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[Illustration: UNDER BLUE SKIES]

                        JULIUS BIEN & CO. LITH.

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                                 Under
                                  Blue
                                 Skies.


                                Verses &
                                Pictures
                                   By
                             S. J. Brigham

                            Worthington Co.
                            747 BWAY. N. Y.

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                           UNDER BLUE SKIES.
                            _(Frontispiece)_


                            Under blue skies
                        Daffodils dance, and the Oriole flies,
                      Bright, golden butterflies float on the breeze
                  Over the clover with brown honey-bees;
                  Daisies and buttercups, slender and tall,
                  Nod to the roses that cover the wall,
                        Under blue skies.

                Under blue skies,
            Every day brings us a sweeter surprise,
        Blooming of flowers and singing of birds,
        Words without song, and song without words;
    A world of bright children, all happy and gay,
    In sunshine and shadow, at work and at play.

 Copyright, 1886, by S. J. Brigham, N. Y.




                               Contents.


              _UNDER BLUE SKIES._
              _LITTLE NEIGHBORS._
              _STUDY-HOUR._
              _THE LETTER._
              _DAFFY DIL AND JONNY QUIL._
              _CAMPING SONG._
              _THE FAMILY DRIVE._
              _SILENT VOICES. I. DAISIES._
              _SILENT VOICES. II. BLUE-EYED GRASS._
              _SILENT VOICES. III. CLOSING FLOWERS._
                    _DANDELION._
                    _SWEET GRASS._
                    _THE MULLEIN PATCH._
                    "_TOSSED UP IN A BLANKET._"
                              _THE SAND-MAN._
                              _THE LILY POND._
                              _LUNCH TIME._
                              "_WHIRL THE BOAT._"
                                      _KINDERGARTEN._
                                      _THE ORIOLE'S NEST._
                                      _THE JUNE-BUG._
                                      _CHOCOLATE DROP._

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                           LITTLE NEIGHBORS.


    Birds a-singing in the trees,
      Marigolds a-blowing;
    Bees a-humming what they please,
      Coming and a-going;
    Hiding in the hollyhocks,
      Swinging on the clover,
    Climbing up the Lily-stalks,
      Honey running over.

          Breath of roses in the air,
            Roses are in hiding;
          Breezes will not tell us where,—
            Winds are not confiding;
                Down the walks the children wind,
                  Through the fence a-peeping;
                        Like the bees and birds they find
                            Treasures for the seeking.

                              Little neighbors, like the birds,
                                Sing and talk at pleasure;
                                Like the bees, with honeyed words,
                                Choose their time and measure;
                              Like sweet peas they cling and climb,
                                        Here and there and yonder;
                                      All the pleasant summer-time
                                    They visit and they wander.

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                              STUDY-HOUR.


             O hush! you Robin, you sing and swing
               In the lilac tree,
             And my lessons seem long when I hear your song
               So happy and free.

             If only the hours had wings, I know
               They would flutter away,
             Like the bird on the tree, or the velvet bee,
               Or the butterfly gay.

             But then I know that a maid like me
               Has a life to live,
             And my heart and my mind has something to find
               Before it can give.

             O rest you, Robin, a little while
               Your voice and your wing!
             And then by-and-by dear Robin and I
               Will both sing and swing.

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                              THE LETTER.


                 "O, wait, little maiden,
                 With hand letter-laden!
                   I'll take it one minute,
                 And please tell me who
                 You have written it to,
                   And all that is in it."

                         "Ah, no!" said the maiden,
                         "With love it is laden,
                           No stranger can take it:
                         I will just tell you this,
                         It is sealed with a kiss,
                           And _Mamma_ will break it."

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                               DAFFY DIL
                                  AND
                              JONNY QUIL.


                                              Said Jonny Quil
                                              to Daffy Dil,
                                            His pretty country cousin:
                                          "Now is our chance
                                              to have a dance,
                                    Your sisters, full a dozen,
                                        Are here in golden
                                        cap and frill;
                                  What say you,
                                      Cousin Daffy Dil?"

                  Said Daffy Dil
            to Jonny Quil,
          "To dance would give
            us pleasure;
          But, then, you know,
        the wind must blow,
            To beat our time
              and measure.
      Young April Wind
        will be here soon,
  And he will whistle
    us a tune."

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                             CAMPING SONG.


                       O who would live in a cottage close,
                         Shut in like a captive bird?
                       I would sooner have a tent like mine,
                       Within the shade of a fragrant pine,
                         Where the breaking waves are heard,—
                                 Are heard,
                         The breaking waves are heard.

