On my leg,
If you’ll lay me a great big
Eastery egg.”
The Little Black Hen
Said “I don’t care
For a How-do-you-do
Or a Big-brown-bear,
But I’ll lay you a beautiful
Eastery egg,
If you’ll show me the nettle-place
On your leg.”
I showed her the place
Where I had my sting.
She touched it gently
With one black wing.
“Nettles don’t hurt
If you count to ten.
And now for the egg,”
Said the Little Black Hen.
When I wake up
On Easter Day,
I shall see my egg
She’s promised to lay.
If I were Emperors,
If I were Kings,
It couldn’t be fuller
Of wonderful things.
Berryman and Baxter,
Prettiboy and Penn,
And Old Farmer Middleton
Are five big men.
All of them are wanting
An egg for their tea,
But the Little Black Hen is much too busy,
The Little Black Hen is much too busy,
The Little Black Hen is MUCH too busy…
She’s laying my egg for me!
The Friend
There are lots and lots of people who are always asking things,
Like Dates and Pounds-and-ounces and the names of funny Kings,
And the answer’s either Sixpence or A Hundred Inches Long,
And I know they’ll think me silly if I get the answer wrong.
So Pooh and I go whispering, and Pooh looks very bright,
And says, “Well, I say sixpence, but I don’t suppose
I’m right.”
And then it doesn’t matter what the answer ought to be,
’Cos if he’s right, I’m Right, and if he’s wrong, it isn’t Me.
The Good Little Girl
It’s funny how often they say to me, “Jane?
“Have you been a good girl?”
“Have you been a good girl?”
And when they have said it, they say it again,
“Have you been a good girl?”
“Have you been a good girl?”
I go to a party, I go out to tea,
I go to an aunt for a week at the sea,
I come back from school or from playing a game;
Wherever I come from, it’s always the same:
“Well?
“Have you been a good girl, Jane?”
It’s always the end of the loveliest day:
“Have you been a good girl?”
“Have you been a good girl?”
I went to the Zoo, and they waited to say:
“Have you been a good girl?”
“Have you been a good girl?”
Well, what did they think that I went there to do?
And why should I want to be bad at the Zoo?
And should I be likely to say if I had?
So that’s why it’s funny of Mummy and Dad,
This asking and asking, in case I was bad,
“Well?
“Have you been a good girl, Jane?”
A Thought
If I were John and John were Me,
Then he’d be six and I’d be three.
If John were Me and I were John,
I shouldn’t have these trousers on.
King Hilary and the Beggarman
Of Hilary the Great and Good
They tell a tale at Christmas time
I’ve often thought the story would
Be prettier but just as good
If almost anybody should
Translate it into rime .
So I have done the best I can
For lack of some more learned man .
Good King Hilary
Said to his Chancellor
(Proud Lord Willoughby,
Lord High Chancellor):
“Run to the wicket-gate
Quickly, quickly,
Run to the wicket-gate
And see who is knocking.
It may be a rich man,
Sea-borne from Araby,
Bringing me peacocks,
Emeralds and ivory;
It may be a poor man,
Travel-worn and weary,
Bringing me oranges
To put in my stocking.”
Proud Lord Willoughby,
Lord High Chancellor,
Laughed both loud and free: *
Since first Your Majesty’s reign began,
And I’ve often walked, but I never, never ran,
Never, never, never,” quoth he.
Good King Hilary
Said to his Chancellor
(Proud Lord Willoughby,
Lord High Chancellor):
“Walk to the wicket-gate
Quickly, quickly,
Walk to the wicket-gate
And see who is knocking.
It may be a captain,
Hawk-nosed, bearded,
Bringing me gold-dust,
Spices, and sandalwood:
It may be a scullion,
Care-free, whistling,
Bringing me sugar-plums
To put in my stocking.”
Proud Lord Willoughby,
Lord High Chancellor,
Laughed both loud and free:
“I’ve served in the Palace since I was four,
And I’ll serve in the Palace a-many years more,
And I’ve opened a window, but never a door,
Never, never, never,” quoth he.
Good King Hilary
Said to his Chancellor
(Proud Lord Willoughby,
Lord High Chancellor):
“Open the window
Quickly, quickly,
Open the window
And see who is knocking.
