From Wonder World.

Out of Wonder World I think you come;
For in your eyes the wonder comes with you.
The stars are the windows of Heaven,
And sometimes I think you peep through.
Oh, little girl, tell us do the Flowers
Tell you secrets when they find you all alone?
Or the Birds and Butterflies whisper
Of things to us unknown?

Or do angel voices speak to you so softly,
When we only hear a little wind sigh;
And the peaceful dew of Heaven fall upon you
When we only see a white cloud passing by?

Kate Greenaway

Kate Greenaway was a renowned English Victorian artist and writer known for her children's book illustrations. Her work, characterized by quaint, nostalgic depictions of children and rural life, achieved remarkable popularity in the late 19th century. Greenaway's unique style, often inspired by Regency-era fashion, has had a lasting influence on children's literature and illustration.

Kate Greenaway

On The Bridge.

Kate Greenaway, Simple Poetry

Happy Days.

Kate Greenaway, Simple Poetry

Tip-A-Toe.

Kate Greenaway, Simple Poetry

When We Went Out With Grandmamma.

Kate Greenaway, Simple Poetry

English

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My Little Girlie.

Little girlie tell to me
What your wistful blue eyes see?
Why you like to stand so high,
Looking at the far off sky.

Does a tiny Fairy flit
In the pretty blue of it?
Or is it that you hope so soon
To see the rising yellow Moon?

Or is it as I think I've heard
You're looking for a little Bird
To come and sit upon a spray,
And sing the summer night away?

Kate Greenaway

My Garden

Only the commonest flowers
    Grow in my garden small,
Like buttercups, and bouncing-bets,
    And hollyhocks by the wall,
And sunflowers nodding their stately heads,
    Like grenadiers so tall.
But the purple pansy grows beneath--
    The sweetest flower of all--

And tiny feathery filmy ferns
    You scarce can see at all,
Fleck the shady side of the stones,
    So dainty, fine and small

Only the commonest flowers
    Grow in this garden of mine,
The larkspur flaunting her sky-blue cap,
    And the twinkling celandine
Shakes her jewels of freckled gold,
    And drinks her honey-wine,
Making a cup of her lucent stem,
    So slender and so fine.

You hear the waves that dimple and slide,
    Slide and shimmer and shin...

Kate Seymour Maclean

Little Girls And Little Lambs.

In the May-time flowers grow;
Little girls in meadows go;
Little lambs frisk with delight,
And in the green grass sleep at night.
Little birds sing all the day,
Oh, in such a happy way!
All the day the sun is bright,
Little stars shine all the night.
The Cowslip says to the Primrose,
"How soft the little Spring wind blows!"
The Daisy and the Buttercup
Sing every time that they look up.
For beneath the sweet blue sky
They see a pretty Butterfly;
The Butterfly, when he looks down,
Says, "What a pretty Flower Town!"

Kate Greenaway

Two Windows.

I.


One looks into the sun lawn, and the steep
    Curved slopes of hills, set sharp against the sky,
    With tufted woods encinctured, waving high
O'er vales below, where broken shadows sleep.
    Here, looking forth before the first faint cry
    Of mother-bird, fluttering a drowsy wing
Above her brood, awakes the full-voiced choir,
Ere yet the morning tips the hills with fire,
    And turns the drapery of the east to gold,
    My wondering eyes the opening heavens behold,
Where far within deep calleth unto deep,
    And the whole world stands hushed and worshipping.
Even thus,--I muse,--shall heaven's gates unfold,
    When earth beholds the coming of her King.


II.


This opens on the sunset, and the sea
    From its h...

Kate Seymour Maclean

To The Sun Door.

They saw it rise in the morning,
They saw it set at night,
And they longed to go and see it,
Ah! if they only might.

The little soft white clouds heard them,
And stepped from out of the blue;
And each laid a little child softly
Upon its bosom of dew.

And they carried them higher and higher,
And they nothing knew any more
Until they were standing waiting
In front of the round gold door.

And they knocked, and called, and entreated,
Whoever should be within;
But all to no purpose, for no one
Would hearken to let them in.

Kate Greenaway

The Wonder Maker

Come, if thou'rt cold to Summer's charms,
Her clouds of green, her starry flowers,
And let this bird, this wandering bird,
Make his fine wonder yours;
He, hiding in the leaves so green,
When sampling this fair world of ours,
Cries cuckoo, clear; and like Lot's wife,
I look, though it should cost my life.

When I can hear that charmed one's voice,
I taste of immortality;
My joy's so great that on my heart
Doth lie eternity,
As light as any little flower,
So strong a wonder works in me;
Cuckoo! he cries, and fills my soul
With all that's rich and beautiful.

William Henry Davies