human
Can you write me a poem about pop and honey in the style of Evelyn Raymond?
assistant
Sure, here's a poem about pop and honey in the style of Evelyn Raymond:
  "But if it were alive, anyone could love it."
"I have come to fetch you," he said.
So he sailed on once more beneath the sky that was getting grey,
"Oh, my darlings, is it you?" And they will answer back--
Swing, swing, swing,
Through the drowsy afternoon;
Swing, swing, swing,
Up I go to meet the moon.
Swing, swing, swing,
I can see as I go high
Far along the crimson sky;
I can see as I come down
The tops of houses in the town;
High and low,
Fast and slow,
Swing, swing, swing.
Swing, swing, swing,
See! the sun is gone away;
Swing, swing, swing,
Gone to make a bright new day.
Swing, swing, swing.
I can see as up I go
The poplars waving to and fro,
I can see as I come down
The lights are twinkling in the town,
High and low,
Fast and slow,
Swing, swing, swing.
Dear father's ship is very near,
We'll blow him kisses, baby dear,--
He may come home to-day.
A happy wind that journeys south
Seems just to linger round my mouth,
Then bear a kiss away.
Come, baby, I will hold you--so,
We'll watch the waves that outward go,
And call, "Come back to-day!"
For father's heart seems always near,
And who can tell but he may hear,
Or know the words we say?
All round and up the cottage wall
The honeysuckle's grown so tall,
It sees above the gate;
The flowers came hurrying up so sweet--
We told the little seeds they'd meet
Dear father,--and they wait.
We first shall see a speck of white,
Far, far away, there where the light
Has swept the morning dim;
So silent will his coming seem,
'Twill be like waking from a dream
To wave our hands to him.
And then, and then he'll hoist you high,
And swiftly pass the people by,
Just stopping here and there
To shake the neighbours by the hand,
And tell them of the southern land,
And ask them how they fare.
He is not very far away,
For mother said he'd come to-day--
We knew it by her face;
She caught you up and kissed you so,
And now she's busy to and fro,
And sings about the place.
"If I do it badly, will it make them unhappy?"
"It is a beautiful world," the boy echoed sadly. "It is a sin to
disgrace it with things that are badly done."
"But you will do things well?"
worked at it until he was finished.
"How does one find happiness?" interrupted the boy.
"But it is so difficult to seize."
"Perfect love helps one to live without happiness," his own heart
"But if it gives one happiness too?" he asked eagerly.
"Ah, then it is called Heaven."
"Let us write a book," they said; "but what shall it be about?"
"A fairy story," said the elder sister.
"A book about kings and queens," said the other.
"Oh, no," said the brother, "let's write about animals."
The moon is shining o'er the field,
A little breeze is blowing,
The radish leaves are crisp and green,
The lettuces are growing.
The owl is in the ivy-bush,
With both his eyes a-winking;
The rabbit shakes his little tail,
And sits him down a-thinking--
"Oh! where are all the dormice gone?
And are the frogs a-wooing?
Will no one come to play with me?
What are they all a-doing?"
Poor little rabbit, all alone,
Don't let the master meet you;
He'll shoot you with his little gun,
And merrily he'll eat you!
"But where did he come from?" the gardener asked.
"We do not know," the child answered; "but he is very hungry, and
"I will take him some milk," said the little one; in one hand she
"But what is he called?" asked the gardener.
"Where is he going?" asked the gardener.
"We do not know," the children said; "but he is very tired."
"What have you to do?" the children asked.
"Why do we not help too?"
"You are the passengers."
"How far have you to go?" they asked.
"Will you really touch it?" they said, awestruck.
"Why, the builders, of course. Men set it up."
"And who will pull it down?"
"Perhaps we too shall reach it some day," they said.
He picked a buttercup, and held it up to her chin. "Do you like
butter?" he asked.
"I'll make you a crown," he said. "You shall wear it to-night."
"But where will my throne be?" she asked.
"It shall be on the middle step of the stile by the corn-field."
