Nursery Rhymes and Poems

The gates of fame are open wide,
Its halls are always full;
And some go in by the door marked Push
And some by the door marked Pull.

The fortunes of war I tell you plain
Are a wooden leg, or a golden chain.

Goodness Gracious, what a bore!
Why will they not heed the door?
Here I pull with might and main,
But alas ‘tis all in vain.
Just because it rains like fun
I, a foolish thing, have done,
Come away without my key,
How could I so stupid be!
Bless the thing! What can I do!
My forgetfulness I rue!
As if mad I pull the [...]

The fair maid who, the first of May,
Goes to the fields at break of day,
And washes in dew from the hawthorn-tree,
Will ever after handsome be.

Sway to and fro in the twilight gray;
This is the ferry for Shadowtown;
It always sails at the end of the day,
Just as the darkness closes down.
Rest, little head, on my shoulder so
A sleepy kiss is the only fare;
Drifting away from the world we go,
Baby and I in the rocking char.
See, where the fire logs glow [...]

A farmer went trotting upon his gray mare,
Bumpety, bumpety, bump!
With his daughter behind him so rosy and fair,
Lumpety, lumpety, lump!
A raven cried croak! and they all tumbled down,
Bumpety, bumpety, bump!
The mare broke her knees, and the farmer his crown,
Lumpety, lumpety, lump!
The mischievous raven flew laughing away,
Bumpety, bumpety, bump!
And vowed he would serve them the same [...]

Come, cuddle close in Daddy’s coat
Beside the fire so bright,
And hear about the fairy folk
That wander in the night.
For when the stars are shining clear
And all the world is still
They float across the silver moon
From hill to cloudy hill.
Their caps of red, their clocks of green,
Are hung with silver bells,
And when they’re shaken with the [...]

THE fair maid who the First of May
Goes to the fields at break of day,
And washes in dew from the hawthorn tree,
Will ever after handsome be.

Margaret wrote a letter,
Sealed it with her finger,
Threw it in the dam
For the dusty miller.
Dusty was his coat,
Dusty was the siller,
Dusty was the kiss
I’d from the dusty miller.
If I had my pockets
Full of gold and siller,
I would give it all
To my dusty miller.

Add four and two and four and three–
Oh dear! these sums do puzzle me.
I cannot add up any more
Than ten, that’s four and two and four.
For I have only fingers ten,
And though I try and try again,
I cannot add up ten and three–
My fingers are too few, you see.