Wishes.

Oh, if you were a little boy,
And I was a little girl--
Why you would have some whiskers grow
And then my hair would curl.

Ah! if I could have whiskers grow,
I'd let you have my curls;
But what's the use of wishing it--
Boys never can be girls.

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

At School.

Kate Greenaway, Simple Poetry

On The Wall Top.

Kate Greenaway, Simple Poetry

The Little Jumping Girls.

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

Wishes

I wish for such a lot of things
That never will come true,
And yet I want them all so much
I think they might, don't you?
I want a little kitty-cat
That's soft and tame and sweet,
And every day I watch and hope
I'll find one in the street.
But nursie says, "Come, walk along,
"Don't stand and stare like that",
I'm only looking hard and hard
To try to find my cat.
And then I want a blue balloon
That tries to fly away,
I thought if I wished hard enough
That it would come some day.
One time when I was in the park
I knew that it would be
Beside the big old clock at home
A-waiting there for me,
And soon as we got home again,
I hurried thro' the hall,
And looked beside the big old clock,
It wasn't there at all.
I think I'll nev...

Sara Teasdale

The Old Man Dreams

1854

Oh for one hour of youthful joy!
Give back my twentieth spring!
I'd rather laugh, a bright-haired boy,
Than reign, a gray-beard king.

Off with the spoils of wrinkled age!
Away with Learning's crown!
Tear out life's Wisdom-written page,
And dash its trophies down!

One moment let my life-blood stream
From boyhood's fount of flame!
Give me one giddy, reeling dream
Of life all love and fame.

My listening angel heard the prayer,
And, calmly smiling, said,
"If I but touch thy silvered hair
Thy hasty wish hath sped.

"But is there nothing in thy track,
To bid thee fondly stay,
While the swift seasons hurry back
To find the wished-for day?"

"Ah, truest soul of womankind!
Without thee what were life?...

Oliver Wendell Holmes

Ring-A-Ring.

Ring-a-ring of little boys.
Ring-a-ring of girls;
All around all around,
Twists and twirls.

You are merry children;
"Yes, we are."
Where do you come from?
"Not very far.

"We live in the mountain,
We live in the tree;
And I live in the river-bed,
And you won't catch me!"

Kate Greenaway

Wanted - A Little Girl

Where have they gone to - the little girls
With natural manners and natural curls;
Who love their dollies and like their toys,
And talk of something besides the boys?

Little old women in plenty I find,
Mature in manners and old of mind;
Little old flirts who talk of their "beaux,"
And vie with each other in stylish clothes.

Little old belles who, at nine and ten,
Are sick of pleasure and tired of men;
Weary of travel, of balls, of fun,
And find no new thing under the sun.

Once, in the beautiful long ago,
Some dear little children I used to know;
Girls who were merry as lambs at play,
And laughed and rollicked the livelong day.

They thought not at all of the "style" of their clothes,
They never imagined that boys were "beaux" -

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Wishes For A Little Girl

What would I ask the kindly fates to give
    To crown her life, if I could have my way?
My strongest wishes would be negative,
    If they would but obey.

Give her not greatness.    For great souls must stand
    Alone and lonely in this little world:
Cleft rocks that show the great Creator's hand,
    Thither by earthquakes hurled.

Give her not genius.    Spare her the cruel pain
    Of finding her whole life a prey for daws;
Of hearing with quickened sense and burning brain
    The world's sneer-tinged applause.

Give her not perfect beauty's gifts.    For then
    Her truthful mirror would infuse her mind
With love for self, and for the praise of men,
    That lowers woman-kind.

But make her fair and comely to the sight,
    Giv...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox