.
.

Poetry for Children

.
To speak of poetry for children might appear redundant at first. With rhymed and metered poetry hounded out of every “respectable” corner of the literary establishment these days, it sometimes seems that children’s literature might be the last redoubt of traditional poetical styles. Indeed, a good proportion, if not a clear majority, of books for young children are written in some form of rhyme. Sadly it is too often apparent that the authors (and worse, the editors) have little understanding of the mechanics of prosody, so these days books for children abound with poor meter and painfully awkward rhymes. There are some notable exceptions to this: Julia Donaldson’s books, such as The Gruffalo and The Snail and The Whale, are a delight to read out loud, full of clever rhymes, solid meter, and a creative use of repetition and refrain, all perhaps reflecting her background as a songwriter; Lynley Dodd, author and illustrator of the Hairy Maclary books, similarly similarly deploys rhyme and alliteration with great skill, though occasional lapses in meter suggest that her prosody is perhaps product of instinct rather than dedication. And, of course, the books of Dr. Seuss remain as popular as ever. Add to this the persistence of nursery rhymes and the purely oral tradition of schoolyard chants (which, although it now seems sadly in retreat, will likely persist in some form so long as children maintain a taste for the absurd and the scatological) and one might be tempted to say that children’s culture is saturated in the poetical.
.
The seeming ubiquitousness of rhymed and metered poetry in books for young children might suggest to some that the traditional forms are somewhat childish and lacking in the sophistication of, say, Rupi Kaur or Amanda Gorman. To this I would counter that some truths are so self-evident that only an educated adult could doubt them and that in rhyme, meter, assonance and alliteration we encounter something of the magic of language itself. Sadly though, beyond the age of five or six the poetry seems to dry up and children are led down a barren path of artless prose, histrionics, and increasing cynicism which leads to but one destination: Hogwarts.
.
It wasn’t always like this. Not that long ago children were expected to study poetry at school, so that even decades later Harry Truman was able to quote lines from “My Shadow” in correspondence, though the name of the author (Robert Louis Stevenson) was seemingly lost to him. Thankfully for us, the raw materials for such a curriculum are still available, for if modern publishers spurn the idea of poetry for children we can at least turn to the past and in examining the works of accomplished poets who wrote for children, we might discover something of the nature of poetical form itself; from it’s use as a mnemonic device to the pure pleasure afforded by the musicality of language. Later in life the academics will teach them that poetry is to be appreciated, not enjoyed, but for now here are a few pieces, presented in a rough chronological order, which should serve to introduce children to the world of traditional poetry; a place which is often absurd and sometimes frightening but possessed of a magic which prose can not produce.
.
.
.

.

1. “Sweet and Low” by Alfred Lord Tennyson

One of the most famous and beloved of all English-language poets, Tennyson wrote many poems which might be enjoyed by younger readers. Indeed, that Tennyson’s poetry operates at the highest level of the art whilst remaining accessible to just about anyone with ears to hear it is central to his enduring popularity, though it has naturally led some modern critics to dismiss his work as populist. That said, he wrote little which could be said  to address children specifically and even his exquisite lyric “Sweet And Low,” written in the style of a lullaby, was originally included as a lyrical interlude in the second edition of his anti-feminist satire The Princess. These days it is far better known than the epic from which it is excerpted (even lending its name to a popular brand of artificial sweetener) and for good reason; the gentle rocking rhythm of the trochaic lines and the soothing use of alliteration and repetition combine with the vaguely plaintive note of longing and promise of a better day to come to elevate what might be dismissed as a relic of the folk tradition to high art. This is a poem of rare beauty which should appeal to children and adults alike.
.
.

Sweet And Low

Sweet and low, sweet and low,
__Wind of the western sea,
Low, low, breathe and blow,
__Wind of the western sea!
Over the rolling waters go,
__Come from the dying moon, and blow,
Blow him again to me;
__While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.
.
Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,
__Father will come to thee soon;
Rest, rest, on mother’s breast,
__Father will come to thee soon;
Father will come to his babe in the nest,
__Silver sails all out of the west,
Under the silver moon:
__Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.
.
.
.
.