                       The song of winds in the sweet pine tree,
                         The waters that kiss the shore,
                       The white-winged sea-bird's mellow cry,
                       Mingled in one sweet melody,
                         Steals softly in at my door,—
                                 My door,
                         Steals in at my open door.

       All day I sing and read and sew,
         Beneath this sheltering pine,
       Kissed by cool breezes from the sea,
       And people passing envy me,
         And wish for a tent like mine,—
                 Like mine,
         For a cosy tent like mine.

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                           THE FAMILY DRIVE.


                                  "Heigh, ho!"
                                  Like the wind we go,
                                  For a family drive to Jericho;
                                    The horses dance
                                    And prink and prance,
                                  But who is afraid of the horses, O?

                  "Heigh, ho!"
                  O, the daisies grow
                  Along the wayside to Jericho;
                    But the horses run
                    And spoil our fun,
                  And we cannot pick us a daisy, O.

  "Whoa! whoa!!"
  Won't you please go slow?
  We are going home from Jericho;
    All danger past,
    We are home at last,
  Without a tip or a tumble, O.

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                             SILENT VOICES.
                                   I.
                                DAISIES.


                   Hosts of little daisies white
                     Stand among the grasses,
                   Greeting with a girlish grace
                     Every breeze that passes.
                   Quaint white caps and golden hair,
                     Tresses green and slender;
                   With my heart I heard them say
                     Something very tender—
                   Saying something to the grass,
                     Very sweet and tender.

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                             SILENT VOICES.
                                  II.
                            BLUE-EYED GRASS.


                     Hush—O hush! you wanton winds,
                       Hush you, while I listen!
                     In the blue eyes of the grass
                       Tear-drops seem to glisten.
                     A shy Daisy leaned that way,
                       When the winds were blowing;
                     With my heart I heard him say
                       Something worth the knowing—
                     Fondly, to the Daisy say,
                       Something worth the knowing.

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                             SILENT VOICES.
                                  III.
                            CLOSING FLOWERS.


                              When the sun, in red and gold,
                                Down the West was creeping;
                              When the bird beneath its wing
                                Tucked its head for sleeping,
                    Silently the silken doors
                      Of the flowers were closing;
                    Poppies each, with drooping head,
                      Slowly fell a-dozing.
          With my heart, I heard them say,
            "Good-night till the morrow:
          Here's good-night to all the world
            Till the happy morrow."

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                               DANDELION.


                          Modest little Dandelion,
                            Standing in the grass,
                          Offering her plate of gold
                            To people as they pass.

                  If you slight her, soon her tresses
                    Will be growing gray,
                  And some antic, frantic wind
                    Will blow them all away!

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                              SWEET GRASS.


            The sweet grass grows
            Where the Daisy blows,
              But how sweet grass with its tender grace..
              And the Daisy with its winsome face,
              Came to live in the same sweet place,
                          Nobody knows.

            The sweet grass grows
            Where the Daisy blows,
              And under the shade of the tender grass
              The children saw some crickets pass;
              But why they were all in black, alas!
                          Nobody knows.

            The sweet grass grows
            Where the Daisy blows;
              The children pulled till their hands were red;
              The grasshoppers shook with fear and fled;
              But what Sweet Grass to the Daisy said,
                          Nobody knows.

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                           THE MULLEIN PATCH.


          O Mullein, whisper in my ear
            And tell me how you grow,
          I was the taller of the two
            But one short week ago,
              And now, as I on tiptoe stand,
              Can scarcely reach you with my hand.

                      You're growing very lovely, too,
                        In your pale-green velvet gown;
                      And golden as a daffodil
                        Are the flowers in your crown.
                      So tall and stately! Is it true
                      That all your neighbors envy you?

                      The Thistle flushed as the maiden spoke,
                        And thrust out every thorn;
                      The Wormwood very bitter grew;
                        And tossed her head in scorn;
                      The Teazle and the Burdock tried
                      To pull the maiden's dress aside.

                      The Mullein kept the secret well,
                        And the maiden never knew
                      That she the only object was
                        Of envy. And 'tis true
                  That when she left and said Good-bye!
                  For sadness they made no reply.

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                       "TOSSED UP IN A BLANKET."


                             Toss away, toss away,
                              Low away, high,
                             Up in a blanket
                              To visit the sky;
                             Lightly she'll swing
                              In the silver moon,
                             And bring to her sisters
                              A star pretty soon.

                   Toss away, toss away,
                    High away, low,
                   Rock her to sleep
                    In the silver bow;
                   Toss up a kiss to
                    The man in the moon,
                   And bring back another
                    To us very soon.

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                             THE SAND-MAN.


              Have you ever seen the sand-man, old,
              Who comes to us every one, I'm told,
              With his countless bags of silver sand,
              And drops it down with an unseen hand;
              And our eyelids very heavy grow,
              As off to the land of dreams we go?

