A CHILD’S GARDEN OF VERSES
Some one poet should have at least a year to himself, that he may have time to do what is in him towards cultivating the seeing eye, the hearing ear, the generous heart.—C.M. Mason
For Christmas last year, Pippin could think of nothing he wanted more than his own copy of A Child’s Garden of Verses. That Hazel freely lent her own was no matter. He had to have his very own—of the same edition illustrated by Jessie Wilcox Smith.
Pippin’s passion for Robert Lewis Stevenson began in kindergarten. Every morning he and I would lie in a pool of sunshine on the guest-room bed and read poems from the Garden. We read them in succession, and memorized our favorite ones—‘Block City,’ ‘The Land of Storybooks,’ ‘The Little Land.’
We savored every page, I marveling over Stevenson’s ability to recall my childhood, Pippin delighting in present recognition.
I had never read the Garden through before, and we both dreaded reaching the last pages. This was alleviated somewhat by the Envoys, because we were excited to read Stevenson’s messages to family and personal friends. Pippin quivered with excitement over the last poem: a poem addressed ‘To Any Reader,’ a poem addressed to him.
So you may see, if you will look
Through the windows of this book,
Another child, far, far away,
And in another garden, play.
Pippin was happy but sobered by the last lines.
...long ago, the truth to say,
He has grown up and gone away,
And it is but a child of air
That lingers in the garden there.
Now Pippin is in third grade and has his Christmas copy of Stevenson’s poetry. Every page sends him into italics. ‘Oh, I love this poem! Oh, I love this one too! And this one. I loved doing kindergarten! Remember these?’ He will point out ‘Pirate Story’ or ‘A Good Play,’ and he always asks me to read ‘The Land of Counterpane.’
Here are four poems from A Child’s Garden of Verses. They should be read aloud to a little boy on a sunny morning.
{RAIN}
The rain is falling all around,
In falls on field and tree,
It rains on the umbrellas here,
And on the ships at sea.
{THE WIND}
I saw you toss the kites on high
And blow the birds about the sky;
And all around I heard you pass,
Like ladies’ skirts across the grass—
O wind, a-blowing all day long,
O wind, that sings so loud a song!
I saw the different things you did,
But always you yourself you hid.
I felt you push, I heard you call,
I could not see yourself at all—
O wind, a-blowing all day long,
O wind, that sings so loud a song.
O you that are so strong and cold,
O blower, are you young or old?
Are you a beast of field and tree,
Or just a stronger child than me?
O wind, a-blowing all day long,
O wind, that sings so loud a song.
{THE SWING}
how do you like to go up in a swing,
Up in the air so blue?
Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing
Ever a child can do!
Up in the air and over the wall,
Till I can see so wide,
River and trees and cattle and all
Over the countryside—
Till I look down on the garden green,
Down on the roof so brown—
Up in the air I go flying again,
Up in the air and down!
{BLOCK CITY}
What are you able to build with your blocks?
Castles and palaces, temples and docks.
Rain may keep raining, and others go roam,
But I can be happy and building at home.
Let the sofa be mountains, the carpet be sea,
There I’ll establish a city for me:
A kirk and a mill and a palace beside,
And a harbour as well where my vessels may ride.
Great is the palace with pillar and wall,
A sort of a tower on the top of it all,
And steps coming down in an orderly way
To where my toy vessels lie safe in the bay.
This one is sailing and that one is moored:
Hark to the song of the sailors aboard!
And see on the steps of my palace, the kings
Coming and going with presents and things!
Yet as I saw it, I see it again,
The kirk and the palace, the ships and the men,
And as long as I live and where’er I may be,
I’ll always remember my town by the sea.
• detail from The Artist’s Garden at Vetheuil by Claude Monet •
May 21, 2013