wash your grubby hands, my dear, 

For dinner's on the table!" 




A CHILD'S DAY 



There was an old woman who lived in the Fens 
Who had for her breakfast two nice fat hens. 



There was an old woman 
who lived at Licke 

Whatever she gobbled up 
gobbled up quick. 




There was an old woman 
who lived at Bow 

Who waited until her 
guests should go. 



There was an old woman who lived at Ware 
Supped on red-currant jelly and cold jugged hare. 



There was an old woman 
who lived at Bury 

Who always ate in a vio- 
lent hurry. 

There was an old woman 
who lived at Flint 

Fed her sheep on parsley, 
her lambs on mint. 

42 




A CHILD'S DAY 



There was an old woman who lived at Cork 
Lunched with her nevvy on peas and pork. 

/\ 
There was an old woman 

who lived at Greenwich 

Went out with a candle 

to cut herself spinach. 

There was an old woman 

who lived at Hull 
Who never stopped eating 

till she was full. 

There was an old woman who lived at Diss 
Who couldn't abide greens, gristle, or grease. 




There was an old woman 
who lived at Thame 

Who ate up the courses 
just as they came. 

There was an old woman 
who lived at Tring 

At meals did nothing but 
laugh and sing. 

43 





There was an old woman 
who lived at Steep 

Who still munched on 
though fast asleep. 

There was an old woman 
who lived at Wick 

Whose teeth did nothing 
but clash and click. 



There was an old woman who lived at Lundy 
Always had hash for dinner on Monday. 

There was an old woman who lived at Dover 
Threw to her pigs whatever was over. 




=^^ 




But this little morsel of morsels here — 

Just what it is is not quite clear: 

It might be pudding, it might be meat, 

Cold, or hot, or salt, or sweet; 

Baked, or roasted, or broiled, or fried; 

Bare, or frittered, or puddinged, or pied; 

Cooked in a saucepan, jar, or pan — 

But it's all the same to Elizabeth Ann. 

For when one's hungry it doesn't much matter 

So long as there's something on one's platter. 



45 




Now fie I O fie! How sly a face! 
Half greedy joy, and half disgrace; 
O foolish Ann, O greedy finger, 
To long for that forbidden ginger! 



47 




O Ann, the story I could tell! — 
What horrid, horrid things befell 
Two gluttonous boys who soft did creep. 
While Cook was in her chair asleep, 



49 



A CHILD'S DAY 

Into a cupboard, there to make 

A feast on stolen tipsy-cake — 

Which over night they had hid themselves, 

On one of her store cupboard shelves; 

They ate so much, they ate so fast, 

They both were sadly stuffed at last. 

Drowsy and stupid, blowsed and blown, 

In sluggish sleep they laid them down, 

And soon rose up a stifled snore 

From where they huddled on the floor. 

And, presently. Cook, passing by, 

Her cupboard door ajar did spy. 

And that all safe her stores might be. 

Turned with her thumb the noiseless key. 

Night came with blackest fears to wrack 

Those greedy knaves (named Dick and Jack). 

They woke; and in the stuffy gloom 

Waited in vain for Cook to come. 

They dared not knock, or kick, or shout. 

Not knowing who might be about. 

The days dragged on. Their parents said, 

"Poor Dick and Jack; they must be deadl" 

Hungrier and hungrier they grew; 

They searched the darksome cupboard through; 

Candles, and soda, salt, and string. 

Soap, glue — they ate up everything: 



50 



A CHILD'S DAY 

Nothing but shadows they seemed to be, 

Gnawing a stick of wood for tea. 

At length, at last, alas! alack! 

Jack looked at Dick; and Dick at Jack; 

And in his woe each famished brother 

Turned in the dusk and ate the other. 

So when Cook came to open the door, 
Nothing was there upon the floor; 
As with her candle she stood there, 
Ceiling to floor the place was bare; 
Not even a little heap of bones 
That had been two fat brothers once! 




A CHILD'S DAY 



And see! That foolish Ann's forgot 

To put the cover on the pot; 

And also smeared — the heedless ninny — 

Her sticky fingers on her pinny. 

And, O dear me! without a doubt, 

Mamma has found the culprit out. 

And Ann is weeping many a tear; 

And shame has turned her back, poor dear; 

Lonely and angry, in disgrace. 

She's hiding her poor mottled face. 

But ginger now will tempt in vain; 

She'll never, never taste again. 



52 




But as when April showers are gone 

Shines out again the beauteous sun, 

So, too, Ann's sobbing "Sorry" said, 

She was as quickly comforted: 

And here, upon the stroke of three, 

Half-way 'twixt dinner-time and tea, 

Cosily tucked in her four-legged chair. 

With nice clean hands and smooth brushed hair, 

In some small secret nursery nook, 

She sits with her big Picture Book. 



