 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Arcturus. A Child's Garden of Verses by Robert Louis Stevenson. To Alice Cunningham from her boy. For the long nights you lay awake and watched for my unworthy sake. For your most comfortable hand that led me through the uneven land. For all the storybooks you read. For all the pains you comforted. For all you pitied, all you bore. And sad and happy days of your. My second mother, my first wife, the angel of my infant life. From the sick child, no well and old. Take, nurse, the little book you hold. And grant it heaven that all who read may find its dear and nursed need. And every child who lists my rhyme, the bright fireside nursery climb. May hear it in its kinder voice as made my childish days rejoice. Section one, a Child's Garden of Verses. Bed and Summer. In winter I get up at night and dress by yellow candlelight. In summer, quite the other way, I have to go to bed by day. I have to go to bed and see the birds still hopping on the tree. Or hear the groan of people's feet still going past me in the street. And does it not seem hard to you when all the sky is clear and blue. And I should like so much to play, to have to go to bed by day, a thought. Very nice to think the world is full of meat and drink, with little children saying grace in every Christian kind of place at the seaside. When I was down beside the sea, a wooden spade they gave to me to dig the sandy shore. Or my holes were empty, like a cup, and every hole the sea came up to look and come no more. Young night thought, all night long and every night, when my mama puts out the light, I see the people marching by, plain as day before my eye. Armies and emperor and kings, all carrying different kinds of things, and marching in so grand a way, you never saw the like by day. So fine a show was never seen, the great circus on the green, for every kind of beast and man is marching in that caravan. At first they move a little slow, but still a faster on they go, and still beside me close I keep, until we reach the town of sleep, the whole duty of children. A child should always say what's true, and speak when he is spoken to, and behave mannerly at table, at least as far as he is able. Rain, the rain is falling all around, it falls on field and tree, it rains on the umbrellas here, and on the ships at sea. Pirate story, three of us float in a meadow by the swing, three of us abroad in the basket on the lee, winds are in the air, they are blowing in the spring, and waves are on the meadow like the waves there are at sea. Where shall we adventure today that were afloat, wary of the weather and steering by a star? Shall it be to Africa, steering of the boat, to Providence, or Babylon, or off to Malabar? Hi, but you're the squadron are rowing on the sea, cattle on the meadow are charging with the gore. Quick and we'll escape them, they're as mad as they can be, the wicked is the harbor, and the garden is the shore, foreign lands. Up into the cherry tree, who should climb but little me? I held the trunk with both my hands, and looked abroad in foreign lands. I saw the next-door garden lie adorned with flowers before my eye, and many pleasant places more that I had never seen before. I saw the dimpling river pass, and be the sky's blue-looking glass. The dusty roads go up and down, with people tramping into town. If I could find a higher tree, farther and farther I should see, to where the grown-up river slips into the sea among the ships, to where the roads on either hand lead onward into fairyland, where all the children dine at five, and all the playthings come alive. Windy nights, whenever the moon and stars are set, whenever the wind is high, all night long and the dark and wet, a man goes riding by. Late in the night, when the fires are out, why does he gallop and gallop about? Whenever the trees are crying aloud, and ships are tossed at sea, by on the highway, low and loud, by the gallop goes he, by the gallop he goes, and then, by he comes back, the gallop again. Travel, I should like to rise and go where the golden apples grow, where below another sky, parrot islands anchored lie, and watched by cockatoos and goats, lonely cruzos building boats, where in sunshine reaching out, eastern cities, miles about, are with moss and minaret among sandy garden set, and the rich goods from near and far hang for sale in the bazaar, where the great wall around China goes, and on one side the desert blows, and with a voice and bell and drum, cities on the other hum, where a forest's hot as fire, wide as England, tall as a spire, full of apes and coconuts, and the negro hunter's huts, where the naughty crocodile lies and blinks in the nile, and the red flamingo flies, hunting fish before his eyes, where in jungles near and far, man devouring tigers are, lying close and giving ear, lest the hunt be drawing near. Or a cummer by be seen, swinging in the palanquin, where among the desert stands some