Robert Louis Stevenson

HE wind blew shrill and smart,
And the wind awoke my
Again to go a-sailing o'er the sea,
To hear the cordage

My tea is nearly ready and the sun has left the sky
It's time to take the window to see Leerie going by;
For every night at teatime and before you take your seat,
With lantern and with ladder he comes posting up the street

Children, you are very little,
And your bones are very brittle;
If you would grow great and stately,
You must try to walk sedately

VE - what is love
A great and aching heart;
Wrung hands; and silence; and a long despair
Life - what is life

ME, my little children, here are songs for you;
Some are short and some are long, and all, all are new
You must learn to sing them very small and clear,
Very true to time and tune and pleasing to the ear

I have a hoard of treasure in my breast;
The grange of memory steams against the door,
Full of my bygone lifetime's garnered store -Old pleasures crowned with sorrow for a zest,
Old sorrow grown a joy, old penance blest,

As from the house your mother sees You playing round the garden trees, So you may see, if you will look Through the windows of this book, Another child, far, far away, And in another garden, play
But do not think you can at all, By knocking o...

All the names I know from nurse:
Gardener's garters,
Shepherd's purse,
Bachelor's buttons,

From breakfast on through all the day At home among my friends I stay, But every night I go abroad Afar into the land of Nod
All by myself I have to go, With none to tell me what to do — All alone beside the streams And up the mountain-sides ...

I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,
And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.
He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head;
And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.

The sheets were frozen hard, and they cut the naked hand;
The decks were like a slide, where a seaman scarce could stand;
The wind was a nor'wester, blowing squally off the sea;
And cliffs and spouting breakers were the only things ...

Home from the daisied meadows, where you linger yet -Home, golden-headed playmate, ere the sun is set;
For the dews are falling
And the night has come at last
Home with you, home and lay your little head at rest,