To Baby.

Oh, what shall my blue eyes go see?
Shall it be pretty Quack-Quack to-day?
Or the Peacock upon the Yew Tree?
Or the dear little white Lambs at play?
Say Baby.
For Baby is such a young Petsy,
And Baby is such a sweet Dear.
And Baby is growing quite old now
She's just getting on for a year.

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

In An Apple Tree.

Kate Greenaway, Simple Poetry

Baby Mine.

Kate Greenaway, Simple Poetry

Susan Blue.

Kate Greenaway, Simple Poetry

Street Show.

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.

Mammas And Babies.

"My Polly is so very good,
Belinda never cries;
My Baby often goes to sleep,
See how she shuts her eyes.

"Dear Mrs. Lemon tell me when
Belinda goes to school;
And what time does she go to bed?"
"Well, eight o'clock's the rule.

"But now and then, just for a treat,
I let her wait awhile;
You shake your head why, wouldn't you?
Do look at Baby's smile!"

"Dear Mrs. Primrose will you come
One day next week to tea?
Of course bring Rosalinda, and
That darling Rosalie."

"Dear Mrs. Cowslip, you are kind;
My little folks, I know,
Will be so very pleased to come;
Dears tell Mrs. Cowslip so.

"Oh, do you know perhaps you've not heard
She had a dreadful fright;
My Daisy with the measles
Kept me up every ...

Kate Greenaway

In a Garden

Baby, see the flowers!
- Baby sees
Fairer things than these,
Fairer though they be than dreams of ours.
Baby, hear the birds!
- Baby knows
Better songs than those,
Sweeter though they sound than sweetest words.
Baby, see the moon!
- Baby's eyes
Laugh to watch it rise,
Answering light with love and night with noon.
Baby, hear the sea!
- Baby's face
Takes a graver grace,
Touched with wonder what the sound may be.
Baby, see the star!
- Baby's hand
Opens, warm and bland,
Calm in claim of all things fair that are.
Baby, hear the bells!
- Baby's head
Bows, as ripe for bed,
Now the flowers curl round and close their cells.
Baby, flower of light,
Sleep, and see
Brighter dreams than we,
Till good day shall smile aw...

Algernon Charles Swinburne

Baby Mine.

Baby mine, over the trees;
Baby mine, over the flowers;
Baby mine, over the sunshine;
Baby mine, over the showers.

Baby mine, over the land;
Baby mine, over the water.
Oh, when had a mother before
Such a sweet such a sweet, little daughter!

Kate Greenaway

Little Phillis.

I am a very little girl,
I think that I've turned two;
And if you'd like to know my name
I'd like to tell it you.

They always call me Baby,
But Phillis is my name.
No no one ever gave it me,
I think it only came.

I've got a pretty tulip
In my little flower-bed;
If you would like I'll give it you
It's yellow, striped with red.

I've got a little kitten, but
I can't give that away,
She likes to play with me so much;
She's gone to sleep to-day.

And I've got a nice new dolly,
Shall I fetch her out to you?
She's got such pretty shoes on,
And her bonnet's trimmed with blue.

You'd like to take her home with you?
Oh, no, she mustn't go;
Good-bye I want to run now,
You walk along so slow.

Kate Greenaway

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

The Baby.

Pray, have you heard the news?
Sturdy in lungs and thews,
There's a fine baby!
Ring bells of crystal lip,
Wave boughs with blossoming tip;
Think what he may be!

Love cannot love enough,
Winter is never rough
All round such sweetness;
One of a million more
Sent to the glad heart's door
In their completeness!

Such news is never old,
Though in each ear't is told,
As a first birthday.
Welcome, thou ray of light!
In golden prayers bedight,
Sail down thy mirth-way!

Rose Hawthorne Lathrop