So when the moon rose I went out to see.
Presently he looked up again and yawned. "I think I'll go for a
"It's so ugly," he said.
"No, it is not ugly," she cried.
"It has no heart. Of course it can't feel."
"Why hasn't it got a heart?"
"Well, what is it always smiling for?"
"Mother," said the boy, "see, I have brought some bread for your
The fiddler played upon his fiddle
All through that leafy June,
He always played hey-diddle-diddle,
And played it out of tune.
And down the hill the children came,
And down the valley too:
I never heard the fiddler's name,
So cannot tell it you.
Hey-diddle-diddle, diddle-diddle-dee.
On--on they came, and when they heard
That tune so swift and sweet,
They did not say a single word,
But shuffled with their feet.
Then round they went, and round and round,
All to that cracked old fiddle,
And still was heard the magic sound,
Hey-diddle-diddle-diddle,
Hey-diddle-diddle, diddle-diddle-dee.
They were all very sad, and the girl in the pink frock was crying
"Oh--oh--oh!" she cried, "I have burnt my tongue."
"Eat it slowly," said the good little sister. _She_ took up her
"There are two wrong ways and only one right way; it isn't fair,"
The baby she has golden hair,
Her cheeks are like a rose,
And she sits fastened in her chair,
A-counting of her toes.
The mother she stands by the door,
And all the place is neat,
She says, "When it is half-past four,
He'll come along the street."
And O! in all this happy world
There's not a sight so sweet,
As 'tis to see the master, dear,
A-coming down the street.
A-coming O! a-coming O!
A-coming down the street.
The baby's sister toddles round,
And sings a little song,
And every word and every sound
Says, "Father won't be long."
And when he comes we'll laugh for glee,
And then his bonnie face,
However dark the day may be,
Makes sunshine in the place.
And O! in all this happy world
There's not a sight so sweet,
As 'tis to see the master, dear,
A-coming down the street,
A-coming O! a-coming O!
A-coming down the street.
"I thought you were proud," said the tailor's son, astonished; "I
"Perhaps you are not proud?"
"But it takes a lot of courage," said the tailor's son.
"Oh, dear, no," answered the proud boy; "it only takes a lot of
Two little maids went out one day,
And really it was shocking!
They met poor Tommy on the way,
With holes in either stocking.
They sat down on a low stone seat,
And to and fro kept rocking,
While they knitted, swift and neat,
Each of them a stocking.
And sweet they sang a little song,
And Tommy wished that all day long
They'd sit and knit a stocking.
The children were very much puzzled what to do, for it was
A little maid went to market,
She went into the town,
And all the things she had to buy
She carefully wrote down.
The coffee, sugar, tea, and rice--
The currant cake for tea,
And then she had to reckon up,
And see how much they'd be.
She sat her down as she came back,
She sat her down to see
What they had cost--the currant cake,
The coffee, and the tea.
She could not make her money right,
And yet, how she did try!
She could not make her money right,
And oh! how she did cry.
She's counting still, my dears, my dears,
She's counting day and night,
But though she counts for years and years,
She'll never make it right.
She'll never make it right--right--right,
Oh! never any more,
Though she sits counting--count--count--count,
Till she is ninety-four.
"I don't like you," said he, in a rage.
"You are a naughty boy," said she, crossly.
"I shall never speak to you again."
"I shall never play with you any more."
"And I don't care."
"I shall tell of you."
"All right. I shall tell of you."
"Nasty mean thing to threaten."
"You threatened first."
"Nasty, disagreeable thing."
"That's the worst of a girl," thought he; "I shan't give in."
"It would have been so nice if he hadn't been disagreeable," she
"You don't know where the rabbit-holes are," she answered.
"Yes, I do; I found them out the other day."
"I shall go out with Mary."
"And I shall never go into the woods with you any more."
"You are a very unkind boy."
"It's all your fault."
"No, it's all yours. You began."
"You don't like me now," she sobbed.
