A Child's Garden

R. L. Stevenson - The Muse Among the Motors (1900-1930)


Now there is nothing wrong with me
Except, I think it's called T.B.
And that is why I have to lay
Out in the garden all the day.

Our garden is not very wide,
And cars go by on either side,
And make an angry-hooty noise
That rather startles little boys.

But worst of all is when they take
Me out in cars that growl and shake,
With charabancs so dreadful-near
I have to shut my eyes for fear.

But when I'm on my back again,
I watch the Croydon aeroplane
That flies across to France, and sings
Like hitting thick piano-strings.

When I am strong enough to do
The things I'm truly wishful to,
I'll never use a car or train
But always have an aeroplane;

And just go zooming round and round,
And frighten Nursey with the sound,
And see the angel-side of clouds,
And spit on all those motor-crowds!

Rudyard

Rudyard Kipling was an English journalist, short-story writer, poet, and novelist. He was born in British India, which inspired much of his work. His notable works include the novels 'The Jungle Book,' 'Kim,' and the poem 'If—.' Kipling was one of the most popular writers in the United Kingdom in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. He received the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1907, making him the youngest recipient of the award.

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English

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There was a landau deep and wide,
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I see the grass shake in the sun for leagues on either hand,
I see a river loop and run about a treeless land,
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I hear the summer storm outblown, the drip of the grateful wheat.
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It's good the great green earth to roam,
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Perhaps you're counted with the Great;
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My garden blazes brightly with the rose-bush and the peach,
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Me that 'ave been what I've been,
Me that 'ave gone where I've gone,
Me that 'ave seen what I've seen,
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And the parson an' gentry between,
An' touchin' my 'at when we meet,
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Me that 'ave watched 'arf a world
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When heavy on my tired mind
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And some sweet solace I would find,
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Ah! Then what solitude is mine -
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Their road is but a thin-drawn line:
Their busy house a scarce-seen roof.
That little stain of red and brown
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How small their petty quarrels seem!
Poor, crawling multitudes below;
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From place to place move to and fro!
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Assuming blindly they are right.

Soon their existence I forget,
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