It may be a waiting-maid,
Apple-cheeked, dimpled,
Sent by her mistress
To bring me greeting;
It may be children,
Anxious, whispering,
Bringing me cobnuts,
To put in my stocking.”
Proud Lord Willoughby,
Lord High Chancellor,
Laughed both loud and free;
“I’ll serve Your Majesty till I die—
As Lord Chancellor, not as spy
To peep from lattices; no, not I,
Never, never, never,” quoth he.
Good King Hilary
Looked at his Chancellor
(Proud Lord Willoughby,
Lord High Chancellor):
He said no word
To his stiff-set Chancellor,
But ran to the wicket-gate
To see who was knocking.
He found no rich man
Trading from Araby;
He found no captain,
Blue-eyed, weather-tanned;
He found no waiting-maid
Sent by her mistress;
But only a beggarman
With one red stocking.
Good King Hilary
Looked at the beggarman,
And laughed him three times three;
And he turned that beggarman round about:
“Your thews are strong, and your arm is stout;
Come, throw me a Lord High Chancellor out,
And take his place,” quoth he.
Of Hilary the Good and Great
Old wives at Christmas time relate
This tale, which points, at any rate,
Two morals on the way.
The first: “ Whatever Fortune brings ,
Don’t be afraid of doing things .”
(Especially, of course, for Kings.)
It also seems to say
(But not
so wisely): “ He who begs
With one red stocking on his legs
Will be, as sure as eggs are eggs ,
A Chancellor some day .”
Swing Song
Here I go up in my swing
Ever so high.
I am the King of the fields, and the King Of the town.
I am the King of the earth, and the King Of the sky.
Here I go up in my swing…
Now I go down.
Explained
Elizabeth Ann
Said to her Nan:
“Please will you tell me how God began?
Somebody must have made Him. So
Who could it be, ’cos I want to know?”
And Nurse said, “ Well! ”
And Ann said, “Well?
I know you know, and I wish you’d tell.”
And Nurse took pins from her mouth, and said,
“Now then, darling, it’s time for bed.”
Elizabeth Ann
Had a wonderful plan:
She would run round the world till she found a man
Who knew exactly how God began.
She got up early, she dressed, and ran
Trying to find an Important Man.
She ran to London and knocked at the door
Of the Lord High Doodelum’s coach-and-four.
“Please, sir (if there’s anyone in),
However-and-ever did God begin?”
The Lord High Doodelum lay in bed,
But out of the window, large and red,
Came the Lord High Coachman’s face instead.
And the Lord High Coachman laughed and said:
“Well, what put that in your quaint little head?”
Elizabeth Ann went home again
And took from the ottoman Jennifer Jane.
“Jenniferjane,” said Elizabeth Ann,
“Tell me at once how God began.”
And Jane, who didn’t much care for speaking,
Replied in her usual way by squeaking.
What did it mean? Well, to be quite candid,
I don’t know, but Elizabeth Ann did.
Elizabeth Ann said softly, “Oh!
Thank you, Jennifer. Now I know.”
Twice Times
There were Two little Bears who lived in a Wood,
And one of them was Bad and the other was Good.
Good Bear learnt his Twice Times One—
But Bad Bear left all his buttons undone.
They lived in a Tree when the weather was hot,
And one of them was Good, and the other was Not.
Good Bear learnt his Twice Times Two—
But Bad Bear’s thingummies were worn right through.
They lived in a Cave when the weather was cold,
And they Did, and they Didn’t Do, what they were told.
Good Bear learnt his Twice Times Three—
But Bad Bear never had his hand-ker-chee.
They lived in the Wood with a Kind Old Aunt,
And one said “ Yes’m, ” and the other said
“ Shan’t! ”
Good Bear learnt his Twice Times Four—
But Bad Bear’s knicketies were terrible tore.
And then quite suddenly (just like Us)
One got Better and the other got Wuss.
Good Bear muddled his Twice Times Three—
But Bad Bear coughed in his hand-ker-chee!
Good Bear muddled his Twice Times Two—
But Bad Bear’s thingummies looked like new.
Good Bear muddled his Twice Times One—
But Bad Bear never left his buttons undone.
There may be a Moral, though some say not;
I think there’s a moral, though I don’t know what.