deserted city stands, all its children sweep in prints, grown to man had ages since, not a foot in street or house, not a stir of child or mouse, and when kindly falls the night, and all the town no spark of light, I'll come when I'm a man with a camel caravan, light a fire in the gloom of some dusty dining room, see the pictures on the walls, heroes fights and festivals, and in a corner find the toys of the old Egyptian boys, singing of speckled eggs the birdie sings, and nests among the trees, the sailor sings of ropes and things, and ships upon the seas, the children sing in far Japan, the children sing in Spain, the organ with the organ man is singing in the rain, looking forward. When I am grown to man's estate, I shall be very proud and great, and tell the other girls and boys not to meddle with my toys, a good play. We built a ship upon the stairs, all made of the back bedroom chairs, and filled it full of sofa pillows to go a sailing on the billows. We took a saw in several nails, and water in the nursery pails, and Tom said, let us also take an apple and a slice of cake, which was enough for Tom and me to go a sailing on till tea. We sailed along for days and days, and had the very best of plays, but Tom fell out and hurt his knee, so there was no one left but me. There go the boats, dark brown is the river, golden is the sand, and flows along forever with trees on either hand. Green leaves are floating, castles of the foam, boats of minor boating, where will all come home? On goes the river, and out past the mill, away down the valley, away down the hill, away down the river, a hundred miles or more, other little children shall bring my boats ashore, anti-skirts. Whenever Anty moves around, her dresses make a curious sound. They trail behind her up the floor, and trundle after through the door, a land of counter pain. When I was sick and lay a bed, I had two pillows at my head, and all my toys beside me lay to keep me happy all the day, and sometimes for an hour or so I watched my leaden soldiers go with different uniforms and drills among the bed clothes through the hills, and sometimes sent my ships and fleets all up and down among the sheets, or brought my trees and houses out and planted cities all about. I was the giant great and still that sits upon the pillow hill, and sees before him bell and plain the pleasant land of counter pain, the land of nod. 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 of dreams. The strangest things are these for me, both things to eat and things to see, and many frightening sights abroad till morning in the land of nod. Try as I like to find the way I never can get back by day, nor can you remember plain and clear the curious music that I hear, my shadow. 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 funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow, not at all like proper children, which is always very slow, for he sometimes shoots up taller like an India rubber ball, and he sometimes goes so little that there's none of him at all. He hasn't got a notion of how children ought to play and can only make a fool of me in every sort of way. He stays so close behind me he's a coward you can see. I think shame to stick to mercy is that shadow sticks to me. One morning, very early, before the sun was up, I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup, but my lazy little shadow, like an iron sleepyhead, had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed. System. Every night my prayers I say and get my dinner every day, and every day that I've been good, I get an orange after food. The child that is not clean and neat with lots of toys and things to eat. He's a naughty child, I'm sure, or else his dear papa is poor, a good boy. I woke before the morning. I was happy all the day. I never said an ugly word, but smiled and stuck to play. And now at last the sun is going down behind the wood, and I am very happy, for I know that I've been good. My bed is waiting cool and fresh with linen smooth and fair, and I must be off to sleeps and by, and not forget my prayer. I know that till tomorrow I shall see the sunrise. No ugly dream shall fright my mind, no ugly sight my eyes. But slumber hold me tightly till I waken in the dawn, and hear the thrushes singing in the lilacs round the lawn. Escape at bedtime. The lights from the parlor and kitchen shone out through the blinds and the windows and bars, and high overhead and all moving about. There were thousands of millions of stars. There near were such thousands of leaves on a tree, nor of people in church or the park. It's the crowds of the stars that looked down upon me, and they glittered in a wink to the dark. The dog and the plow and the hunter and all, and the star of the sailor and Mars. These shone in the sky and the pell by the wall would be half full of water and stars. They saw me at last, and they chased me with cries, and they soon had me packed into bed. But