2. “Goblin Market” by Christina Rossetti

The youngest of the famous Rossetti siblings, Christina was a prolific poet whose work ranged from nursery rhymes to sober and sometimes morbid religious reflections, predominantly in English but sometimes Italian. Her overt religiosity and unapologetic femininity have rendered of little use to modern academics and so her work has fewer champions these days than that of Emily Dickinson. She was a fine and often daring poet in her own right and her approach to meter, which was somewhat loose whilst remaining highly musical, was important influence on Gerard Manly Hopkins. Her most famous work, “Goblin Market,” is a key text of the pre-Raphaelite movement in literature and has been subject to much debate as to interpretation in the century and a half since its first publication. For her part, Rossetti insisted she meant nothing profound by the tale of a young woman enslaved by desire and her redemption effected by the piety of her sister, but the potent mix of often haunting fairytale imagery and Christian ethics speaks for itself. The poem runs to nearly 600 lines, which unfortunately makes it too long to reproduce here in full (read the complete poem here). What follows is merely the opening section which describes the arrival of the goblin men with their bewitched produce.
.
.

Goblin Market

Morning and evening
Maids heard the goblins cry:
“Come buy our orchard fruits,
Come buy, come buy:
Apples and quinces,
Lemons and oranges,
Plump unpeck’d cherries,
Melons and raspberries,
Bloom-down-cheek’d peaches,
Swart-headed mulberries,
Wild free-born cranberries,
Crab-apples, dewberries,
Pine-apples, blackberries,
Apricots, strawberries;—
All ripe together
In summer weather,—
Morns that pass by,
Fair eves that fly;
Come buy, come buy:
Our grapes fresh from the vine,
Pomegranates full and fine,
Dates and sharp bullaces,
Rare pears and greengages,
Damsons and bilberries,
Taste them and try:
Currants and gooseberries,
Bright-fire-like barberries,
Figs to fill your mouth,
Citrons from the South,
Sweet to tongue and sound to eye;
Come buy, come buy.”
.
Evening by evening
Among the brookside rushes,
Laura bow’d her head to hear,
Lizzie veil’d her blushes:
Crouching close together
In the cooling weather,
With clasping arms and cautioning lips,
With tingling cheeks and finger tips.
“Lie close,” Laura said,
Pricking up her golden head:
“We must not look at goblin men,
We must not buy their fruits:
Who knows upon what soil they fed
Their hungry thirsty roots?”
“Come buy,” call the goblins
Hobbling down the glen.
.
“Oh,” cried Lizzie, “Laura, Laura,
You should not peep at goblin men.”
Lizzie cover’d up her eyes,
Cover’d close lest they should look;
Laura rear’d her glossy head,
And whisper’d like the restless brook:
“Look, Lizzie, look, Lizzie,
Down the glen tramp little men.
One hauls a basket,
One bears a plate,
One lugs a golden dish
Of many pounds weight.
How fair the vine must grow
Whose grapes are so luscious;
How warm the wind must blow
Through those fruit bushes.”
“No,” said Lizzie, “No, no, no;
Their offers should not charm us,
Their evil gifts would harm us.”
She thrust a dimpled finger
In each ear, shut eyes and ran:
Curious Laura chose to linger
Wondering at each merchant man.
One had a cat’s face,
One whisk’d a tail,
One tramp’d at a rat’s pace,
One crawl’d like a snail,
One like a wombat prowl’d obtuse and furry,
One like a ratel tumbled hurry skurry.
She heard a voice like voice of doves
Cooing all together:
They sounded kind and full of loves
In the pleasant weather.
.
.
Read the complete poem here.
.
.
.
.

3. “The Owl and the Pussycat” by Edward Lear

No selection of verse for children would be complete without Edward Lear, a man whose name is above all synonymous with the word “nonsense” and who was an important precursor to the work of Dr. Suess. In truth, nonsense is an ancient genre and much ink has been spilled in describing it as representing an inversion of the natural order or, and particularly in the case of Lear, as a reaction against puritan moralism. What such analysis misses, and what “The Owl And The Pussycat” evokes so wonderfully, is the sense of pure joy which nonsense occasions. Far from being subversive, the poem’s absurdities, from the idea of wrapping money in money to made-up words like “runcible” (likely the only word in the Oxford English Dictionary which lacks a definition), imbue the poem with an unearthly beauty and a sense of mystery which can arouse, even in the most jaded of adults, the sense that world is magical place.
.
.
.
.

The Owl And The Pussycat

I
The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
__In a beautiful pea-green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
__Wrapped up in a five-pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
__And sang to a small guitar,
“O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,
__What a beautiful Pussy you are,
____You are,
____You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!”
.
II
Pussy said to the Owl, “You elegant fowl!
__How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
__But what shall we do for a ring?”
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
__To the land where the Bong-Tree grows
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
__With a ring at the end of his nose,
____His nose,
____His nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.
.
III
“Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
   Your ring?” Said the Piggy, “I will.”
So they took it away, and were married next day
   By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
   Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
   They danced by the light of the moon,
____The moon,
____The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.
.
.
.
.

