Dream Blocks

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 41945 *** Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original lovely illustrations. See 41945-h.htm or 41945-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/41945/41945-h/41945-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/41945/41945-h.zip) Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive/American Libraries. See http://archive.org/details/dreamblocks00higg DREAM BLOCKS by AILEEN CLEVELAND HIGGINS [Illustration] Pictures by Jessie Willcox Smith Duffield & Company New York CONTENTS Page Dream Blocks 1 Stupid You 2 Anagrams 3 Doorsteps 4 The Big Clock 6 The New Dress 7 A Questioning 9 A Test 9 A Quandary 10 Spring Music 11 A Compromise 13 A Rainy Day 14 An Appeal to Science 15 The Runaway 17 Playmates 19 The Echo 21 The Sick Rose 22 Afternoon 23 The Wild 24 Bud Music 25 Frills 26 Gone Somewhere 27 The Chosen Dream 29 Home 30 Dawn 31 The City Tree 32 A Prayer 34 Cap and Bells 35 Summer's Passing 38 When You Wait 39 Punishment 40 First Pity 40 Night 41 Hover-Time 42 Treasure Craft 43 The Moon Path 45 The Ring Charm 45 ILLUSTRATIONS Facing Page Title Page ii Dream Blocks 1 Stupid You 2 Doorsteps 4 The Big Clock 6 A Quandary 10 A Rainy Day 14 The Runaway 18 The Sick Rose 22 Frills 26 Home 30 A Prayer 34 Summer's Passing 38 Punishment 40 Treasure Craft 44 [Illustration] Copyright 1908 by Duffield & Company Engravings by the Beck Engraving Co. Presswork by S. H. Burbank & Co. Philadelphia DREAM BLOCKS [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration: Copyright, 1908, by Duffield & Co.] [Illustration] DREAM-BLOCKS WITH dream-blocks I can build A castle to the sky. No one can shake it down, Though he may try and try, Except myself, and then, I make another one, And shape it as I please. This castle-building fun Nobody takes away, And what I like the best-- The dream-blocks change each day. STUPID YOU THERE is a shining thread To-day in my rose-bed-- A magic net the fairies have outspread To catch the dewy sweet--and yet you said It was a cobweb there instead! [Illustration: Copyright, 1908, by Duffield & Co.] ANAGRAMS TO-DAY when I played anagrams, I spelled a long word out-- A word named _sorrow_--then I tried To change it all about To make it spell another word. My mother said, "There is a way To make the sorrow-word spell peace." I've tried and tried, almost all day; I've turned the letters round and round, This way and that, to find out how, And yet I can not find the way, And supper time is coming now. DOORSTEPS I TAKE my broom and sweep my step, To make it smooth and brown; Then I sit down and wait with Jep Until the sun goes down. I think some day that I may see A little brownie elf Peep out of there, and speak to me, When I am by myself. I like my roses at the side, Much better than the flower-row Along your path where people ride. I leave my roses just to grow. I like the place that's broken, too, With splintered edges all around, And grasses growing right up through, That smell so fresh like dew and ground. Your steps are nice, but then my own Seem nicer somehow, just for me; Pine steps are more like home than stone, For once they lived and were a tree. [Illustration: Copyright, 1908, by Duffield and Co.] THE BIG CLOCK OUR Big Clock goes so slow, When I am waiting on the stairs, With nice, clean clothes on, dressed to go Out with Aunt Beth to see the bears And funny possums at the Zoo! But oh, at night how fast Our Big Clock goes! It's very rude To company, and when time's past When I must always go to bed, The hands just fly in wicked glee. It strikes out long ahead And makes them all look round at me. [Illustration: Copyright, 1908, by Duffield and Co.] THE NEW DRESS [Illustration] I HAVE a very pretty dress, It's made of pink and white, And there are ribbons on it, too, Which make it bright. And yet I think I like it less Than this dear other one-- The worn-out, patched-up blue I wear when I have fun. It clings to me as if it loved To have me wear it every day. The pink stands out so straight and stiff It's in my way. How can I get to know it well, When it's so _Sunday_-clean? Perhaps when it is old and stained With dust and grass, it will not seem So strange and dignified as now. But then I think I never _could_ make mud pies right If I had on my pink. A QUESTIONING I WONDER, when I die, If some one there will see, And hold me close, And take good care of me, As when I came on earth to be A little child? A TEST SOME day when I've had lots to eat, Then I should like to be A ragged beggar child, A little while, to see If you--and _you_--are kind. A QUANDARY WHEN they are tall and all grown up, I wonder where the children go? I wonder how one finds the place-- My mother says she doesn't know. The little boy that's I, must go To this strange meeting-place some day, When I outgrow my