the glory kept shining and bright in my eyes, and the stars going round in my head. Marching song. Bring the comb and play upon it. Marching hero, we come. Willie Cox's highland bonnet, Johnny beats the drum. Mary Jane commands the party. Peter leads the rear. Feed-in time, alert and hearty. It's your grenadier. All in the most marshal manner, marching double quick, while the napkin, like a banner, waves upon the stick. Here's enough of fame and pledge, great commander Jane. Now that we've been ground their village, let's go home again. The cow. The friendly cow, all red and white. I love with all my heart. She gives me cream with all her might to eat with apple tart. She wanders lowing here and there, and yet she cannot stray. All in the pleasant open air, the pleasant light of day, and blown by all the winds that pass, and wet with all the showers. She walks among the meadow grass and eats the meadow flowers. Happy thought. The world is so full of a number of things, I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings. The wind. I saw you toss the kite sun high, and blow the birds about the sky. And all around, I heard you pass, like lady skirts across the grass. Oh wind blowing all day long. Oh wind, it sings so loud a song. I saw the different things you did, but always you yourself you hid. I felt you push, I heard you call. I could not see yourself at all. Oh wind blowing all day long. Oh wind, it sings so loud a song. Oh youth that are so strong and cold. Oh blower, are you young or old? Are you a beast of field and tree? Or just a stronger child than me? Oh wind blowing all day long. Oh wind, it sings so loud a song. Keepsake mill. Over the borders is sin without pardon. Breaking the branches and crawling below. Out through the breach in the wall of the garden. Down by the banks of the river we go. Here is a mill with a humming of thunder. Here is the wearer with the wonder of foam. Here is the slouse with the race running under. Marvelous places though handy to home. Sounds of the village go stiller and stiller. Stiller the note of the birds on the hill. Dusty and dim are the eyes of the miller. Death far as ears with the moorl of the mill. Years may go by and the wheel in the river. Wheel is the wheels for us children today. Wheel and keep roaring and foaming forever long after all of the boys are away. Home for the indies and home from the ocean. Heroes and soldiers we all will come home. Still we shall find the old mill wheel in motion. Turning and shurning that river to foam. You with the bean that I gave when we quarreled. I with your marble of Saturday last. Honored and old and all gaily appell. Here we shall meet and remember the past. Good and bad children. Children you are very little and your bones are very brittle. If you would grow great and stately you must try to walk sedately. You must still be bright and quiet and content with simple diet. And remain through all bewildering innocent and honest children. Happy hearts and happy faces. Happy plain grassy places. That was how in ancient ages children grew to kings and sages. But the unkind and unruly and the sore to eat unduly. They must never hope for glory. Theirs is quite a different story. Cruel children crying babies all grow up as geese and gabies. Hated as their age increases by their nephews and their nieces. Foreign children. Little Indian sewer crow. Little frosty eskimo. Little Turk or Japanese. Oh don't you wish that you were me. You have seen the scarlet trees and the lions overseas. You have eaten ostrich eggs and turned the turtles off their legs. Such a life is very fine but it's not so nice as mine. You must often as your trod have worry not to be abroad. You have curious things to eat. I am fed on proper meat. You must dwell upon the foam but I am safe and live at home. Little Indian sewer crow. Little frosty eskimo. Little Turk or Japanese. Oh don't you wish that you were me. The sun travels. The sun is not a bed when I at night upon my pillow lie. Still round the earth his way he takes and morning after morning makes. While here at home in shining day we round the sunny garden play. Each little Indian sleepy head is being kissed and put to bed. And when at eve I rise from tea day dawns beyond the Atlantic sea and all the children in the west are getting up and being dressed. The lamp lighter. My tea is nearly ready and the sun has left the sky. It's time to take the window to see Leery going by. For every night at tea time and before you take your seat with lantern and with ladder he comes posting up the street. Now Tom would be a driver and Maria go to sea and my papa's a bank rent as rich as he can be. But I when I am stronger and can choose what I'm to do. Oh Leery all go round at night and light the lamps with you. For we are very lucky with a lamp before the door and Leery stops to light it as he lights so many more. And oh before you hurry by with ladder and with light. Oh Leery see a little