"You said I was a nasty, disagreeable thing."
"Oh, but I didn't mean it," she said.
"You know I'm very fond of you."
"So am I of you."
"Shall we go to the woods?" she asked, doubtfully.
"Yes, come along."
"You said you'd go without me," she pouted.
"Oh, but I shouldn't have liked it a bit."
"And I should have been so unhappy," she said.
My baby brother's fat, as fat
As any boy can be,
And he is just the sweetest duck
That ever you did see.
I count the dimples in his hands
A dozen times a-day,
And often wonder when he coos
What he would like to say.
I comb the down upon his head--
He hasn't any hair,--
It must be cold without, and yet
He never seems to care.
It is so nice to see him kick,
He has such pretty feet;
I think if we might eat him up
It would be quite a treat.
Two beaux and a belle, a goat and a carriage,
They all set off to the tinker's marriage.
Two three-cornered hats, and one with a feather,
They looked very fine in the sweet summer weather.
But the carriage turned over, the poor goat shied,
The little belle laughed, the silly beaux cried,
And the tinker fumed, "Oh, why do they tarry?
And why don't they come to see me marry?
I shall throw my bride right into the sea,
If they are not here by half-past three."
But the belle was laughing, "Oh, what shall we do!"
And the beaux were crying, "Bee-bee-bee-boo."
hill-side.
A nice little party we're seated at tea,
The dollies all seem very glad,
Save the poor little thing who is leaning on me;
I fear that she feels rather bad;
Poor limp little thing! she wants a back-bone,
She's only just made up of rag.
There's little Miss Prim sitting up all alone,
Now what shall we talk of, my own dollies fair?
And what shall we give you for tea?
That queer little thing with the short frizzy hair,
Why does he keep looking at me?
My sister and I we will sing you a song
Before we get up from the table;
It shall not be sad, and it shall not be long--
We'll sing it as well as we're able.
The darkness is stealing all over the place,
The flowers are weeping for sorrow,
The daisy is hiding its little round face,
The sun has gone seeking to-morrow.
So while you are seated all round the tea-table,
Please join in the chorus as well as you're able;
O! sing! sing away for your life.
So bring me the carving-knife.
The darkness is hiding the birds on the trees,
The thrushes are weary of singing,
A strange little rumour is borne on the breeze
Of Summer the swallows are bringing.
So while you are seated all round the tea-table,
Please join in the chorus as well as you're able;
O! sing! sing away for your life.
So bring me the carving-knife.
The Summer is stealing all over the place,
The wind is all scented with roses,
The dear little birds are all flying a race,
On purpose to give us their noses.
So while you are seated all round the tea-table,
Please join in the chorus as well as you're able;
O! sing! sing away for your life.
So bring me the carving-knife.
"Tommy, are you tired?" they asked.
"Why don't the servants take it?"
"My father has his dinner in a room," said the girl.
"But my father doesn't work," said the girl, scornfully.
Far away in the south, two English children were looking from the
"Here are the swallows," they said; "perhaps they have come from
A land there is beyond the sea
That I have never seen,
But Johnny says he'll take me there,
And I shall be a queen.
He'll build for me a palace there,
Its roof will be of thatch,
And it will have a little porch
And everything to match.
And he'll give me a garden-green,
And he'll give me a crown
Of flowers that love the wood and field
And never grow in town.
And we shall be so happy there,
And never, never part,
And I shall be the grandest queen--
The queen of Johnny's heart.
Then, Johnny, man your little boat
To sail across the sea;
There's only room for king and queen--
And, Johnny dear, I'm not afraid
Of any wind or tide,
For I am always safe, my dear,
If you are by my side.
writing-table.
Get into the boat and away to the west,
See-saw! see-saw!
For they've cut down the tree with the poor linnet's nest,
See-saw! see-saw!
The bulrushes nod and the water-lilies sigh,
See-saw! see-saw!
And all of us know the sad reason why,
See-saw! see-saw!
