But the Kitten, how she starts,
Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts!
First at one, and then its fellow
Just as light and just as yellow;
There are many now-now one-
Now they stop and there are none.
What intenseness of desire

In her upward eye of fire!
With a tiger-leap half-way

Now she meets the coming prey,

Lets it go as fast, and then

Has it in her power again:

Now she works with three or four,

Like an Indian conjuror;

Quick as he in feats of art,

Far beyond in joy of heart.

Were her antics played in the eye
Of a thousand standers-by,
Clapping hands with shout and stare,
What would little Tabby care

For the plaudits of the crowd?

Over happy to be proud,
Over wealthy in the treasure

Of her own exceeding pleasure!

William Wordsworth

ROBIN REDBREAST

Good-by, good-by to Summer!
For Summer's nearly done;
The garden smiling faintly,
Cool breezes in the sun;
Our thrushes now are silent,

Our swallows flown away,

But Robin's here in coat of brown,

And scarlet breast-knot gay.
Robin, Robin Redbreast,
O Robin dear!

Robin sings so sweetly

In the falling of the year.

Bright yellow, red, and orange,
The leaves come down in hosts;
The trees are Indian princes,

But soon they'll turn to ghosts;
The scanty pears and apples

Hang russet on the bough;
It's Autumn, Autumn, Autumn late,
'Twill soon be winter now.
Robin, Robin Redbreast,
O Robin dear!

And what will this poor Robin do?
For pinching days are near.

The fireside for the cricket,

The wheat-stack for the mouse, When trembling night-winds whistle And moan all round the house.

The frosty ways like iron,

The branches plumed with snow,Alas! in Winter dead and dark,

Where can poor Robin go?

Robin, Robin Redbreast,

O Robin dear!

And a crumb of bread for Robin,

His little heart to cheer!

William Allingham

THE FROST

The Frost looked forth, one still, clear night,

And he said, "Now I shall be out of sight;

So through the valley and over the height

In silence I'll take my way.

I will not go like that blustering train,

The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain,
Who make so much bustle and noise in vain,
But I'll be as busy as they!"

Then he went to the mountain, and powdered its crest,
He climbed up the trees, and their boughs he dressed
With diamonds and pearls, and over the breast
Of the quivering lake he spread

A coat of mail, that it need not fear
The downward point of many a spear
That he hung on its margin, far and near,
Where a rock could rear its head.

He went to the windows of those who slept,
And over each pane like a fairy crept;
Wherever he breathed, wherever he stepped,
By the light of the moon were seen

Most beautiful things. There were flowers and trees,
There were bevies of birds and swarms of bees,

There were cities, thrones, temples, and towers, and these All pictured in silver sheen!

But he did one thing that was hardly fair,—
He peeped in the cupboard, and, finding there
That all had forgotten for him to prepare,-
"Now, just to set them a-thinking,

I'll bite this basket of fruit," said he;
"This costly pitcher I'll burst in three,
And the glass of water they've left for me

Shall 'tchick!' to tell them I'm drinking."

Hannah Flagg Gould

JACK FROST

The door was shut, as doors should be,
Before you went to bed last night;
Yet Jack Frost has got in, you see,
And left your window silver white.

He must have waited till you slept;
And not a single word he spoke,
But pencilled o'er the panes and crept
Away again before you woke.

And now you cannot see the hills

Nor fields that stretch beyond the lane; But there are fairer things than these His fingers traced on every pane.

Rocks and castles towering high;

Hills and dales, and streams and fields;

And knights in armor riding by,

With nodding plumes and shining shields.

And here are little boats, and there

Big ships with sails spread to the breeze; And yonder, palm trees waving fair On islands set in silver seas,

And butterflies with gauzy wings;
And herds of cows and flocks of sheep;
And fruit and flowers and all the things
You see when you are sound asleep.

For, creeping softly underneath

The door when all the lights are out, Jack Frost takes every breath you breathe, And knows the things you think about.

He paints them on the window pane
In fairy lines with frozen steam;
And when you wake you see again

The lovely things you saw in dream.

Gabriel Setoun

WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN *

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the

shock,

And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cock,

And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens,

And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
O, it's then's the times a feller is a-feelin' at his best,
With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful
rest,

As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

They's something kindo' harty-like about the atmusfere When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here

Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossoms on the

trees,

And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the

bees;

But the air's so appetizin'; and the landscape through the

haze

Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days

*From the Biographical Edition of the Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley, Copyright, 1913, by special permission of the publishers, The BobbsMerrill Company.