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.

December 22, 1838

October 14, 1895

English

Clara Doty Bates

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A Fish Story.

Sir Arthur, the sinner,
Ate twelve fish for dinner,
And you may believe it's just as I say!
For if you but knew it,
'Twas I saw him do it,
And just as it happened, sir, this was the way:
One day this tall fish
Swallowed this small fish
(He had just eaten a smaller one still);
Up came this queer one
And gobbled that 'ere one--
Didn't he show the most magical skill?
Then came this other
And chewed up his brother,
Made but one gulp, and behold he was through!
He was a gold fish
Oh! he was a bold fish--
But before he could wink he was eaten up too!
Up came a flounder,
He was a ten-pounder,
Opened his mouth, swallowed him and was gone;
Before you could blink, sir,
Before he could shrink, sir,
This fish came by and th...

Clara Doty Bates

Aladdin

Versified by Clara Doty Bates


I see a little group about my chair,
Lovers of stories all!
First, Saxon Edith, of the corn-silk hair,
Growing so strong and tall!

Then little brother, on whose sturdy face
Soft baby dimples fly,
As fear or pleasure give each other place
When wonders multiply;

Then Gold-locks--summers nine their goldenest
Have showered on her head,
And tinted it, of all the colors best,
Warm robin-red breast red;

Then, close at hand, on lowly haunches set,
With pricked up, tasseled ear,
Is Tony, little cleared-eyed spaniel pet,
Waiting, like them, to hear.

I say I have no story--all are told!
Not to be daunted thus,
They only crowd more confident and bold,
And laugh, incredulous.

A...

Clara Doty Bates

Baby's Trotting Song

[Daintily]

Come, see how the ladies ride,
All so pretty, all so gay,
In their beauty, in their pride,
Down Broadway;
Prancing horses silver shod,
All so pretty, all so gay;
Princely feathers bend and nod,
Down Broadway.


[Roughly]

Jiggety-jog, jiggety-jog,
Over the mountain, through the bog--
That's the way the farmers go,
Hear the news and see the show;
Pumpkins round strapped on behind,
Eggs in baskets, too, you'll find,
Soon to change for calico--
That's the way the farmers go.


[Tea-Bell Accompaniment]

Bells a-jingle, fingers tingle,
Ditto toes, likewise nose.
The wind doth blow,
And all the snow
Around doth scatter;
Our teeth they chatter,
But that's no matter--
The ...

Clara Doty Bates

Blue Beard

Once on a time there was a man so hideous and ugly
That little children shrank and tried to hide when he appeared;
His eyes were fierce and prominent, his long hair stiff like bristles,
His stature was enormous, and he wore a long blue beard--
He took his name from that through all the country round about him,--
And whispered tales of dreadful deeds but helped to make him feared.

Yet he was rich, O! very rich; his home was in a castle,
Whose turrets darkened on the sky, so grand and black and bold
That like a thunder-cloud it looked upon the blue horizon.
He had fertile lands and parks and towns
and hunting-grounds and gold,
And tapestries a queen might covet, statues, pictures, jewels,
While his servants numbered hundreds,
and his wines were rare and old.

N...

Clara Doty Bates

Buz, Buz, Buz

Buz, Buz, Buz--says the Great buzzing Bee.
Go away butterfly--this flower is for me.
Why? Why? Why? says the little butterfly,
If you may sit on this flower, why may'nt I?

Clara Doty Bates

Camping Out.

Dame Spider had spun herself lank and thin
With trying to take her neighbors in;
Grasshopper had traveled so far and so fast
That he found he must give up at last;
And the maiden Ant had bustled about
The village till she was all worn out.

Old Bumble Bee had lived on sweet
Till he couldn't help but overeat;
Miss Worm had measured her puny length
Till she had no longer any strength;
And Mr. Beetle was shocked to find
His eyes were failing and almost blind.

So they all decided that they must seek
Their health in the country for a week.
And they made a mixed but a merry throng,
For those who had children took them along.
They pitched their tent and made their camp,
Shelter from possible cold and damp.

'Twas novel, and each in his own w...

Clara Doty Bates

Cinderella.

Versified by Mrs. Clara Doty Bates.


Poor, pretty little thing she was,
The sweetest-faced of girls,
With eyes as blue as larkspurs,
And a mass of tossing curls;
But her step-mother had for her
Only blows and bitter words,
While she thought her own two ugly crows,
The whitest of all birds.