child and nod to him tonight. My bed is a boat. My bed is like a little boat. Nurse helps me in when I embark. She girds me in my sailor's coat and starts me in the dark. At night I go on board and say good night to all my friends on shore. I shut my eyes and sail away and see and hear no more. And sometimes things to bet I take as prudent sailors have to do. Perhaps a slice of wedding cake perhaps a toy or two. All night across the dark we steer when the day returns at last. Safe in my room beside the pier I find my vessel fast the moon. The moon has a face like the clock in the hall. She shines on thieves on the garden wall. On streets and fields and a harbor keys and birdies asleep in the forks of the trees. The squalling cat and the squeaking mouse. The howling dog by the door of the house. The bat that lies in bed at noon. All love to be out by the light of the moon. But all of the things that belong to the day cuddle to sleep to be out of her way. And flowers and children close their eyes till up in the morning the sun shall arise. The swing. How do you like to go up in a swing up in the air so blue? Oh I do think of the pleasantest thing ever a child can do. Up in the air and over the wall till I can see so wide. River and trees and cattle and all over the countryside. Till I look down on the garden green down on the roof so brown. Up in the air I go flying again up in the air and down. Time to rise a birdie with a yellow bill hopped upon my window sill. Cocked his shining eye and said ain't you shamed you sleepyhead? Looking glass river smooth it glides upon its travel. Here a wimple there a gleam oh the clean gravel oh the smooth stream. Sailing blossom silver fishes paving pools as clear as air how a child wishes to live down there. We can see our colored faces floating on the shaken pool down in cool places dim and very cool till the wind or water wrinkle dipping martin plumping trout spreads in a twinkle and blots all out. See the rings pursue each other all below grows black as night just as if mother had blown out the light. Patience children just a minute see the spreading circles die the stream and all in it will clear by and by very bread come up here oh dusty feet here is very bread to eat here in my retiring room children you may dine on the golden smell of broom and the shade of pine and when you have eaten well fairy stories hear and tell from a railway carriage faster than fairies faster than witches bridges and houses hedges and ditches and charging along like troops in a battle all through the meadows the horses and cattle all of the sights of the hill and the plane fly as thick as driving grain and ever again in the wink of an eye painted stations whistle by. Here is a child who clamors and scrambles all by himself and gathering brambles here is a tramp who stands and gazes and here is the green for string the daisies here is a cart run away in the road lumping along with man and load and here's a mill and there's the river each a glimpse and gone forever wintertime late lies the wintry son of bed a frosty fiery sleepy head blinks but an hour or two and then a blood red orange sets again before the stars have left the skies at morning in the dark eye eyes and shivering in my nakedness by the cold candle bathed in dress close by the jolly fire I sit to warm my frozen bones a bit or with the rangerous lead explore the colder countries around the door when to go out my nurse dothi rap me and my comforter and cap the cold wind burns my face and blows its frosty pepper up my nose black are my steps on silver thought thick blows my frosty breath abroad and tree and house and hill and lake are frosted like a wedding cake the hay loft through all the pleasant meadow side the grass grew shoulder high till the shining sky swin far and wide and cut it down to dry those green and sweetly smelling crops they let in wagons home and they pile them here in mountaintops for mountaineers to roam here is mount clear mount restynail mount eagle and mount high the mice that in these mountains dwell no happier eye than I oh what a joy to clamor there oh what a place for play with the sweet the dim the dusty air the happy hills of hay farewell to the farm the coaches at the door at last and eager children mounting fast and kissing hands and coursing goodbye goodbye to everything to house and garden field and lawn the meadow gates we swang upon to pump and stable tree and swing goodbye goodbye to everything and fare you well forevermore oh ladder at the hay loft door oh hay loft where the cobwebs cling goodbye goodbye to everything crack goes the whip and off we go the trees and houses smaller grow last round the woody tern reasing goodbye goodbye to everything northwest passage one good night when the bright lamp is carried in the sunless hours again begin are all without and field and lane the haunted night returns again now we behold the embers fully about the fire lit earth and see our faces