But if one gets better, as the other gets wuss,
These Two Little Bears are just like Us.
For Christopher remembers up to Twice Times Ten…
But I keep forgetting where I’ve put my pen. *
The Morning Walk
When Anne and I go out a walk,
We hold each other’s hand and talk
Of all the things we mean to do
When Anne and I are forty-two.
And when we’ve thought about a thing,
Like bowling hoops or bicycling,
Or falling down on Anne’s balloon,
We do it in the afternoon.
Cradle Song
O Timothy Tim
Has ten pink toes,
And ten pink toes
Has Timothy Tim.
They go with him
Wherever he goes,
And wherever he goes
They go with him.
O Timothy Tim
Has two blue eyes,
And two blue eyes
Has Timothy Tim.
They cry with him
Whenever he cries,
And whenever he cries,
They cry with him.
O Timothy Tim
Has one red head,
And one red head
Has Timothy Tim.
It sleeps with him
In Timothy’s bed.
Sleep well, red head
Of Timothy Tim.
Waiting at the Window
These are my two drops of rain
Waiting on the window-pane.
I am waiting here to see
Which the winning one will be.
Both of them have different names.
One is John and one is James.
All the best and all the worst
Comes from which of them is first.
James has just begun to ooze.
He’s the one I want to lose.
John is waiting to begin.
He’s the one I want to win.
James is going slowly on.
Something sort of sticks to John.
John is moving off at last.
James is going pretty fast.
John is rushing down the pane.
James is going slow again.
James has met a sort of smear.
John is getting very near.
Is he going fast enough?
(James has found a piece of fluff.)
John has hurried quickly by.
(James was talking to a fly.)
John is there, and John has won!
Look! I told you! Here’s the sun!
Pinkle Purr
Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr,
A little black nothing of feet and fur;
And by-and-by, when his eyes came through,
He saw his mother, the big Tattoo.
And all that he learned he learned from her.
“I’ll ask my mother,” says Pinkle Purr.
Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr,
A ridiculous kitten with silky fur.
And little black Pinkle grew and grew
Till he got as big as the big Tattoo.
And all that he did he did with her.
“Two friends together,” says Pinkle Purr.
Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr,
An adventurous cat in a coat of fur.
And whenever he thought of a thing to do,
He didn’t much bother about Tattoo,
For he knows it’s nothing to do with her,
So “See you later,” says Pinkle Purr.
Tattoo is the mother of Pinkle Purr,
An enormous leopard with coal-black fur.
A little brown kitten that’s nearly new
Is now playing games with its big Tattoo…
And Pink looks lazily down at her:
“Dear little Tat,” says Pinkle Purr.
Wind on the Hill
No one can tell me,
Nobody knows,
Where the wind comes from,
Where the wind goes.
It’s flying from somewhere
As fast as it can,
I couldn’t keep up with it,
N
ot if I ran.
But if I stopped holding
The string of my kite,
It would blow with the wind
For a day and a night.
And then when I found it,
Wherever it blew,
I should know that the wind
Had been going there too.
So then I could tell them
Where the wind goes…
But where the wind comes from
Nobody knows.
Forgotten
Lords of the Nursery
Wait in a row,
Five on the high wall,
And four on the low;
Big Kings and Little Kings,
Brown Bears and Black,
All of them waiting
Till John comes back.
Some think that John boy
Is lost in the wood,
Some say he couldn’t be,
Some say he could.
Some think that John boy
Hides on the hill;
Some say he won’t come back,
Some say he will.
High was the sun, when
John went away…
Here they’ve been waiting
All through the day;
Big Bears and Little Bears,
White Kings and Black,
All of them waiting
Till John comes back.
Lords of the Nursery
Looked down the hill,
Some saw the sheep-fold,
Some saw the mill;
Some saw the roofs
Of the little grey town…
And their shadows grew long
As the sun slipt down.
Gold between the poplars
An old moon shows;
Silver up the star-way
The full moon rose;
Silver down the star-way
The old moon crept…
And, one by another,
The grey fields slept.
Lords of the Nursery
Their still watch keep…
They hear from the sheep-fold
The rustle of sheep.
A young bird twitters
And hides its head;
A little wind suddenly