starchy kilts, And nursery things are put away. Must I go there quite by myself? How shall I find the proper door, That hides so close and shuts away The little children gone before? [Illustration: Copyright, 1908, by Duffield and Co.] [Illustration] SPRING MUSIC I HEARD a violin one day-- It sounded like the Spring; Like woolly lambs at play, Like baby birds that sing In snatches, when they're learning how. I know the one who played Could see pink blossoms on a bough, Where children came beneath its shade To make white clover in a crown. Then while they laughed there in the grass, Soft petals fluttered down; They hushed and saw some angels pass, With friendly eyes that smile-- The kind that I have often seen When mother sings awhile, Just as I go to sleep and dream. I held my breath and then there rose The last sweet note so high. I felt as when the sunshine goes-- I could not help but cry. A COMPROMISE WHEN I have done a Something Wrong, I feel ashamed to kneel and pray. But then the dark-time lasts so long, And God seems--oh, so far away!-- That when the lights are out awhile, I clamber out of bed once more And pour my pennies in a pile. ... I listen at the door, And then I get upon my knees, And whisper just for God to hear, To ask him, oh, just once more, _please_, Will he forgive and come back near, If I will make a promise _quick_ To give my pennies to the sick? A RAINY DAY WHEN I woke up and saw the rain In blurs upon the window-pane, I said I hated such a day, Because I couldn't run and play, Out in the sunshine and the grass. It's queer how such a day can pass So soon, before you know it 'most, And while I eat my milk and toast, Before I go to bed, I think I've never had a day so _pink_. Without the sun to make the shine, This whole day long has been just mine And Mother's, in the fireplace glow.-- Because it rained, it made it so. [Illustration: Copyright, 1908, by Duffield and Co.] AN APPEAL TO SCIENCE I WISH the clever men who made The whirly things with patents on, The telephone and phonograph, The watch that tells how far you've gone, Would just invent some bottled sleep That we could take at night, And then again when it grows light. It might keep little boys awake When there is company. All I should have to do, would be To pour a glass of sleep to take. The things I leave undone, Because I haven't time enough, The things I've only half begun-- My castle-house, my doll-queen's ruff-- I'd get quite finished in a day. I'd have some time left over, too. I'd have the chance to do new things. And first of all, I'd learn to play The games the flowers frolic through, Each afternoon, and I'd find who Has charge of yesterday. I think that made-to-order dreams Of rainbow-folk and orange-creams Would be much nicer than the kind Which on dark nights I always find. THE RUNAWAY THERE'S something that is calling me-- Far off from Here-- It calls for me to come and see, Away from Near. Sometimes it tinkles like a bell. Then echo songs above the blue, And sometimes silver whistles tell About a shining dream come true. This call sings low of wonder-worlds. It tells in runs and soft-blown trills Of hidden places near that line Where distance smooths the little hills. The call is begging me to come. It makes me dance and sing Along the meadow road, Far past the street's dust-ring. There's something waiting just for me, And I must go--_must go_, Away from houses here, to see, Where lights begin to glow. [Illustration] PLAYMATES TO-DAY I met a rabbit in the path Who stopped and looked at me, While I was laughing at a frog Hop sidewise from a bee. The little rabbit's eyes laughed too. He would have like to stay; And if my clothes had been like his, He might have come to play. I wish I had a rabbit dress, A furry one, from head to toe, Then I could go away with him From streets in line, all set just so. I think my clothes are stupid things To rob me of my friends, But then, the kind of playmate clothes I want, nobody lends! THE ECHO I LAUGHED in woods down where a brook Ran off with little leaps, An answer came from some fern-nook, And then another made me look Off in the dark tree-deeps. I ran to all the nooks to see If I could find the one Who heard me first, and answered me-- Each place was still as it could be, As far as I could run. Nurse said, "There's no one to be caught. It's just the echo's glee." But then I know that it was _not_! The little wood-elves all forgot, And laughed out loud with me. THE SICK ROSE THIS rose I picked, began to die, And so, I've brought it back again To where it used to live. I'll try To make it as it was--and then, I'll whisper to it how I care. Why _can't_ it grow now any more, A rose with other roses there, Upon the rosebush by the door? [Illustration: Copyright, 1908, by Duffield and Co.] [Illustration] AFTERNOON JUST since the night, the wind has won The last pink