55 



A CHILD'S DAY 



There Puss in Boots, with 

sidelong eye 
And bushy tail goes mincing 

by; 

Peering into an empty cup- 
board 

With her old Dog stoops 
Mother Hubbard; 





Beside a bushy bright- 
green Wood 

Walks with the Wolf 
Red Ridinghood; 

In their small Cottage 
the Three Bears, 

Each at his bowl of 
Porridge stares; 



There's striking Clock — and scampering Mouse; 
The King of Hearts' cool Counting-house; 



56 



A CHILD'S DAY 

There a Fine Lady rides all day, 

But never, never rides away; 

While Jack and Jill for ever roll; 

And drinks to his Fiddlers Old King Cole. 




And though Ann's little busy head 
Can't quite get down from A to Z, 
She is content to sit and look 
At her bright-colored Picture book. 



57 



A CHILD'S DAY 



As soon as ever twilight comes, 

Ann creeps upstairs to pass, 
Witii one tall candle, just an hour 

Before her looking-glass. 
She rummages old wardrobes in, 

Turns dusty boxes out; 
And nods and curtseys, dances, sings. 

And hops and skips about. 
Her candle's lean long yellow beam 

Shines softly in the gloom. 
And through the window's gathering night 

Stars peep into the room. 



58 




Kb I 




Ages and ages and ages ago, 
Ann's great-grandmother dressed just so; 
In a big poke-bonnet, a Paisley shawl. 
Climbed into her coach to make a call; 
And over the cobble-stones jogged away, 
To drink with her daughter a dish of tay. 



61 



A CHILD'S DAY 



Then nice little boys wore nankeen breeches; 

And demure little girls with fine silk stitches 

Learned to make samplers of beasts and birds 

And ever so many most difficult words. 

Then Anns and Matildas and Sams and Dicks 

Were snoring in blankets long before six. 

And every night with a tallow candle, 

And a warming-pan with a four-foot handle. 

The maids came up to warm the bed 

(And burnt a great hole in the sheet instead). 

Then pretty maids blushed, and said, "My nines!" 

At hundreds of thousands of Valentines. 

Then never came May but danced between 

Robin and Marion, Jack-in-the-Green; 

Then saged and onioned, and stewed in its juice, 

To table on Michaelmas Day sailed Goose; 

Gunpowder Treason and Plot to remember, 

Bonfires blazed on the fifth of November; 

And never the Waits did a-carolling go 

In less than at least a yard of snow. 

So — poor little Ann a sigh must smother 
Because she isn't her great-grandmother. 



62 




But now, dear me! 
What's this we see? 
A dreadful G — 
H— O — S — Tl 



65 



A CHILD'S DAY 



A-glowering with 
A chalk-white face 
Out of some dim 
And dismal place. 
Oh, won't poor Nurse 
Squeal out, when she 
Comes up, that dreadful 
Shape to see! 
She'll pant and say, 
"O la! Miss Ann, 
I thought you was 
A bogey-man! 
Now! look at them 
Untidy clo'esl 
And, did you ever, 
What a nose! 
If you was in 
A smock, Miss Ann, 
They'd take you for 
The Miller's man. 
To see the mischief 
You have done, 
And me not twenty minutes 
gone!" 



66 




"But now, my dear, for gracious sake, 

Eat up this slice of currant cake; 

Though, certain sure, you'll soon be screaming 

For me to come — and find you dreaming. 



67 



A CHILD'S DAY 

In my young days in bed we'd be 

Once we had swallowed down our tea. 

And cake! — we'd dance if mother spread 

A scrap of butter on our bread! 

Except my brother, little Jack, 

Who was, poor mite, a humptyback. 

But there! times change; he's grown a man; 

And I'm no chick meself. Miss Ann. 

Now, don't 'ee move a step from here, 

I sha'n't be gone for long, my dear!" 

But soon as Nurse's back was turned 
Ann's idle thumbs for mischief yearned. 
See now, those horrid scissors, oh. 
If they should slip an inch or so! 
If Ann should jog or jerk — suppose 
They snipped off her small powdery nose! 
If she should sneeze, or cough, or laugh, 
They might divide her quite in half; 
They might this best of little daughters 
Slice into four quite equal quaughters. 
And though she plagues her nurse, poor soul, 
She'd much prefer Miss Mischief whole, 
Would wring her hands in sad distraction 
O'er each belov'd but naughty fraction. 



68 




This then had been our last, last rhyme, 
Had Nurse not just returned in time. 
For when Ann heard her on the stairs 
She hid in haste those wicked shears; 
And there as meek as "Little Jimmie" 
Was seated smiling in her shimmie. 



69 




«==? 



The King in slumber when he lies down 
Hangs up in a cupboard his golden crown; 
The Lord High Chancellor snores in peace 
Out of his Garter and Golden Fleece; 
No Plenipotentiary lays him flat 
Till he's dangled on bedpost his gold Cockhat; 
And never to attic has Page-boy mounted 
Before his forty-four buttons are counted; 



70 




But higgledy-piggledy 

Slovenly Ann 

Jumps out of her clothes 

As fast as she can; 

And with frock, sock, shoe 

Flung anywhere. 

