On The Bridge.

If I could see a little fish
That is what I just now wish!
I want to see his great round eyes
Always open in surprise.

I wish a water rat would glide
Slowly to the other side;
Or a dancing spider sit
On the yellow flags a bit.

I think I'll get some stones to throw,
And watch the pretty circles show.
Or shall we sail a flower-boat,
And watch it slowly slowly float?

That's nice because you never know
How far away it means to go;
And when to-morrow comes, you see,
It may be in the great wide sea.

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

Blue Shoes.

Kate Greenaway, Simple Poetry

A Genteel Family.

Kate Greenaway, Simple Poetry

To Mystery Land.

Kate Greenaway, Simple Poetry

The Wedding Bells.

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.

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

Miss Molly And The Little Fishes.

Oh, sweet Miss Molly,
You're so fond
Of Fishes in a little Pond.
And perhaps they're glad
To see you stare
With such bright eyes
Upon them there.
And when your fingers and your thumbs
Drop slowly in the small white crumbs
I hope they're happy. Only this
When you've looked long enough, sweet miss.
Then, most beneficent young giver,
Restore them to their native river.

Kate Greenaway

The Bridge

I stood on the bridge at midnight,
    As the clocks were striking the hour,
And the moon rose o'er the city,
    Behind the dark church-tower.

I saw her bright reflection
    In the waters under me,
Like a golden goblet falling
    And sinking into the sea.

And far in the hazy distance
    Of that lovely night in June,
The blaze of the flaming furnace
    Gleamed redder than the moon.

Among the long, black rafters
    The wavering shadows lay,
And the current that came from the ocean
    Seemed to lift and bear them away;

As, sweeping and eddying through them,
Rose the belated tide,
And, streaming into the moonlight,
    The seaweed floated wide.

And like those waters rushing
    Among the wooden piers,

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The Bridge Of Cloud

Burn, O evening hearth, and waken
    Pleasant visions, as of old!
Though the house by winds be shaken,
    Safe I keep this room of gold!

Ah, no longer wizard Fancy
    Builds her castles in the air,
Luring me by necromancy
    Up the never-ending stair!

But, instead, she builds me bridges
    Over many a dark ravine,
Where beneath the gusty ridges
    Cataracts dash and roar unseen.

And I cross them, little heeding
    Blast of wind or torrent's roar,
As I follow the receding
    Footsteps that have gone before.

Naught avails the imploring gesture,
    Naught avails the cry of pain!
When I touch the flying vesture,
    'T is the gray robe of the rain.

Baffled I return, and, leaning
    O'er the parapets ...

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Wishing--Fishing.

I.

Full well I know that wishing never yet has brought
    The things that seem to us would satisfy the heart,
And that anticipated pleasure, when at last 'tis caught,
    Has naught but transitory solace to impart;
And yet, somehow, I've ever felt and thought
    A joy there is that never can depart--
(As long as we are capable of feeling--wishing)--
    And that's to leave dull care behind, and--go a-fishing!


II.

Some dream of wealth--of place--of fame--
    And fleeting shadows vainly they pursue;
And some have sighed to win a deathless name
    Where fields of carnage corpses thickly strew,
And shrieks of agony are heard 'mid smoke and flame;
    But these are dizzy heights attained by few;
So, when Dame Fortune is her favors dishin...

George W. Doneghy

Under Rose Arches.

Under Rose Arches to Rose Town
Rose Town on the top of the hill;
For the Summer wind blows and music goes,
And the violins sound shrill.

Twist and twine Roses and Lilies,
And little leaves green,
Fit for a queen;
Twist and twine Roses and Lilies.

Oh, Roses shall be for her carpet,
And her curtains of Roses so fair;
And a Rosy crown, while far adown
Floats her long golden hair.

Twist and twine Roses and Lilies,
And all the bells ring,
And all the people sing;
Twist and twine Roses and Lilies.

Kate Greenaway