For, oh! the tree--the tree's cut down,
And every one of its leaves are brown;
And in the field the children play,
But the little linnet has flown away:
Oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear!
One day, close by the farm, she saw the big girls from the school
"Because we love her," said one;
"Because she is so little," said another;
"Because she is alive," said a third.
"Yes, they are all to be cared for and made happier, if it be
possible."
"The cuckoo clock is not alive," she thought. "Oh, no; it is not
"The way! The way to what, and where?"
Awake, my pet!
What! slumbering yet,
When the day's so warm and bright?
The flowers that wept
Before they slept
O'er the darkness of yesternight,
Have listened long
To the lark's wild song,
And awoke with the morning light.
Again and again
Through the window-pane
The jasmine flowers kept peeping,
And in at the door,
And along the floor,
The sunny rays came creeping,
So I opened wide
The sash, and tried
To tell them you were sleeping.
Awake, my dear,
The winter drear
Has fled with all things dreary,
But quickly by
The spring will fly,
And soon the birds will weary.--
Awake while yet
The dew is wet
And day is young, my deary.
The pink parasol had tender whalebone ribs and a slender stick of
"If I might but see the city, with the busy streets and the eager
The flowers died, and the swallows journeyed south; the trees
The little sisters went into the room to play at ball.
All the white rabbits but two, my dears,
All the white rabbits but two,
Away they all sailed in a cockle-shell boat,
Painted a beautiful blue.
All the white rabbits so snowy and sleek,
Away they went down to the shore;
Little they thought, so happy and meek,
They'd never come up from it more.
Oh, the white rabbits they wept and they sobbed,
Till the boat it shook up in the sails;
Oh, the white rabbits they sobbed and they shook
From their poor loppy ears to their tails.
Away they all sailed to a desolate land
Where never a lettuce-leaf grew,
All the white rabbits but two, my dears,
All the white rabbits but two.
"Come and have a ride," the big brother said.
"And is it a real noise?"
"Of course it is," the big brother answered.
At this the big brother stood still for a few minutes.
That was the story that Bridget told the baby.
There is a sweet maiden asleep by the sea,
Her lips are as red as a cherry;
The roses are resting upon her brown cheeks--
Her cheeks that are brown as a berry.
She's tired of building up castles of sand,
Her hands they are gritty and grubby;
Her shoes, they are wet, and her legs, they are bare,
Her legs that are sturdy and chubby.
I'll wrap a shawl round you, my dear little maid,
To keep the wind off you completely,
And soft I will sing you a lullaby song,
And soon you will slumber most sweetly.
"Then why did he want spurs?"
My father and my mother
And my sister know it too.
It struts about so gaily,
And it is brave and strong;
And when it crows, it is a crow,
Both very loud and long.
Oh, "Cock-a-doodle-doo," it crows,
And cock-a-doodle won't
Leave off its cock-a-doodling,
When mother dear cries "Don't!"
"But why have you done it so long?" she asked.
"What would you do if I wore boots?"
Oh, yes, sir and miss, I have been to the town;
It really was pleasant and gay;
But now I must hurry, the sun's going down,
And so I will wish you good-day.
And so I will wish you good-day, gentle folk,
And so I will wish you good-day.
I know a white rabbit just over the hill,
He's eating a lettuce for tea;
And a fat speckled duck, with a very large bill,
Is quacking, "Oh, where can she be?"
And two little mice are there, standing quite still,
They're all of them waiting for me.
For we all love the stars and the little pale moon,
Beneath them we frolic and play;
My friends have been waiting the whole afternoon,
And so I will wish you good-day.
And so I will wish you good-day, gentle folk,
And so I will wish you good-day.
Foolscap 8vo, Paper Boards, price One Shilling each.
_Author of "Anyhow Stories," etc._
LONDON: WALTER SCOTT, 24 Warwick Lane, Paternoster Row.
This Volume contains contributions by Lord Tennyson, William Bell
WALTER SCOTT, 24 Warwick Lane, Paternoster Row.