painted as we pass like pictures on the window glass must we to bed indeed well then let us arise and go like men and face with an undaunted tread the long black passage up to bed farewell oh brother sister sire oh pleasant party around the fire the songs you sing the tales you tell till far tomorrow fare you well to shadow march all around the house is the jet black night it stares to the window pain it crawls in the corners hiding from the light and it moves with a moving flame now my little heart goes a beating like a drum with the breath of the bougies in my hair and all around the candle the crooked shadows come and go marching along up the stair the shadow of the bollisters the shadow of the lamp the shadow of the child goes to bed all the wicked shadows coming tramp tramp tramp the black night overhead three in port last to the chamber where i lie my fearful footsteps pattern i and come out from the cold and gloom into my warm and cheerful room they're safe arrived we turn about to keep the coming shadows out and close the happy door at last on all the perils that we passed then when mama goes by to bed she shall come in with tiptoe tread and see me lying warm and fast and in the land of nod at last end of section one this is a leap of ox recording all leap of ox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit librewox.org recording by arctua a child's garden of verses by robert louis stevensson section two the child alone the unseen playmate when children are playing alone on the green in comes the playmate that never was seen when children are happy and lonely and good the friend of the children comes out of the wood nobody heard him and nobody saw his is a picture you never could draw but he's sure to be present abroad or at home when children are happy and playing alone he lies in the laurels he runs on the grass he sings when you tinkle the musical glass when narrow you are happy and cannot tell why the friend of the children is sure to be by he loves to be little he hates to be big tis he that inhabits the caves that you dig tis he when you play with your soldiers of tin that sides with a frenchman and never can win tis he when at night you go off to your bed but you go to sleep and not trouble your head for wherever they're lying and covered or shelf tis he will take care of your playthings himself my ship and I oh it's I that am the captain of a tidy little ship of a ship that goes a sailing on the pond and my ship it keeps it turning all around and all about but when I'm a little older I shall find the secret out how to send my vessel sailing on beyond for I mean to grow as little as the dolly at the home and the dolly I intend to come alive and with him beside to help me it's a sailing I shall go it's a sailing on the water when the jolly breezes blow and the vessel goes a diddy diddy dive oh it's then you'll see me sailing through the rushes and the reeds and you'll hear the water singing in the prow for beside the dolly sailor I'm to voyage and explore to land upon the island where no dolly was before and to fire the penny cannon in the bow my kingdom down by a shining water well I found a very little dell no higher than my head the heather and the gorse about and summer bloom were coming out some yellow and some red I called the little pool a sea the little hills were big to me for I am very small I made a boat I made a town I searched the caverns up and down and named them one and all and all about was mine I said the little sparrows overhead the little minnows too this was the world and I was king for me the bees came by to sing for me the swallows flew I played there were no deeper seas nor any wider planes than these nor other kings than me at last I heard my mother call out from the house that even fall to call me home to tea and I must rise and leave my dell and leave my dimpled water well and leave my heather blooms alas and as my home I neared how very big my nurse appeared how great and cool the room picture books in winter summer fading winter comes frosty mornings tingling thumbs winter robins winter and the picture story books water now is turned to stone nurse and I can walk upon still we find the flowing books in the picture story books all the pretty things put by weighed upon the children's eye sheep and shepherds trees and crooks in the picture story books we may see how all things are seas and cities near and far and the flying fairies looks in the picture story books how am I to sing your praise happy chimney corner days sitting safe in nursery nooks reading picture story books my treasures these nuts that I keep in the back of the nest where all my tin soldiers are lying at rest were gathered in autumn by nursing me in a wood with a well by the side of the sea this whistle we made and how clearly it sounds by the side of a field at the end of the grounds of a branch of a plane the knife of my own it was mercy who made it and mercy alone the stone