Poetry

with a countless stare.

“If I do not give them something to do,
They will stare me up!” said Little Boy Blue.

“Oh dear! oh dear!” he began to cry,
“They’re an awful crew, and I feel so shy!”

All of a sudden he thought of a thing,
And up he stood, and spoke like a king:

“You’re the plague of my life! have done with your bother!
Off with you all: take me back to my mother!”

The sunset went back to the gates of the west.
“Follow me” sang Birdie, “I know the way best!”

“I am going the same way as fast as I can!”
Said the brook, as it sank and turned and ran.

To the wood fled the shadows, like scared black ghosts:
“If we stay, we shall all be missed from our posts!”

Said the wind, with a voice that had changed its cheer,
“I was just going there when you brought me here!”

“That’s where I live,” said the sack-backed squirrel,
And he turned his sack with a swing and a swirl.

Said the gold weather-cock, “I’m the churchwarden!”
Said the mole, “I live in the parson’s garden!”

Said they all, “If that’s where you want us to steer for,
What on earth or in air did you bring us here for?”

“You are none the worse!” said Boy. “If you won’t
Do as I tell you, why, then, don’t;

“I’ll leave you behind, and go home without you;
And it’s time I did: I begin to doubt you!”

He jumped to his feet. The snake rose on his tail,
And hissed three times, a hiss full of bale,

And shot out his tongue at Boy Blue to scare him,
And stared at him, out of his courage to stare him.

“You ugly snake,” Little Boy Blue said,
“Get out of my way, or I’ll break your head!”

The snake would not move, but glared at him glum;
Boy Blue hit him hard with the stick of his drum.

The snake fell down as if he was dead.
Little Boy Blue set his foot on his head.

“Hurrah!” cried the creatures, “hurray! hurrah!
Little Boy Blue, your will is a law!”

And away they went, marching before him,
And marshalled him home with a high cockolorum.

And Birdie Brown sang, Twirrr twitter, twirrr twee!
In the rosiest rose-bush a rare nest!
Twirrr twitter, twirrr twitter, twirrr twitter, twirrrrr tweeeee!
In the fun he has found the earnest!”

Willie’s Question

I

Willie speaks.

Is it wrong, the wish to be great,
For I do wish it so?
I have asked already my sister Kate;
She says she does not know.

Yestereve at the gate I stood
Watching the sun in the west;
When I saw him look so grand and good
It swelled up in my breast.

Next from the rising moon
It stole like a silver dart;
In the night when the wind began his tune
It woke with a sudden start.

This morning a trumpet blast
Made all the cottage quake;
It came so sudden and shook so fast
It blew me wide awake.

It told me I must make haste,
And some great glory win,
For every day was running to waste,
And at once I must begin.

I want to be great and strong,
I want to begin to-day;
But if you think it very wrong
I will send the wish away.

II

The Father answers.

Wrong to wish to be great?
No, Willie; it is not wrong:
The child who stands at the high closed gate
Must wish to be tall and strong!

If you did not wish to grow
I should be a sorry man;
I should think my boy was dull and slow,
Nor worthy of his clan.

You are bound to be great, my boy:
Wish, and get up, and do.
Were you content to be little, my joy
Would be little enough in you.

Willie speaks.

Papa, papa! I’m so glad
That what I wish is right!
I will not lose a chance to be had;
I’ll begin this very night.

I will work so hard at school!
I will waste no time in play;
At my fingers’ ends I’ll have every rule,
For knowledge is power, they say.

I would be a king and reign,
But I can’t be that, and so
Field-marshal I’ll be, I think, and gain
Sharp battles and sieges slow.

I shall gallop and shout and call,
Waving my shining sword:
Artillery, cavalry, infantry, all
Hear and obey my word.

Or admiral I will be,
Wherever the salt wave runs,
Sailing, fighting over the sea,
With flashing and roaring guns.

I will make myself hardy and strong;
I will never, never give in.
I am so glad it is not wrong!
At once I will begin.

The Father speaks.

Fighting and shining along,
All for the show of the thing!
Any puppet will mimic the grand and strong
If you pull the proper string!

Willie speaks.

But indeed I want to be great,
I should despise mere show;
The thing I want is the glory-state⁠—
Above the rest, you know!

The Father answers.

The harder you run that race,
The farther you tread that track,
The greatness you fancy before your face
Is the farther behind your back.

To be up in the heavens afar,
Miles above all the rest,
Would make a star not the greatest star,
Only the dreariest.

That book on the highest shelf
Is not the greatest book;
If you would be great, it must be in yourself,
Neither by place nor look.

The Highest is not high
By being higher than others;
To greatness you come not a step more nigh
By getting above your brothers.

III

Willie speaks.

I meant the boys at school,
I did not mean my brother.
Somebody first, is there the rule⁠—
It must be me or another.

The Father answers.

Oh, Willie, it’s all the same!
They are your brothers all;
For when you say, “Hallowed be thy name!”
Whose Father is it you call?

Could you pray for such rule to him?
Do you think that he would hear?
Must he favour one in a greedy whim
Where all are his children dear?

It is right to get up and do,
But why outstrip the rest?
Why should one of the many be one of the few?
Why should you think to be best?

Willie speaks.

Then how am I to be great?
I know no