To Music

Here's to Music,
Joy of joys!
One man's music's
Another man's noise.

Oliver Herford

Oliver Herford was born in England on December 2, 1860. He was a British-born American writer, artist, and illustrator, often referred to as 'The American Oscar Wilde' for his sharp wit and humorous works. Herford authored and illustrated many books for children and adults, contributing to magazines such as "The Criterion", "Life", and "Punch". He died on July 5, 1935, in France.

Oliver Herford

A Mole.

Oliver Herford, Simple Poetry

Cerberus

Oliver Herford, Simple Poetry

G. K. Chesterton

Oliver Herford, Simple Poetry

The Dog.

Oliver Herford, Simple Poetry

English

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To Our Readers

Here's to our Readers, Health! good Looks!
And Joy ad infinitum
And may they live to read our Books
As long as we may write 'em.

Oliver Herford

Music.

The wind-harp has music it moans to the tree,
And so has the shell that complains to the sea,
The lark that sings merrily over the lea,
        The reed of the rude shepherd boy!
We revel in music when day has begun,
When rock-fountains gush into glee as they run,
And stars of the morn sing their hymns to the sun,
        Who brightens the hill-tops with joy!

The spirit of melody floats in the air,
Her instruments tuning to harmony there,
Our senses beguiling from sorrow and care,
        In blessings sent down from above!
But Nature has music far more to my choice--
And all in her exquisite changes rejoice!
No tones thrill my heart like the dear human voice
        When breathed by the being I love!

George Pope Morris

Nature's Music.

Of many gifts bestowed on earth
    To cheer a lonely hour,
Oh is there one of equal worth
    With music's magic power?
'Twill charm each angry thought to rest,
    'Twill gloomy care dispel,
And ever we its power can test, -
    All nature breathes its spell.

There's music in the sighing tone
    Of the soft, southern breeze
That whispers thro' the flowers lone,
    And bends the stately trees,
And - in the mighty ocean's chime,
    The crested breakers roar,
The wild waves, ceaseless surge sublime,
    Breaking upon the shore.

There's music in the bulbul's note,
    Warbling its vesper lay
In some fair spot, from man remote,
    Where wind and flowers play;
But, oh! beyond the sweetest strain
    Of bird, or wave, or gro...

Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon

To The Typewriter

Here's to the Typewriter!
Health to her type!
Whether blond or brunette
Or budding or ripe.
If she be the right type
Be she buxom or slight,
When she doesn't type wrong
She is sure to typewrite.

Oliver Herford

To Our Sweethearts

To our Sweethearts and Wives,
The joy of our lives!
May our Wives be our Sweethearts--
Our Sweethearts, our Wives.

Oliver Herford

The Little Man In The Tinshop

When I was a little boy, long ago,
And spoke of the theater as the "show,"
The first one that I went to see,
Mother's brother it was took me -
(My uncle, of course, though he seemed to be
Only a boy - I loved him so!)
And ah, how pleasant he made it all!
And the things he knew that I should know! -
The stage, the "drop," and the frescoed wall;
The sudden flash of the lights; and oh,
The orchestra, with its melody,
And the lilt and jingle and jubilee
    Of "The Little Man in the Tinshop"!

For Uncle showed me the "Leader" there,
With his pale, bleak forehead and long, black hair;
Showed me the "Second," and "'Cello," and "Bass,"
And the "B-Flat," pouting and puffing his face
At the little end of the horn he blew
Silvery bubbles of music t...

James Whitcomb Riley