Old Mother Goose
I will name you the greatest of all poetesses,
And you'll own that I'm right when I do,
Though you probably couldn't in twenty-five guesses
Hit her name, should I ask it of you.
Mrs. Hemans? or Sappho? or sweet 'Liza Cook?
Mrs. Browning? the Carys? No use;
It is strange you're so dull when you're all seen her book —
I am thinking of Old Mother Goose.
But should you dispute me, a million bright pleaders
Will join, I am sure, on my side,
And we'll claim that no poet has more loving readers
And none reputation so wide.
How the little ones struggle, when sly spider Sleep
Has them all tangled up, to get loose!
For they want, just as long as their pretty eyes peep,
" One more story from Old Mother Goose. "
Of her poems, how many are great masterpieces!
Not one, but a dozen at least.
There's Old Mother Hubbard, whose trouble increases;
Jack Sprat and his sensible feast:
And the woman who ran her head foolishly through
Matrimony's untieable noose,
And settled for life in that wonderful shoe —
They are all there in Old Mother Goose.
Then her fancy's a fountain of pleasure unfailing,
And her Pegasus often mounts high;
In the case of the witch who on brooms went a-sailing
She takes us clear up to the sky.
And those three learned men who a-cruising would go,
And thought a tub fitted their use,
Their whole trip is left to the fancy, you know —
Such a shrewd one is Old Mother Goose.
Dear poet of babyhood! Oft in the city
Your verses are thought of, I wean;
When the care-worried merchant hums softly some ditty,
'Tis his mother's face rises serene.
How pure were the counsels that long lost one gave!
For his faults he can find no excuse,
When he visits in spirit a far-distant grave.
Led thither by Old Mother Goose.
Ah me! where's the hardened and worldly-wise sinner
(And we all of us sin less or more)
Who'd refuse to again be a little beginner,
Learned only in childhood's sweet lore?
How many could start on a far better way,
Or their gifts put to worthier use,
Could they find themselves back in that innocent day
When they marveled at Old Mother Goose!
And you'll own that I'm right when I do,
Though you probably couldn't in twenty-five guesses
Hit her name, should I ask it of you.
Mrs. Hemans? or Sappho? or sweet 'Liza Cook?
Mrs. Browning? the Carys? No use;
It is strange you're so dull when you're all seen her book —
I am thinking of Old Mother Goose.
But should you dispute me, a million bright pleaders
Will join, I am sure, on my side,
And we'll claim that no poet has more loving readers
And none reputation so wide.
How the little ones struggle, when sly spider Sleep
Has them all tangled up, to get loose!
For they want, just as long as their pretty eyes peep,
" One more story from Old Mother Goose. "
Of her poems, how many are great masterpieces!
Not one, but a dozen at least.
There's Old Mother Hubbard, whose trouble increases;
Jack Sprat and his sensible feast:
And the woman who ran her head foolishly through
Matrimony's untieable noose,
And settled for life in that wonderful shoe —
They are all there in Old Mother Goose.
Then her fancy's a fountain of pleasure unfailing,
And her Pegasus often mounts high;
In the case of the witch who on brooms went a-sailing
She takes us clear up to the sky.
And those three learned men who a-cruising would go,
And thought a tub fitted their use,
Their whole trip is left to the fancy, you know —
Such a shrewd one is Old Mother Goose.
Dear poet of babyhood! Oft in the city
Your verses are thought of, I wean;
When the care-worried merchant hums softly some ditty,
'Tis his mother's face rises serene.
How pure were the counsels that long lost one gave!
For his faults he can find no excuse,
When he visits in spirit a far-distant grave.
Led thither by Old Mother Goose.
Ah me! where's the hardened and worldly-wise sinner
(And we all of us sin less or more)
Who'd refuse to again be a little beginner,
Learned only in childhood's sweet lore?
How many could start on a far better way,
Or their gifts put to worthier use,
Could they find themselves back in that innocent day
When they marveled at Old Mother Goose!
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