with the white and the yellow and gray we discovered I cannot tell how far away and I carried it back all the weary and cold for the father denies it I'm sure it is cold but of all my treasures the last is the king for there's very few children possess such a thing and that is a chisel both handle and blade which a man who was really a carpenter made block city what are you able to build with your blocks castles and palaces temples and docks rain may keep raining and others go roam but I can be happy and building at home let the sofa be mountains the carpet be sea there I'll establish a city for me a Kirk and a mill and a palace beside and a harbor as well where my vessels may ride great is the palace with pillar and wall a sort of a tower on the top of it all and steps coming down in an orderly way to where my toy vessels lie safe in the bay this one is sailing and that one is moored heart to the song of the sailors aboard and see on the steps of my palace the king coming and going with presents and things now I have done with it down let it go all in a moment the town is laid low block upon block lying scattered and free what is there left of my town by the sea yet as I saw it I see it again the Kirk and the palace the ships and the men and as long as I live and where I may be I'll always remember my town by the sea the land of storybooks at evening when the lamp is lit around the fire my parents sit they sit at home and talk and sing and do not play at anything now with my little gun I crawl all in the dark along the wall and follow around the forest track away behind the sofa back there in the night where none can spy all in my hunter's camp I lie played books that I have read till it is time to go to bed these are the hills these are the woods these are my starry solitudes and there the river by whose brink the roaring lions come to drink I see the others far away as if in fire lit camp they lay and I like to an Indian scout around their party prowled about so when my nurse comes in for me home I return across the sea and go to bed with backward looks at my dear land of storybooks armies in the fire the lamps now glitter down their street faintly sound the falling feet and the blue even slowly falls about the garden trees and walls now in the falling of the gloom the red fire paints the empty room and warmly on the roof it looks and flickers on the back of books armies marched by tower and spire of cities blazing in the fire till as I gaze with staring eyes the armies fade the luster dies and once again the glow returns again the phantom city burns and down the red hot valley low the phantom armies marching go linking embers tell me true where are those armies marching to and what the burning city is that crumbles in your furnaces the little land when at home alone I sit and I'm very tired of it I have just to shut my eyes to go sailing through the skies to go sailing far away to the pleasant land of play to the fairy land of far where the little people are where the clover tops our trees and the rain pools are the seas and the leaves like little ships sail about on tiny trips and above the daisy trees through the grasses higher head the bumblebee hums and passes in that forest to and fro I can wonder I can go see the spider and the fly and the ants go marching by carrying parcels with their feet down the green and grassy street I can in the sorrel sit where the lady bird let I can climb the jointed grass and on high see the greater swallows pass in the sky and the red sun rolling by heating no such things as I through that forest I can pass till as in a looking glass humming fly in daisy tree and my tiny self I see painted very clear and neat on the rain pool at my feet should a leaflet come to land drifting near to where I stand straight up board that tiny boat around the rain pool seat float little thoughtful creature sit on the grassy coasts of it little things with lovely eyes see me sailing with surprise some are clad in armor green these have sure to battle bean some are pied with every hue black and crimson golden blue some have wings and swift dark on but they all look kindly on when my eyes I once again open and see all things plain high bare walls great bare floor great big knobs and drawer and door great big people perched on chairs stitching tucks and mending tears each a hill that I could climb and talking nonsense all the time oh dear me that I could be a sailor on the rain pool see a climber in the clover tree and just come back a sleepy head late at night to go to bed end of section two this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Arcturus a child's garden of verses by Robert Louis Stevenson section three garden days night and day when the golden day is done through the closing portal child and garden flower and sun vanish all things mortal as the building shadows fall as the rays diminish under evening's cloak they all roll away and vanish garden dark and daisy