She was the little household drudge,
And wore a cotton gown,
While the sisters, clad in silk and satin,
Flaunted through the town.
When her work was done, her only place
Was the chimney-corner bench.
For which one called her "Cinderella,"
The other, "Cinder-wench."

But years went on, and Cinderella
Bloomed like a wild-wood rose,
In spite of all her kitchen-work,
And her common, dingy clothes;
While the two step-sisters, year by...

Clara Doty Bates

Dame Fidget And Her Silver Penny

Versified by Mrs. Clara Doty Bates.


A Wee, wee woman
Was little old Dame Fidget,
And she lived by herself
In a wee, wee room,
And early every morning,
So tidy was her habit,
She began to sweep it out
With a wee, wee broom.

To sweep for the cinders,
Though never were there any,
She whisked about, and brushed about,
Humming like a bee;
When, odd enough, one day
She found a silver penny,
Shining in a corner,
As bright as bright could be.

She eyed it, she took it
Between her thumb and finger;
She put it in the sugar bowl
And quickly shut the lid;
And after planning over carefully
The way to spend it,
She resolved to go to market
And to buy herself a kid.

And that she did next day; but, ah,<...

Clara Doty Bates

Dame Spider.

Little Dame Spider had finished her spinning,
Just as the warm summer day was beginning,
And the white threads of her beautiful curtain
Tied she and glued she to make them more certain.

Dressed in her old-fashioned feathers and fringes,
Then she sat down to wait; on silken hinges
Swung the light fleece with a moonshiny glisten;
Nothing for her but to watch and to listen.

Presently, going off early to labor,--
Bowing politely, as neighbor to neighbor,
When he caught sight of this little old woman,--
Sailed by a honey-bee, serge-clad and common.

"Are you so scornful because I am humble?
Many a time your rich relatives, Bumble,
Pause in their flying to chat for an hour!"
She called out after him, half gay, half sour.

"O, no," he cried. "I ...

Clara Doty Bates

Dick Whittington And His Cat.

Versified by Mrs. Clara Doty Bates.


Dick, as a little lad, was told
That the London streets were paved with gold.
He never, in all his life, had seen
A place more grand than the village green;
So his thoughts by day, and his dreams by night,
Pictured this city of delight,
Till whatever he did, wherever he went,
His mind was filled with discontent.

There was bitter taste to the peasant bread,
And a restless hardness to his bed;
So, after a while, one summer day,
Little Dick Whittington ran away.
Yes--ran away to London city!
Poor little lad! he needs your pity;
For there, instead of a golden street,
The hot, sharp stones abused his feet.

So tired he was he was fit to fall,--
Yet nobody cared for him at all;
He wandered her...

Clara Doty Bates

Foolish Bobolink.

What a silly bobolink,
Down in the meadow grasses!
What can the noisy fellow think,
When, to everyone who passes,
He calls out cheerily,
"Here, here is my nest! See! see!"

He could hide the summer through
In the thick, sweet-smelling clover,
Nor could anyone from dawn to dew,
His little house discover,
Did he not make so free
With the secret--"Here! see! see!"

Little Ted has ears and eyes,
And how can he keep from knowing
Just where the cosy treasure lies,
When bobolink, coming, going,
Shouts, plain as plain can be,
"Here, here is a nest! See! see!"

And Teddy would like to creep
Tip-toe across the meadow,
And for just one minute stoop and peep
Under the clover shadow.
He would do no harm--not he!
But would o...

Clara Doty Bates

Gold-Locks' Dream Of Pussie Willow.

By Clara Doty Bates.


One sunny day, in the early spring,
Before a bluebird dared to sing,
Cloaked and furred as in winter weather,--
Seal-brown hat and cardinal feather,--
Forth with a piping song,
Went Gold-Locks "after flowers."
"Tired of waiting so long,"
Said this little girl of ours.

She searched the bare brown meadow over,
And found not even a leaf of clover;
Nor where the sod was chill and wet
Could she spy one tint of violet;
But where the brooklet ran
A noisy swollen billow,
She picked in her little hand
A branch of pussie-willow.

She shouted out, in a happy way,
At the catkins' fur, so soft and gray;
She smoothed them down with loving pats,
And called them her little pussie-cats.
She played at scratch ...

Clara Doty Bates

Goody Two-Shoes.

Versified by Mrs. Clara Doty Bates.


