A Song For Two Children.

"Make a song, father, a new little song,
        All for Jenny and Nancy."
    Balow lalow or Hey derry down,
        Or else what might you fancy?

    Is there any song sweet enough
        For Nancy and for Jenny?
    Said Simple Simon to the pieman,
        "Indeed I know not any."

"I've counted the miles to Babylon,
        I've flown the earth like a bird,
    I've ridden cock-horse to Banbury Cross,
        But no such song have I heard."

"Some speak of Alexander,
        And some of Hercules,
    But where are there any like Nancy and Jenny,
        Where are there any like these?"

Robert von Ranke Graves

Robert von Ranke Graves was a British poet, historical novelist, critic, and classicist. His father was Alfred Perceval Graves, a distinguished Irish poet and figure in the Gaelic revival. Known for his war poetry, love poems, and scholarly works, he created a lasting literary legacy, including his interpretations of the Greek myths. Graves was also a soldier in World War I, an experience that profoundly influenced his writing.

Robert von Ranke Graves

The "Alice Jean".

Robert von Ranke Graves, Simple Poetry

To Lucasta On Going To The War, For The Fourth Time

Robert von Ranke Graves, Simple Poetry

The Cruel Moon

Robert von Ranke Graves, Simple Poetry

Two Fusiliers

Robert von Ranke Graves, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Baloo Loo For Jenny.

Sing baloo loo for Jenny
    And where is she gone?
Away to spy her mother's land,
    Riding all alone.

To the rich towns of Scotland,
    The woods and the streams,
High upon a Spanish horse
    Saddled for her dreams.

By Oxford and by Chester,
    To Berwick-on-the-Tweed,
Then once across the borderland
    She shall find no need.

A loaf for her at Stirling,
    A scone at Carlisle,
Honeyed cakes at Edinbro',
    That shall make her smile.

At Aberdeen clear cider,
    Mead for her at Nairn,
A cup of wine at John o' Groats,
    That shall please my bairn.

Sing baloo loo for Jenny,
    Mother will be fain
To see her little truant child
    Riding home again.

Robert von Ranke Graves

Nursery Rhyme. CCCXXXII. Games.

        [A stands with a row of girls (her daughters) behind her; B, a suitor, advances.]

    B.    Trip trap over the grass: If you please will you let one of
                        your [eldest] daughters come,
                Come and dance with me?
                I will give you pots and pans, I will give you brass,
                I will give you anything for a pretty lass.
    A.    says, "No."
    B.    I will give you gold and silver, I will give you pearl,
                I will give you anything for a pretty girl.
    A.    Take one, take one, the fairest you may see.
    B.    The fairest one that I can see
                Is pretty Nancy, - come to me.

        [B carries one off, and says:]

                You shall have a duck, my dear,
...

Unknown

Old English Lullaby

Hush, bonnie, dinna greit;
Moder will rocke her sweete,--
Balow, my boy!
When that his toile ben done,
Daddie will come anone,--
Hush thee, my lyttel one;
Balow, my boy!

Gin thou dost sleepe, perchaunce
Fayries will come to daunce,--
Balow, my boy!
Oft hath thy moder seene
Moonlight and mirkland queene
Daunce on thy slumbering een,--
Balow, my boy!

Then droned a bomblebee
Saftly this songe to thee:
"Balow, my boy!"
And a wee heather bell,
Pluckt from a fayry dell,
Chimed thee this rune hersell:
"Balow, my boy!"

Soe, bonnie, dinna greit;
Moder doth rock her sweete,--
Balow, my boy!
Give mee thy lyttel hand,
Moder will hold it and
Lead thee to balow land,--
Balow, my boy!

Eugene Field

A Ballad Of Nursery Rhyme

Strawberries that in gardens grow
Are plump and juicy fine,
But sweeter far as wise men know
Spring from the woodland vine.

No need for bowl or silver spoon,
Sugar or spice or cream,
Has the wild berry plucked in June
Beside the trickling stream.

One such to melt at the tongue's root,
Confounding taste with scent,
Beats a full peck of garden fruit:
Which points my argument.

May sudden justice overtake
And snap the froward pen,
That old and palsied poets shake
Against the minds of men;

Blasphemers trusting to hold caught
In far-flung webs of ink
The utmost ends of human thought,
Till nothing's left to think.

But may the gift of heavenly peace
And glory for all time
Keep the boy Tom who tending geese

Robert von Ranke Graves

Nursery Rhyme. CXLII. Songs.

    My father he died, but I can't tell you how,
    He left me six horses to drive in my plough:
                With my wing wang waddle oh,
                Jack sing saddle oh,
                Blowsey boys bubble oh,
                Under the broom.

    I sold my six horses and I bought me a cow;
    I'd fain have made a fortune but did not know how:
            With my, &c.

    I sold my cow, and I bought me a calf;
    I'd fain have made a fortune, but lost the best half:
            With my, &c.

    I sold my calf, and I bought me a cat;
    A pretty thing she was, in my chimney corner sat:
            With my, &c.

    I sold my cat, and bought me a mouse;
    He carried fire in his tail, and burnt down my house:
...

Unknown

Nursery Rhyme. CXLVII. Songs.

    Johnny shall have a new bonnet,
        And Johnny shall go to the fair,
    And Johnny shall have a blue ribbon
        To tie up his bonny brown hair.
    And why may not I love Johnny?
        And why may not Johnny love me?
    And why may not I love Johnny
        As well as another body?
    And here's a leg for a stocking,
        And here is a leg for a shoe,
    And he has a kiss for his daddy,
        And two for his mammy, I trow.
    And why may not I love Johnny?
        And why may not Johnny love me?
    And why may not I love Johnny,
        As well as another body?

Unknown