Slips from dressedupedness 

Into her bare. 



71 



A CHILD'S DAY 



Now, just as when the day began, 
Without one clo', sits little Ann, 
A-toasting in this scant attire 
Her cheeks before the nursery fire. 

Golden palaces there she sees. 
With fiery fountains, flaming trees; 
Through darkling arch and smouldering glen 
March hosts of little shimmering men. 
To where beneath the burning skies 
A blazing salamander lies. 
Breathing out sparks and smoke the while 
He watches them with hungry smile. 



72 



A CHILD'S DAY 



Now, through the dusk 
With muffled bell 
The Dustman comes 
The world to tell, 
Night's elfin lanterns 
Burn and gleam 
In the twilight, wonderful 
World of Dream. 

Hollow and dim 
Sleep's boat doth ride, 
Heavily still 
At the waterside. 
Patter, patter. 
The children come, 
Yawning and sleepy, 
Out of the gloom. 



75 



A CHILD'S DAY 



Like droning bees 

In a garden green, 

Over the thwarts 

They clamber in. 

And lovely Sleep 

With long-drawn oar 

Turns away 

From the whispering shore. 

Over the water 

Like roses glide 

Her hundreds of passengers 

Packed inside, 

To where in her garden 

Tremble and gleam 

The harps and lamps 

Of the World of Dream. 



76 




LOB LIE BY THE FIRE 

He squats by the fire 
On his three-legged stool, 
When all in the house 
With slumber are full. 



79 



A CHILD'S DAY 



And he warms his great hands, 
Hanging loose from each knee, 
And he whistles as soft 
As the night wind at sea. 

For his work is now done; 
All the water is sweet; 
He has turned each brown loaf, 
And breathed magic on it. 

The milk in the pan, 

And the bacon on beam 

He has "spelled" with his thumb. 

And bewitched has the dream. 

Not a mouse, not a moth, 
Not a spider but sat. 
And quaked as it wondered 
What next he'd be at. 

But his heart, O, his heart — 
It belies his great nose; 
And at gleam of his eye 
Not a soul would suppose 



80 



A CHILD'S DAY 



He had stooped with great thumbs, 
And big thatched head, 
To tuck his small mistress 
More snugly in bed. 

Who would think, now, a throat 
So lank and so thin 
Might make birds seem to warble 
In the dream she is in I 

Now, hunched by the fire. 
While the embers burn low, 
He nods until daybreak, 
And at daybreak he'll go. 

Soon the first cock will 'light 
From his perch and point high 
His beak at the Ploughboy 
Grown pale in the sky; 

And crow will he shrill; 
Then, meek as a mouse, 
Lob will rouse up and shuffle 
Straight out of the house. 



81 



A CHILD'S DAY 



His supper for breakfast; 
For wages his work; 
And to warm his great hands 
Just an hour in the mirk. 



82 




Sadly, O sadly, the sweet bells of Baddeley 
Played in their steeples when Robin was gone, 

Killed by an arrow. 

Shot by Cock Sparrow, 
Out of a Maybush, fragrant and wan. 



83 



A CHILD'S DAY 



Grievedly, grievedly, tolled distant Shieveley, 
When the Dwarfs laid poor Snow-white asleep on 
the hill, 

Drowsed by an apple, 

The Queen, sly and subtle, 
Had cut with her knife on the blossomy sill. 



O then, mourn Baddeley; 
O then, toll Shieveley; 
This brief day now over; 
Life's but a span. 
Tell how my heart aches. 
Tell how my heart breaks, 
To bid now farewell 
To Elizabeth Ann. 



84 



.^<^^i- 




A CHILD'S DAY 



Lullay O, lullaby, 

Sing this sad roundelay, 

Muted the strings; 

Since Sorrow began, 

The World's said goodbye, Ann, 

And so too, must I, Ann; 

Child of one brief day, 

Elizabeth Ann. 

CENTRAL CIF^CULATION 
CHILDREN'S ROOM 



87 



_ ^Jl. 



THE HOME BOOK of VERSE 
FOR YOUNG FOLKS 

(REVISED EDITION, 1929) 

Selected and arranged by 

BURTON E. STEVENSON 



Standard in its field ever since its first appearance in 1915. Mr. 
Stevenson's well-known collection of poems for young readers 
has been revised until it now includes 650 pages of poems. The 
current edition retains the original decorations by Willy Pogany, 
is well printed and sturdily bound, and surprisingly light in the 
hand, so that children love it and will return to read and reread 
it. "The Home Book of Verse for Young Folks" is one of the 
most complete and comprehensive collections in its field, one 
that belongs in every child's library and that adults will want 
as well. 

$2.75 
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 

257 FOURTH AVENUE NEW YORK CITY