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

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

Wishes.

Kate Greenaway, Simple Poetry

The Dancing Family.

Kate Greenaway, Simple Poetry

At School.

Kate Greenaway, Simple Poetry

The Cats Have Come To Tea.

Kate Greenaway, 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.

The Little London Girl.

In my little Green House, quite content am I,
When the hot sun pours down from the sky;
For oh, I love the country the beautiful country.
Who'd live in a London street when there's the country?

I live in a London street, then I long and long
To be the whole day the sweet Flowers among
Instead of tall chimney-pots up in the sky,
The joy of seeing Birds and Dragon Flies go by.

At home I lie in bed, and cannot go to sleep,
For the sound of cart-wheels upon the hard street.
But here my eyes close up to no sound of anything
Except it is to hear the nightingales sing.

And then I see the Chickens and the Geese go walking,
I hear the Pigs and the Ducks all talking.
And the Red and the Spotted Cows they stare at me,
As if they wondered whoever I could be.<...

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

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

O Come To The Meadows.

O come to the meadows! I'll show you where
    Primrose and violet blow,
And the hawthorn spreads its blossoms fair,
    White as the driven snow.
I'll show you where the daisies dot
    With silver stars the lea,
The orchis, and forget-me-not,
    The flower of memory!

The gold-cup and the meadow-sweet,
    That love the river's side,
The reed that bows the wave to meet,
    And sighs above the tide.
The stately flag that gaily rears
    Aloft its yellow crest,
The lily in whose cup the tears
    Of morn delight to rest.

The first in Nature's dainty wreath,
    We'll cull the brier-rose,
The crowfoot and the purple heath,
    And pink that sweetly blows.
The hare-bell with its airy flowers
    Shall deck my Laura's breast,...

Susanna Moodie

With A Bunch Of Spring Flowers.

(In an Album.)


In the spring-time, out of the dew,
    From my garden, sweet friend, I gather,
    A garland of verses, or rather
A poem of blossoms for you.

There are pansies, purple and white,
    That hold in their velvet splendour,
    Sweet thoughts as fragrant and tender,
And rarer than poets can write.

The Iris her pennon unfurls,
    My unspoken message to carry,
    A flower-poem writ by a fairy,
And Buttercups rounder than pearls.

And Snowdrops starry and sweet,
    Turn toward thee their pale pure faces
    And Crocus, and Cowslips, and Daisies
The song of the spring-time repeat.

So merry and full of cheer,
    With the warble of birds overflowing,
    The wind through the fresh grass blowing
A...

Kate Seymour Maclean

Spring's Nosegay

The prim daisy's golden eye
On the fallow land doth lie,
Though the Spring is just begun:
Pewits watch it all the day,
And the skylark's nest of hay
Is there by its dried leaves in the sun.

There the pilewort, all in gold,
'Neath the ridge of finest mould,
Blooms to cheer the ploughman's eye:
There the mouse his hole hath made,
And 'neath the golden shade
Hides secure when the hawk is prowling by.

Here's the speedwell's sapphire blue:
Was there anything more true
To the vernal season still?
Here it decks the bank alone,
Where the milkmaid throws a stone
At noon, to cross the rapid, flooded rill.

Here the cowslip, chill with cold,
On the rushy bed behold,
It looks for sunshine all the day.
Here the honey bee will come,...

John Clare