Eugene Field(2 September 1850 - 4 November 1895 / St Louis / Missouri / United States)
A spring poem from bion
- by Eugene Field133
One asketh: "Tell me, Myrson, tell me true: What's the season pleaseth you? Is it summer suits you best, When from harvest toil we rest? Is it autumn with its glory Of all surfeited desires? Is it winter, when with story And with song we hug our fires? Or is spring most fair to you-- Come, good Myrson, tell me true!"
Another answereth: "What the gods in wisdom send We should question not, my friend; Yet, since you entreat of me, I will answer reverently: Me the summertime displeases, For its sun is scorching hot; Autumn brings such dire diseases That perforce I like it not; As for biting winter, oh! How I hate its ice and snow!
"But, thrice welcome, kindly spring, With the myriad gifts you bring! Not too hot nor yet too cold, Graciously your charms unfold-- Oh, your days are like the dreaming Of those nights which love beseems, And your nights have all the seeming Of those days of golden dreams! Heaven smiles down on earth, and then Earth smiles up to heaven again!"
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod
- by Eugene Field127
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night Sailed off in a wooden shoe,-- Sailed on a river of crystal light Into a sea of dew. "Where are you going, and what do you wish?" The old moon asked the three. "We have come to fish for the herring-fish That live in this beautiful sea; Nets of silver and gold have we," Said Wynken, Blynken, And Nod.
The old moon laughed and sang a song, As they rocked in the wooden shoe; And the wind that sped them all night long Ruffled the waves of dew; The little stars were the herring-fish That lived in the beautiful sea. "Now cast your nets wherever you wish,-- Never afraid are we!" So cried the stars to the fishermen three, Wynken, Blynken, And Nod.
All night long their nets they threw To the stars in the twinkling foam,-- Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe, Bringing the fishermen home: 'Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed As if it could not be; And some folk thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed Of sailing that beautiful sea; But I shall name you the fishermen three: Wynken, Blynken, And Nod.
Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes, And Nod is a little head, And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies Is a wee one's trundle-bed; So shut your eyes while Mother sings Of wonderful sights that be, And you shall see the beautiful things As you rock in the misty sea Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:-- Wynken, Blynken, And Nod.
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