Two-Shoes, Two-Shoes,
Little Goody Two-Shoes!
Do you know about her? Well,
I'm ready now to tell
How the little creature came
By so odd a name.

It was very long ago,
In the days of good Queen Bess,
When upon the cold world's care,
Fatherless and motherless,

There were thrown two helpless ones,
Destitute as they could be;
Tom, they called the little boy,
And the girl was Margery.

Many a day they cried for food
When the cup-board shelves were bare;
Many an hour they roamed the streets
Scarcely knowing why or where.

As to kindred, all were dead;
As to shelter, they had none;
As to shoes, Tom had a pair;
Little Margery had but one!

One-Shoe, One-Shoe,

Clara Doty Bates

Hickory Dickory Dock.

Tick-Tack! tick-tack!
This way, that way, forward, back,
Swings the pendulum to and fro,
Always regular, always slow.
Grave and solemn on the wall,--
Hear it whisper! hear it call!
Little Ginx knows naught of Time,
But has heard the mystic rhyme,--
"Hickory, dickory, dock!
The mouse ran up the clock!"

Tick-tack! tick-tack!
White old face with figures black!
So when dismal, stormy days
Keep him from his out-door plays,
Most that he cares for is to sit
Watching, always watching it.
And when the hour strikes he thinks,--
(A dear, wise head has the little Ginx!)
"The clock strikes one,
The mice ran down!"

Tick-tack! tick-tack!
This way, that way, forward, back!
Though so measured and precise,
Ginx believes it full of ...

Clara Doty Bates

Hop-O-My-Thumb

Once on a time there was a fagot-maker,
And he had seven sons.
Who could be aught but poor to feed and shelter
So many little ones?

For all were merely lads; not one was able
To earn the crust of bread,
Though scant it might be, coarse and black and humble,
With which he must be fed.

And, worst of all, the youngest one was puny,
So odd, and still, and slight,
That father, mother, and the other brothers,
Thought him not over bright.

So small he was when he was born, so tiny
Since then he had become,
That--for he was no bigger than your finger--
They called him Hop-o'-my-Thumb.

Now at this time, for days and days together,
There fell no drop of rain;
The corn shrunk on the stalks; and in the sunshine
Rustled the shriveled g...

Clara Doty Bates

Jack And Jill.

Little boys, sit still--
Girls, too, if you will--
And let me tell you of Jack and Jill;
For I think another
Such sister and brother
Were never the children of one mother!

For an idle lad,
As he was, Jack had
No traits, after all, that were very bad.
He, was simply Jack,
With the coat on his back
Patched up in all colors from gray to black.

Both feet were bare;
And I do declare
That he never washed his face; and his hair
Was the color of straw--
You never saw
Such a crop--as long as the moral law!

When he went to school,
It was the rule
(Though 'twas hard to say he was really a fool)
To send him at once,
So thick was his sconce,
To the block that was kept for the greatest dunce.

And Jill! no lass<...

Clara Doty Bates

Jack And The Bean-Stalk.

Versified by Mrs. Clara Doty Bates.


A lazy and careless boy was Jack,--
He would not work, and he would not play;
And so poor, that the jacket on his back
Hung in a ragged fringe alway;
But 'twas shilly-shally, dilly-dally,
From day to day.

At last his mother was almost wild,
And to get them food she knew not how;
And she told her good-for-nothing child
To drive to market the brindle cow.
So he strolled along, with whistle and song,
And drove the cow.

A man was under the wayside trees,
Who carried some beans in his hand--all white.
He said, "My boy, I'll give you these
For the brindle cow." Jack said, "All right."
And, without any gold for the cow he had sold,
Went home at night.

Bitter tears did the mother weep;

Clara Doty Bates

John S. Crow.

All alone in the field
Stands John S. Crow;
And a curious sight is he,
With his head of tow,
And a hat pulled low
On a face that you never see.

His clothes are ragged
And horrid and old,
The worst that ever were worn;
They're covered with mold,
And in each fold
A terrible rent is torn.

They once were new
And spick and span,
As nice as clothes could be;
For though John hardly can
Be called a man,
They were made for men you see.

That old blue coat,
With a double breast
And a brass button here and there,
Was grandfather's best,
And matches the vest--
The one Uncle Phil used to wear.

The trousers are short;
They belonged to Bob
Before he had got his growth;
But John's no snob,
And,...

Clara Doty Bates

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