bud to open bloom. The long path whitens in the sun; All grown folks hunt a darkened room. Cool sweet of morning time is gone From all the leaves and grass. Here in this place the shade falls on, I wait for butterflies to pass. THE WILD I LOVE the gold-brown flutter-bird You caught for me; But from its song is gone a note I heard When it was free. And when I bring the lace-ferns home I can not bring The wood-charm too--the spell of that wee gnome Which makes birds sing. The trees you painted with your brush Are like the real, But that still harking of the soft leaf-hush You could not steal. It is the spirit of the wold--the same That's part of me,-- The gipsy wild of me without a name, Unhoused and free. BUD MUSIC I KNOW when little buds come out, And spread their colors all about, They make soft music--Yet it's true Most people never hear. Do you? There is the faintest, tinkly sound. Birds fly to listen all around, Then all the leaves stand just as still, And sunshine dances on the hill. FRILLS THE dainty frills upon my frocks Make me all twinkly smiles inside. I want to take my sweets around,-- A something in me says "Divide." I run to give my mother dear My nicest, clean-face kiss. I feed the sparrows on the steps, And think what others miss. I put some water on my fern; To every one I want to say Nice _velvet_ things. It is so queer That we can dress our moods away! [Illustration: Copyright, 1908, by Duffield and Co.] GONE SOMEWHERE [Illustration] ONE day a little boy, With a poor broken toy, And ragged clothes, went by. He looked as if he'd like to cry, To see my soldiers fine, In scarlet coats, so straight in line. Would he have liked to play with me, Here beneath my shady tree? I wonder, but I did not call him back again. I thought he'd come next day the same, And I would ask him in to play, And when he had to go away Give him my nicest toys-- The drum that makes the loudest noise, My whistle, and perhaps my sword, Or even my soldier hat with braids and cord. But though I watch here by the gate Until it grows quite dark and late, I never hear his footsteps there, The little boy is gone somewhere. THE CHOSEN DREAM IF I could choose a dream to-night, I'd choose a splendid dream About big soldiers in a fight,-- So real that it would seem A truly one not in a book, With flags and banners waving high And horses with a prancing look And powder smoke that filled the sky, And lots of swords to flash. Perhaps this dream would frighten me, More than a noisy game, If too much blood should splash, And any soldiers die. And yet I think I'd choose it just the same And then wake up and cry. HOME YOU think my home is up the street In that big house with lots of steps, All worn in places by our feet-- With tracks that look like mine and Jep's. You think it's where I always eat, Where I can find my spoon and bowl, My napkin folded clean and neat, And milk, and sometimes jelly-roll. You think it's where I always sleep, Where I get in my puffy bed, And fall right in a comfy heap, Some nights before my prayers are said. But that's not home--just roof and walls, A place that anybody buys, With shiny floors and stairs and halls.-- _My_ home is in my mother's eyes. [Illustration: Copyright, 1908, by Duffield and Co.] DAWN THERE are no sounds of feet Or wagons in the street, So still, so beautiful, With air so fresh and cool. I love the dawn to come-- But oh, I know that some Are not so glad as I,-- For they must wake to cry. THE CITY TREE A SOLEMN, dressed-up City Tree, As stiff and straight as it can be, All cut and trimmed and kept just so, Is trying very hard to grow Correctly, with its top so queer, In front of my big window here. It is not like my Country Tree, Good friend of every bird and bee, Who keep it merry company And always sing and talk to me. My Country Tree laughs all day long. Its fresh leaves whisper in a song Their secrets just for me to hear. Its branches lean so very near The ground, that grasses stretch and try To meet the boughs not swung too high. There is the place, the very best In all the world, to play and rest. The City Tree stands all alone Above the clean-swept pavement stone. No little children ever stay Beneath its trimmed-off shade to play-- They aren't brave enough to dare, Because it is so proper there. There are no lady-birds about; No crickets frolic in and out. The City Tree is very proud, It hasn't even looked or bowed. We're not at all acquainted yet-- It's just as if we'd never met. The days seem long--I wonder when I'll see my country tree again? A PRAYER DEAR God, may I _not_ dream The Dragon-dream to-night,-- And please do not forget To make it light On time again For me. Amen. [Illustration: Copyright, 1908, by Duffield and Co.] [Illustration] CAP AND BELLS THEY make me laugh and clap my hands When they run out in wide striped clothes Of white, with red and yellow