Little Iack Horner

Little Jack Horner sat in a corner,
Eating a Christmas pie;
He put in his thumb, and pulled out a plum,
And said, "What a good boy am I!"

Walter Crane

Walter Crane was an English artist and book illustrator, considered to be one of the most prolific and influential children's book creators of his generation. Born on August 15, 1845, and passing away on March 14, 1915, he was part of the Arts and Crafts movement and is known for his innovative contributions to children's literature. His work often combined art and poetry, aiming to educate and delight young readers.

Walter Crane

Hot And Cold

Walter Crane, Simple Poetry

Tom, The Piper's Son

Walter Crane, Simple Poetry

Hercules & The Waggoner

Walter Crane, Simple Poetry

The Snake & The File

Walter Crane, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

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Nursery Rhyme. LXXV. Tales.

        [The tale of Jack Horner has long been appropriated to the nursery. The four lines which follow are the traditional ones, and they form part of 'The pleasant History of Jack Horner, containing his witty Tricks and pleasant Pranks, which he plaied from his Youth to his riper Years,' 12mo, a copy of which is in the Bodleian Library, and this extended story is in substance the same with 'The Fryer and the Boy,' 12mo, Lond. 1617, and both of them are taken from the more ancient story of 'Jack and his Step-dame,' which has been printed by Mr. Wright.]

    Little Jack Horner sat in the corner,
        Eating a Christmas pie;
    He put in his thumb, and he took out a plum,
        And said, "What a good boy am I!"

Unknown

Aiken Drum

There was a man lived in the moon, lived in the moon,
lived in the moon,
There was a man lived in the moon,
And his name was Aiken Drum,
And he played upon a ladle, a ladle, a ladle,
And he played upon a ladle,
And his name was Aiken Drum.

And his hat was made of good cream cheese,
And his name, &c.

And his coat was made of good roast beef,
And his name, &c.

And his buttons were made of penny loaves,
And his name, &c.

His waistcoat was made of crust of pies,
And his name, &c.

His breeches were made of haggis bags,
And his name, &c.

There was a man in another town,
And his name was Willy Wood;
And he played upon a razor,
And his name was Willy Wood.

And he ate up all the good...

Walter Crane

The Absurd ABC

A for the APPLE
or Alphabet pie,
Which all get a slice of.
Come taste it & try.

B is the BABY
who gave Mr Bunting
Full many a long day's
rabbit skin hunting.

C for the CAT
that played on the fiddle,
When cows jumped higher than
'Heigh Diddle Diddle!'

D for the DAME
with her pig at the stile,
'Tis said they got over,
but not yet a while.


E for the Englishman,
ready to make fast
The giant who wanted to
have him for breakfast.

F for the Frog in the story
you know,
Begun with a wooing but
ending in woe.

G for Goosey Gander
who wandered upstairs,
And met the old man
who objected to prayers.


H for poor Humpty who
after his fall,
Felt oblige...

Walter Crane

The Three Little Kittens

There were three little kittens
Put on their mittens
To eat some Christmas pie.
Mew, mew,
Mew, mew,
Mew, mew, mew.

These three little kittens
They lost their mittens,
And all began to cry.
Mew, mew, &c.

"Go, go, naughty kittens,
And find your mittens,
Or you shan't have any pie."
Mew, mew, &c.

These three little kittens
They found their mittens,
And joyfully they did cry.
Mew, mew, &c.

"O Granny, dear!
Our mittens are here,
Make haste and cut up the pie!"
Purr-rr, purr-rr, purr-rr-rr.

Walter Crane

Jack-In-The-Box

(Grandfather, musing.)


In childish days! O memory,
You bring such curious things to me! -
Laughs to the lip - tears to the eye,
In looking on the gifts that lie
Like broken playthings scattered o'er
Imagination's nursery floor!
Did these old hands once click the key
That let "Jack's" box-lid upward fly,
And that blear-eyed, fur-whiskered elf
Leap, as though frightened at himself,
And quiveringly lean and stare
At me, his jailer, laughing there?

A child then! Now - I only know
They call me very old; and so
They will not let me have my way, -
But uselessly I sit all day
Here by the chimney-jamb, and poke
The lazy fire, and smoke and smoke,
And watch the wreaths swoop up the flue,
And chuckle - ay, I often do -
Se...

James Whitcomb Riley

Taste

I can't understand why you pass up the toys
That Santa considered just right for small boys;
I can't understand why you turn up your nose
At dogs, hobby-horses, and treasures like those,
And play a whole hour, sometimes longer than that,
With a thing as prosaic as daddy's old hat.

The tables and shelves have been loaded for you
With volumes of pictures - they're pretty ones, too -
Of birds, beasts, and fishes, and old Mother Goose
Repines in a corner and feels like the deuce,
While you, on the floor, quite contentedly look
At page after page of the telephone book.

Ringgold Wilmer Lardner