shut child in bed they slumber glow worm in the hallway got mice among the lumber in the darkness houses shine parents move the candles till and all the night divine turns the bedroom handles till at last the day begins in the east of breaking in the hedges in the winds sleeping birds are waking in the darkness shapes of things houses trees and hedges clear agro and sparrows wings beat on a window ledges these shall wake the yawning maid she the door shall open finding dew on garden clay and the morning broken there are my garden grows again green and rosy painted as it eaves behind the pain from my eyes it fainted just as it was shut away toy like in the even here i see a glow a day under glowing heaven every path and every plot every blush of roses every blue forget me not where the dew reposes up they cry the days come on the smiling valleys we have beat the morning drum playmate join your allies nest eggs birds all the sunny day flutter and quarrel here in the arbor like tent of the laurel here in the fork the brown nest is seated four little blue eggs the mother keeps heated while we stand watching her staring like gabies safe in each egg are the birds the little babies soon the frail eggs they shall chip and up springing make all the aprowids marry with singing younger than we are our children and frailer soon in the blue air they'll be singing in sailor we so much older taller and stronger we shall look down on the birdies no longer they shall go flying with musical speeches high overhead in the tops of the beaches in spite of our wisdom and sensible talking we on our feet must go plodding and walking the flowers all the names i know from nurse gardener's garter shepherd's purse bachelor's buttons lady smock and the lady hollyhock fairy places fairy things fairy woods with a wild bee wings tiny trees for tiny dames these mustalby fairy names tiny woods below whose bows shady fairies weave a house tiny tree tops rows or time where the braver fairies climb are grown up people's trees but the fairest woods are these where if i were not so tall i should live for good and all summer sun great is the sun and wide he goes through empty heaven with repose and in the blue and glowing days more thick than rain he showers his rays though closer still the blinds we pull to keep the shady parlor cool yet he will find a chink or two to slip his golden fingers through the dusty attic spider clad he through the keyhole make it glad and through the broken edge of tiles into the ladder at haylock smiles meanwhile his golden face around he bears to all the garden ground and sheds a warm and glittering look among the ivies in most nook above the hills along the blue round the bright air with footing true to please the child to paint the rose the gardener of the world he goes the dumb soldier when the grass was closely moaned walking on the lawn alone in the turf a hole i found and hit a soldier underground spring and daisies came a pace grasses hide my hiding place grasses run like a green sea or the lawn up to my knee me under grass alone he lies looking up with leaden eyes scarlet coat and pointed gun to the stars into the sun when the grass is ripe like rain when the sky is stoned again when the lawn is shaven clear then my whole shall reappear i shall find him never fear i shall find my grenadier but for all that's gone and come i shall find my soldier dumb he has lived a little thing in the grassy woods of spring done if he could tell me true just as i should like to do he has seen the starry hours and the springing of the flowers and the fairy things that pass in the forests of the grass in the silence he has heard talking bee and lady bird and the butterfly has flown or him as he lay alone not a word will he disclose not a word of all he knows i'm to lay him on the shelf and make up the tell myself to him fires in the other gardens and all up the veil from the autumn bonfires see the smoke trail pleasant summer over and all the summer flowers the red fire blazes the gray smoke towers sing a song of seasons something bright and all flowers in the summer fires in the fall the gardener the gardener does not love to talk he makes me keep the gravel walk and when he puts his tools away he locks the door and takes the key away behind the current row where no one else but cook may go far in the plots i see him dig old and serious brown and big he digs the flowers green red and blue nor wishes to be spoken to he digs the flowers and cuts the hay and never seems to want to play silly gardener summer goes and winter comes with pinching toes when in the garden bare and brown you must lay your barrel down well now and well the summer stays to profit by these garden days oh how much wiser you would be to play at engine wars with me historical associations dear uncle jim this garden ground that now you smoke your pipe around has seen immortal action stun and valiant battles lost in one here we hit best on tiptoe