bands, With pointed caps and pointed toes,-- The "funny men" at circus shows. I wish I knew just how a clown Can make his mouth up in a smile, And wrinkle in a crinkly frown His forehead all the while, In that queer circus style. [Illustration] One day when I had cried and cried Because I lost the picture book Which I had made, and mother tried To comfort me, we went and took A walk, to see how clown men look. I soon forgot my book, and though I loved it just the same, I couldn't cry and miss it so, And think about each picture's name When all the clown men came. [Illustration] I think we ought to say our thanks, To each of them who makes and sells Such fun and jokes, such jigs and pranks,-- How dull we'd be without the spells They make with cap and bells! SUMMER'S PASSING MY mother says that Summer's gone away. It seems so queer I didn't see her go, Or know till now; she didn't say good-bye-- And oh, I loved her so! Now that I know, I miss her all the time. To-day I found this piece torn from her gown. It fluttered softly down the path to me. Perhaps my nurse would call it thistledown, But grown folks often make such strange mistakes. Nobody knows such wonder-things as I. On fresh, dew mornings, when I used to play, Out where the friendly rose-hedge grows so high, The pinks and four-o'clocks would lean to me And tell me secrets of my Summer dear. It's lonesome now, and sad as it can be, Since Summer is no longer here. The Dark comes down so soon, and it is cold. I wait and watch the sunset track, But Mother says I'll be a year more old Before my Summer will come back. [Illustration: Copyright, 1908, by Duffield & Co.] WHEN YOU WAIT DO you know that when you wait To tell the truth, and fear-- Until it grows _almost_ too late-- God leans to hear? PUNISHMENT SOME days my doll-child is so bad, I have to whip her very hard. I put her in the corner there, And take away her picture-card. She's put to bed without a kiss. She doesn't have her way one bit, But then, _I_ am the one it hurts, And so what is the use of it? [Illustration: Copyright, 1908, by Duffield & Co.] FIRST PITY I'VE found a bird that's hurt. It flutters so and cries, Then looks its pain at me With such bright frightened eyes. Its feathers are so soft! How quiet it is now! I want to make it well-- I wish my hands knew how! NIGHT I DO not like to say good-night,-- I hate to shut my eyes, When fringe-beams of the stars and moon Make day-things play surprise. The night is such a wonder-world, I love it more than day. The Dark comes close and calls. That's why My prayers are hard to say. HOVER-TIME IT is the hover-time That comes between the light and dark. The little squirrels climb Into their nests in trees and hark To rustly leaves about. Far off, I hear new insect cries-- From things which never dare call out In daytime: they're afraid of _Eyes_. Out from the purply wood The first bat circles on the fly. Far things draw on a hood And shadows hide the place where sky And earth make dim their line. The trees change shape, and soon the gray Blurs into black; and that's the hour When dark comes down to stay. TREASURE CRAFT UPON the brook, for treasure-craft, I sail some petals, red and white; They always go away from me-- They float much faster in their flight, Than I can run along the bank. My precious wee bit things bear freight; Which very soon falls overboard, And sinks where miser-folk await To snatch my sparkling treasure-store. Perhaps the waters dash too high For such a little fleet of ships, And that may be the reason why My crafts do not return again. Still, I expect them any day. I've lost some things I love the best,-- My flower-chains and ribbons gay-- But, though I miss these pretty things, I love much more the sailing-fun, And launch new ships when morning sings, And rainbow mist floats in the sun. [Illustration: Copyright, 1908, by Duffield & Co.] THE MOON PATH IF I could walk along the path The moonlight makes upon the sea, I know that I should find the one Who sings the Silver Song to me. THE RING CHARM I HAVE a little charm A gypsy gave to me, To keep me safe from harm, So ugly things can't see When I am all alone. It keeps the 'Fraid all out When trees cry so, and moan, And throw their leaves about. It keeps away the Woops that creep About my bed when I'm asleep. And even by day my charm keeps anything From hurting me, and that is why I love my gypsy-ring More than the ones I buy. The gypsy put it on for me And said some words so strange I knew that they must be Some fairy charm to change The sad things into gay, And keep me safe and well. I wear it every day, For that's to keep the spell. Each morning when I wake, I kiss and turn my ring Three times for sake of luck These wishes bring. [Illustration] [Illustration: Copyright, 1908, by Duffield & Co.] *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 41945 ***