Loving John.

John went into the garden one day
    And found his baby sister at play;

John hit baby with a brick
    And laughed because it made her sick.

John is only two and six
    And loves to do these funny tricks.

Edwin C. Ranck

Edwin C. Ranck was an American lyricist noted for his work in the early 20th century. He was a prolific writer and his lyrics were often characterized by their humor and wit. One of his standout works is the poem 'The Optimist', which reflects his positive outlook on life. Beyond that, little is known about his personal life or career. He remains a somewhat obscure figure in literary history.

Edwin C. Ranck

Oh Scissors!

Edwin C. Ranck, Simple Poetry

A Hand-Me-Down.

Edwin C. Ranck, Simple Poetry

If I Were City Editor.

Edwin C. Ranck, Simple Poetry

You Couldn't Hardly Notice It At All.

Edwin C. Ranck, 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.

Nursery Rhyme. CCCCLXXXII. Love And Matrimony.

    Little John Jiggy Jag,
    He rode a penny nag,
        And went to Wigan to woo;
    When he came to a beck,
    He fell and broke his neck, -
        Johnny, how dost thou now?

    I made him a hat,
    Of my coat-lap,
        And stockings of pearly blue.
    A hat and a feather,
    To keep out cold weather;
        So, Johnny, how dost thou now?

Unknown

John

    He's a boy,
And that's the long and (chiefly) the short of it,
And the point of it and the wonderful sport of it;
    A two-year-old with a taste for a toy,
    And two chubby fists to clutch it and grasp it,
    And two fat arms to embrace it and clasp it;
    And a short stout couple of sturdy legs
    As hard and as smooth as ostrich eggs;
    And a jolly round head, so fairly round
    You could easily roll it,
    Or take it and bowl it
    With never a bump along the ground.

And, as to his cheeks, they're also fat -
I've seen them in ancient prints like that,
    Where a wind-boy high
    In a cloudy sky
    Is puffing away for all he's worth,
    Uprooting the trees
    With a reckless breeze,
    And strewing them over the pati...

R. C. Lehmann

Nursery Rhyme. CCXCI. Games.

    Is John Smith within? -
    Yes, that he is.
    Can he set a shoe? -
    Ay, marry, two,
    Here a nail, there a nail,
    Tick, tack, too.

Unknown

Dad's Lad.

Little patt'rin, clatt'rin feet,
Runnin raand throo morn to neet;
Banishin mi mornin's nap, -
Little bonny, noisy chap, -
But aw can't find fault yo see, -
For he's Dad's lad an he loves me.

He loves his mother withaat daat,
Tho' shoo gies him monny a claat;
An he says, "Aw'll tell mi Dad,"
Which ov coorse maks mother mad;
Then he snoozles on her knee,
For shoo loves him 'coss shoo loves me.

He's a bother aw'll admit,
But he'll alter in a bit;
An when older grown, maybe,
He'll a comfort prove to me,
An mi latter days mak glad,
For aw know he's Daddy's lad.

If he's aght o' sect a minnit,
Ther's some mischief, an he's in it,
When he's done it then he'll flee;
An for shelter comes to me.
What can aw do but shield my...

John Hartley

John And Jane

I

He sees the world as a boisterous place
Where all things bear a laughing face,
And humorous scenes go hourly on,
Does John.

II

They find the world a pleasant place
Where all is ecstasy and grace,
Where a light has risen that cannot wane,
Do John and Jane.

III

They see as a palace their cottage-place,
Containing a pearl of the human race,
A hero, maybe, hereafter styled,
Do John and Jane with a baby-child.

IV

They rate the world as a gruesome place,
Where fair looks fade to a skull's grimace, -
As a pilgrimage they would fain get done -
Do John and Jane with their worthless son.

Thomas Hardy

To Anna Three Years Old

My Anna, summer laughs in mirth,
And we will of the party be,
And leave the crickets in the hearth
For green fields' merry minstrelsy.

I see thee now with little hand
Catch at each object passing bye,
The happiest thing in all the land
Except the bee and butterfly.

*    *    *    *    *

And limpid brook that leaps along,
Gilt with the summer's burnished gleam,
Will stop thy little tale or song
To gaze upon its crimping stream.

Thou'lt leave my hand with eager speed
The new discovered things to see--
The old pond with its water weed
And danger-daring willow tree,
Who leans an ancient invalid
Oer spots where deepest waters be.

In sudden shout and wild surprise
I hear thy simple wonderment,
As new things meet...

John Clare