The Little Brown Owl

The little brown owl sits up in the Tree,
And if you look well
His big eyes you may see.
He says Whit a whoo, when the night grows dark,
And he hears the dogs
and the little foxes bark.

Clara Doty Bates

Clara Doty Bates was an American author best known for her children's poetry and literature. Born on December 22, 1838, in Ann Arbor, Michigan, she made significant contributions to children's literature in the late 19th century. She married Morgan Bates, a journalist and playwright. Throughout her career, she published several books and contributed to various children's magazines. Clara passed away on October 14, 1895.

Clara Doty Bates

Foolish Bobolink.

Clara Doty Bates, Simple Poetry

Goody Two-Shoes.

Clara Doty Bates, Simple Poetry

The Three Little Pigs

Clara Doty Bates, 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.

Little Red Riding-Hood.

Versified by Mrs. Clara Doty Bates.


If you listen, children, I will tell
The story of little Red Riding-hood:
Such wonderful, wonderful things befell
Her and her grandmother, old and good
(So old she was never very well),
Who lived in a cottage in a wood.

Little Red Riding-hood, every day,
Whatever the weather, shine or storm,
To see her grandmother tripped away,
With a scarlet hood to keep her warm,
And a little mantle, soft and gay,
And a basket of goodies on her arm.

A pat of butter, and cakes of cheese,
Were stored in the napkin, nice and neat;
As she danced along beneath the trees,
As light as a shadow were her feet;
And she hummed such tunes as the bumble-bees
Hum when the clover-tops are sweet.

But an ugly wo...

Clara Doty Bates

The Owls - (Twelve Translations From Charles Baudelaire)

    'Neath their black yews in solemn state
        The owls are sitting in a row
        Like foreign gods; and even so
    Blink their red eyes; they meditate.

    Quite motionless they hold them thus
        Until at last the day is done,
        And driving down the slanting sun,
    The sad night is victorious.

    They teach the wise who gives them ear
    That in this world he most should fear
        All things which loud or restless be.

    Who, dazzled by a passing shade,
        Follows it, never will be free
    Till the dread penalty be paid.

John Collings Squire, Sir

What The Owl Said To Me.

The moon went under a ragged cloud,
    The owl cried out of the ruined wall,
Slow and solemn, distinct and loud,
    His melancholy call:
Tu-whit, tu-whit, tu-whoo!
Like a creature in a shroud.

Across the night in a silver chain,
    While a lonesome wind arose and died,
Slow stepped the ghostly feet of the rain;
    The owl from the wall replied:
Tu-whit, tu-whoo, hoo-hoo'
    With a peal of goblin laughter,
    And silence fell thereafter.

Weird fingers of the wandering rain,
    Reaching out of the hollow dark,
Paused and tapped at my window-pane,--
    A muffled voice cried, Hark!
Tu-whit, tu-whit, tu-whoo!
    The moon is drowned in the dark,
And the world belongs to me and you!

Kate Seymour Maclean

The Owlet

I.

When dusk is drowned in drowsy dreams,
And slow the hues of sunset die;
When firefly and moth go by,
And in still streams the new-moon gleams,
A sickle in the sky;
Then from the hills there comes a cry,
The owlet's cry;
A shivering voice that sobs and screams,
That, frightened, screams:

"Who is it, who is it, who?
Who rides through the dusk and dew,
With a pair o' horns,
As thin as thorns,
And face a bubble blue?
Who, who, who!
Who is it, who is it, who?"

II.

When night has dulled the lily's white,
And opened wide the primrose eyes;
When pale mists rise and veil the skies,
And 'round the height in whispering flight
The night-wind sounds and sighs;
Then in the woods again it cries,
The owlet cri...

Madison Julius Cawein

Nursery Rhyme. CLVI. Songs.

        [The following lines are part of an old song, the whole of which may be found in 'Deuteromelia,' 1609, and also in MS. Additional, 5336, fol. 5.]

    Of all the gay birds that e'er I did see,
    The owl is the fairest by far to me;
    For all the day long she sits on a tree,
    And when the night comes away flies she.

Unknown

The Owlet

I.

When dusk is drowned in drowsy dreams,
And slow the hues of sunset die;
When firefly and moth go by,
And in still streams the new moon seems
Another moon and sky:
Then from the hills there comes a cry,
The owlet's cry:
A shivering voice that sobs and screams,
With terror screams:
"Who is it, who is it, who-o-o?
Who rides through the dusk and dew,
With a pair of horns,
As thin as thorns,
And face a bubble-blue?
Who, who, who!
Who is it, who is it, who-o-o?"

II.

When night has dulled the lily's white,
And opened wide the moonflower's eyes;
When pale mists rise and veil the skies,
And round the height in whispering flight
The night-wind sounds and sighs:
Then in the wood again it cries,
The owlet cries:...

Madison Julius Cawein