              He is very shy. I have often tried
              To keep my eyelids open wide
              And watch for him. But he cheats me so,
              And puts me to sleep before I know.
              Is he like the wind, do you suppose,
              Which is never seen when it comes and goes?

              Oh, ho! The sand-man's fun is past,
              He has gone to sleep himself at last;
              We'll build a fort beside the sea,
              And he our prisoner shall be.
              He is not the wind with an unseen hand,
              But a giant made of silver sand.

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                                  THE
                                  LILY
                                 POND.


         The wind is fair,
          Shall we take a row,
         Down to the cove
           Where the lilies grow?
         Their petals white
           To the sun unfold,
         Their trembling hearts
           Are yellow as gold.
         My boat is as safe
           As a boat can be;
         You need not fear
           To go with me.

                                         A fleet of lilies,
                                           So fresh and fair,
                                         Like fairy ships,
                                           Are anchored there.
                                         They rock and dip
                                           With every breeze,
                                         Like real ships
                                           On real seas.
                                         My boat is as safe
                                           As a boat can be;
                                         You need not fear
                                           To go with me.

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                              LUNCH TIME.


      The Bees are coming,
      I hear them humming
      Their pleasant Summer song.
        You are late to-day;
        Did you lose your way?
      We have been waiting long.

                                      My cream-white Clover
                                      Is running over
                                      With honey clear and sweet;
                                        And my Brier-Rose,
                                        As a bee well knows,
                                      Holds something nice to eat.

                                      Come, take your honey,
                                      It costs no money,
                                      The little gift is free;
                                        Come every noon
                                        Through merry June,
                                      And take your lunch with me.

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                           "WHIRL THE BOAT."


                                Whirl, whirl,
                                Each little girl,
                        Like a gay butterfly over the grass;
                                Light as a feather,
                                Whirl they together,
                        Scaring the little brown birds as they pass.

            Spin, spin,
            See them begin,
    Like two tops gliding over the ground;
            Light as a feather,
            Spin they together,
    Whirling the boat around and around.

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                             KINDERGARTEN.


 This is my class,
   I am teacher, you see;
 They stand in a row
   And listen to me;

                                                 And never once
                                                   Have I seen them try
                                                 To whisper or laugh—
                                                   They are very shy.

                         I sometimes fear
                           They will never do
                         The nice little games
                           When I ask them to:

 To keep good time,
   To march and to sing,
 And to whirl about
   In a pretty ring.

                                                 But, then, I know
                                                   They will always do
                                                 Whatever they can
                                                   When I ask them to.

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                           THE ORIOLE'S NEST.


   Swing, little hammock, swing high and swing low!
   Birdies are sleeping while soft breezes blow;
   Papa-bird fastened it well on the bough,
   No harm can come to the baby-birds now.

                 Mother-bird comes with sweet food to the nest.
                 All the bright feathers aflame on her breast;
                 Swing, little birdies, be happy to-day,
                 Soon, I suppose, you will all fly away.

         Rock, little hammock, the birdies to sleep,
         Then I'll give Dolly a sly little peep;
         She will not touch them, the dear little things,
         With down on their heads and down on their wings.

                         Very soon, Dolly, their feathers will grow,
                         And out of their cradle the birdies will go;
                         High away, low away, out of our sight,
                         Off to the wood in a family flight!

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                             THE JUNE-BUG.


                   "Buzz, buzz, blundering bug,
                   Why do you come in June?
                         The roses are here,
                         And I greatly fear
                   You will put them out of tune.

                   "Buzz, buzz, blundering bug,
                   Why do you come at night,
                         With your big black wings?
                         We are timid things—
                   You will put us both in a fright."

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                            CHOCOLATE DROP.


              There lived beside a certain sea
              A humpy, dumpy, brown ba-bee,
              Whose length and breadth were just the same,
              And what is more, this ba-bee's name
                          Was Chocolate Drop.

              This humpy, dumpy, brown ba-bee
              Had a Mamma as brown as she,
              Who thought no ba-bee, dark or light,
              Was ever half so sweet and bright
                          As Chocolate Drop.

              They say (as strange as it may seem)
              That she was made of country cream,
              And rolled in something brown and sweet,
              Which made this ba-bee so complete
                          A Chocolate Drop.

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                Out on the end of an apple-tree bough
                A birdie was singing a song just now,
                          And when it was ended
                          The birdie pretended
                              To say Good-bye,
                                    but he did not
                                              know how!

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                          TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES


 1. Silently corrected simple spelling, grammar, and typographical
    errors.
 2. Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed.
 3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Under Blue Skies, by S. J. Brigham

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