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Read Ebook: The Bay and Padie Book Kiddie Songs by Maurice Furnley Dobbs Cyril Illustrator Hamilton Vera Illustrator
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Ebook has 178 lines and 10356 words, and 4 pages
THE SKY IN THE POOL
Down by the glassy pool Sand and water meet, There's a little wooden stool, Marks of little feet.
When the broth was in the bowl, Mother called to-day; Mother called and no one came, Someone was away.
Then there came a little boy, Whose broth was very cool, Stuttering in wonderment, "The sky is in the pool!"
And mother wept, because the clear Depths of all pool-skies, The soul's wonder, the heart's fear,
NEELY LORST
There's women and there's men as well and little baby things, And some haves only dresses on and some of 'em haves wings, They nibble dandelions for meat, they drink the bubble frorf, They never spill their cocoa-milk all down the table-clorf, They never cry because it hurts, they always eat their brorf.
Last night we heard a trumpet in the tea-tree down the street, And Padie left the table that was full of things to eat, He galloped for the music that seemed not so far away, And neely found the fairies where the trumpet used to play!
Our mother went and catched him and he neely wasn't found, He neely fell into the creek through looking round and round. A naughty sea-shell cutted him, he had a bleedy toe, He lorst one Sunday sandal and he didn't seem to know; He only stood and wondered why all fairies live in moons, And go home in the twilight with their trumpets blowing tunes.
A WHISPER SONG
When you're coming in the door, Please come gently, very gently! Micky might be on the floor! Fact, he might be anywhere! Near the hallstand, by the stair! Hush! step gently, very gently! When you're coming in the door.
Tip-toe, tip-toe, hush the noise, There's a wide-eye-whisper tune! Micky's making songs for boys Sleepy after the afternoon.
Anyone seen Micky here? Him that lives above the ceiling? Sometimes far and sometimes near Boys have heard his little squealing.
Hush you! Hush! I heard a patter On the 'randah in the wet! Now'n again we've heard him chatter, But we've never seen him yet.
Tip-toe, tip-toe, through the house, 'Round the pantry, down the hall! P'raps he's only just a mouse, P'raps he's nuffing real at all.
Hush you! Hush! I think I hear Just a little noise of humming! If you see him waiting near, Please don't whisper him we're coming.
Someone smashed the photo-lady; Who upset the pot of musk? Was it Micky? Was it Padie Hunting Micky in the dusk?
Anyone seen Micky, say, On the Coota-wattle perching? He might know and run away If he knows we're searching, searching.
When he talks to Bay and me, Micky doesn't seem to know It's too far for boys to see If he's in the trellis tree; It's too damp for boys to go Hunting in the grass below.
On the rafters in the night I've heard little footmarks trot; And I watch the candle light, Wondering if it's him or not.
Micky's always everywhere; Watches children while they sleeping; 'Round about the attic stair Sometimes mother saw him peeping.
Micky doesn't like much noise, He's a wide-eye whisper fairy; Very kind to girls and boys, Very shy and most contrary.
Tip-toe, tip-toe! Hush the noise! There's a wide-eye whisper tune! Micky's telling songs to boys Sleepy after the afternoon.
THE LADY NANCY
What's the gooder being good? Always every day Somefing comes and compradicks Everyfing I play.
I was digging in the garden And I digged me toe, Why do I do that for? I don't know!
Then I goes and chases Sufi, Sufi won't be chased: I falled over the wheelbarrow And hurted all me waist.
I tooks me little pictures out And laid them in a row, I told the wind to stop away And not come round and blow.
Up there comes a norful wind And brushed the lot away: Daddie, Gord's been 'noying me All this day.
THE HANGING SWORD
I used to stride like a warrior All hot for alarms, and game-- But I'm not the fellow I was before The little babies came.
Now, furtive 'mid the city's noise, I pause, I start, I flee! For what would happen to my little boys If a tram ran over me?
NONSENSE IMMORTAL
From France or Spain or the Himalayas, Out of the hearts of unknown loons, In toothless mouths of old soothsayers, On hairy lips of wandering players Come the lullabies, come the croons.
Lords have lashed and poets have pondered, Blood has flowed in the runnels deep, Beacons have broken and faiths been squandered; Through dank forests these songs have wandered Quietly crooning our babes to sleep.
Grandmother melodies, grandmother fancies, Crooned by the Oxus ever endure! Epics of valour and throne romances Have much honour and take big chances, But the clowns who sang for the babes are sure.
The goblin speaks while in old caves moulder Priest-made destinies and lord-made law, The goblin leered from the monarch's shoulder And, his sight being true and his young heart bolder, 'Twas only the goblin the baby saw!
So the god's death agonies are baby chatter! A ball on the floor of the nursery room The red earth rolls, for what can matter If old John Spratt licks clean his platter And the brown cows go to the broom?
THE ROAD OF NOW AND THEN
Tinkle, tinkle go the bells, King and prince and silver knight March through stories grandma tells When the winter fire's alight.
Down the Road of Stories ride People who have never died; Fairies float and trumpets blow, Pretty soldiers fence and bow, On the Road from Long Ago, Long Ago till Now.
Johnnie Fawkner sailed a boat, There's its picture in the book; Roses, wreaths and banners float 'Round the head of Captain Cook.
In the time when knights were bold Ladies rode with bells and chains, Horses rugged in white and gold, Feather-legged with plaited manes.
Singing, Watch Europa go, Wearing thinner clothes than silk. Riding from the cattle show On her bull as white as milk.
Sturt he led a caravan, Kelly made the bankers jump; Leichardt was a camel-man Riding on a camel-hump.
Down the Road of Stories march Gentle-folk and bullock-men, Cracking whips and wearing starch
Down the Road of Stories go All the people that we know. Oh! what wonders grandmas show, Spectacles on brow, 'Bout the Road from Long Ago, Long Ago, Long Ago, 'Bout the Road from Long Ago, Long Ago till Now.
SLEEP SONG
Half-past bunny-time, 'Possums by the moon; Tea and bread-and-honey time, Sleep-time soon.
Things that poets pant to see, The beautiful, the true, Are nothing to the phantasy The closed eyes view.
KITCHEN LULLABY
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