tread while eye for safety march ahead for this is that enchanted ground where all who loiter slumber sound here is the sea here is the sand here is simple shepherds land here are the fairy hollyhocks and there are Ali Baba's rocks but yonder see a part and high frozen Siberia lies where I with Robert Bruce and William tell was bound by an enchanter spell end of section three this is a Librivox recording all Librivox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit Librivox.org recording by Arktura a child's garden of verses by Robert Louis Stevenson section four and voice to willy and henryta if two may read a right these rhymes of old delight and house and garden play you too my cousins and you only may you in a garden green with me we're king and queen we're hunter soldier tar and all the thousand things that children are are now an elder's seat we rest with quiet feet and from the window bay we watch the children our successors play time was the golden head air evocably said but time which one can bind while flowing fast away leaves love behind to my mother you too my mother read my rhymes for love of unforgotten times and you may chance to hear once more the little feet along the floor too anti chief of our aunts not only I but all your dozens of nurslings cry what did the other children do and what were childhood wanting you too many the red room with a giant bed where none but elders laid their head the little room where you and I did for a while together lie simple suitor eye your hand and decent marriage to demand the great day nursery best of all with pictures pasted on the wall and leaves upon the blind a pleasant room we're into wake and hear the leafy garden shake and rustle in the wind and pleasant there to lie in bed and see the pictures overhead the wars about sabastable the grinning guns along the wall the daring escalade the plunging ships the bleeding sheep the happy children ankle deep and laughing as they wade all these are vanished clean away and old men's is changed today it wears an altered face and shields stranger race the river on from mill to mill flows past our childhood's garden still but ah we children nevermore shall watch it from the water door below the you still is there our phantom voices haunt the air as we were still a play and I can hear them call and say how far is it to Babylon ah far enough my dear far far enough from here yet you are farther gone can I get there by candlelight so goes the old refrain I do not know per chance you might but only children hear it right ah never to return again the eternal dawn beyond a doubt shall break on hill and plain and put all stars and candles out ere we be young again to you in distant India these I send across the seas nor counted far across for which of us forgets the Indian cabinets the bones of antelope the wings of albatross the pied and painted birds and beans the junks and bangles feeds and screens the gods and sacred bells and the loud humming twisted shells the level of the parlor floor was honest homely Scottish shore but when we climbed upon a chair behold the gorgeous east was there be this a fable and behold me in the parlor as of old and many just above me set in the quaint Indian cabinet smiling and kind you grace a shelf too high for me to reach myself reach down a hand my dear and take these rhymes for all the quaint and sake to my name child someday soon this rhyming volume if you learn with proper speed little Louis Sanchez will be given you to read then you shall discover that your name was printed down by the English printers long before in london town in the great and busy city where the east and west are met all the little letters to the English printer set while you thought of nothing and were still too young to play foreign people thought of you and places far away and when you slept a baby over all the English lands other little children took the volume in their hands other children questioned in their homes across the seas who was a little Louis won't you tell us mother please now that you have spelled your lesson lay it down and go and play seeking shells and seaweed on the sands of monterey watching all the mighty well bones lying buried by the breeze tiny sandy pipers and the huge pacific seas and remember in your playing as the seafar girls to you longer you could read it how i told you what to do and that while you thought of no one nearly half the world away someone thought of louis on the beach of monterey to any reader as from the house your mother sees you playing around 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 on the window call that child to hear you the intent is all on his play business bent he does not hear he will not look nor yet be lured out of this book for long ago the truth to say he has grown up and gone away and it is but a child of air that lingers in the garden there end of section four and of this leap of ox recording of a child's gardener versus