4. “Jabberwocky” by Lewis Carroll 

“Somehow it seems to fill my head with ideas—only I don’t exactly know what they are!” exclaims Alice in an early chapter of Carroll’s Through the Looking Glass, after reading the following verses reflected in a mirror. This nonsense poem, which was originally conceived as a parody of Saxon verse, in some ways sits at the opposite end of the spectrum to Lear’s poem above. The narrative is almost obscured behind a veil of neologisms, comparable to Dr. Suess at his most extreme; indeed, even a couple of the words which might seem familiar, like “galumphing” and “chortle” have their origin in this poem—but while this might seem awfully sense-indulgent and pointless, sensible adults would do well to remember that most language is nonsense to the ears of children and that so many words seem pregnant with danger and mystery even if their meaning is entirely unknown but purely by the way they taste in the mouth. In moving outside the lexicon and into the realm of pure sound, Carroll finds something of the essence of poetry in its ability to communicate meaning beyond language.
.
.
.
.

Jabberwocky

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
__Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
__And the mome raths outgrabe.
.
“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
__The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
__The frumious Bandersnatch!”
.
He took his vorpal sword in hand;
__Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree
__And stood awhile in thought.
.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
__The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
__And burbled as it came!
.
One, two! One, two! And through and through
__The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
__He went galumphing back.
.
“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
__Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
__He chortled in his joy.
.
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
__Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
__And the mome raths outgrabe.
.
.
.
.

5. “Silver” by Walter de la Mare

“Surely, of all living English writers Mr. Walter de la Mare’s fame is most likely to endure,” wrote Lord David Cecil, and how wrong he was. It is a crime how little of de la Mare’s work is in print and that his name has largely been forgotten for few writers have ever approached the challenge of writing for young readers with such seriousness and dedication to craft and even fewer have been possessed of such a fertile, child-like imagination. Indeed, de la Mare (1873-1956) believed strongly that children were possessed of an imagination which could only be described as visionary, and that this was lost upon their entry into adult world of logic and deduction. Whereas most of the poems you will find on this list, and most of children’s verse in general, tend toward the narrative or the nonsensical, “Silver,” taken from de la Mare’s celebrated collection, Peacock Pie, is a piece of pure lyricism. The imagery is as simple as it is gorgeous and, unlike many writers for children, there is no sense that de la Mare is straining for effect here. Instead, with admirable restraint and great skill, he allows the imagery to build until he seems to have bathed the whole world in silvery light. As with much of the poetry contained within his volumes Songs of Childhood and Peacock Pie, this piece is so sublime that it is difficult to tell whether he is writing for children or writing to adults about the world of children.
.
.

Silver

Slowly, silently, now the moon
Walks the night in her silver shoon;
This way, and that, she peers, and sees
Silver fruit upon silver trees;
One by one the casements catch
Her beams beneath the silvery thatch;
Couched in his kennel, like a log,
With paws of silver sleeps the dog;
From their shadowy cote the white breasts peep
Of doves in a silver-feathered sleep;
A harvest mouse goes scampering by,
With silver claws and a silver eye;
And moveless fish in the water gleam,
By silver reeds in a silver stream.
.
.
.
.

6. “Matilda, Who Told Lies, and Was Burned to Death” by Hilaire Belloc

And so we pass from the sublime to the ridiculous. The short moral fables contained within Hilaire Belloc’s Cautionary Tales For Children are all written in a light but lively couplets of iambic tetrameter which adds a cheerful veneer to their utter ruthlessness. While they might seem morbid to some, they were clearly a key influence on the work of Roald Dahl and their legacy lives on, in a sadly degraded form, in the books of David Walliams. Adults, who have a keener sense of tragedy, might recoil from the sheer delight Belloc seems to take in the sufferings of the objectionable children he writes about, but the deeply religious and upright Belloc knows his audience and twists the child’s innate relish for destruction toward instructive ends, all whilst avoiding—indeed often appearing to satirize—much of the dour moralizing of the Victorian era.
.
.
.
.

Matilda, Who Told Lies, and Was Burned to Death

Matilda told such Dreadful Lies,
It made one Gasp and Stretch one’s Eyes;
Her Aunt, who, from her Earliest Youth,
Had kept a Strict Regard for Truth,
Attempted to Believe Matilda:
The effort very nearly killed her,
And would have done so, had not She
Discovered this Infirmity.
For once, towards the Close of Day,
Matilda, growing tired of play,
And finding she was left alone,
Went tiptoe to the Telephone
And summoned the Immediate Aid
Of London’s Noble Fire-Brigade.
Within an hour the Gallant Band
Were pouring in on every hand,
From Putney, Hackney Downs, and Bow
With Courage high and Hearts a-glow
They galloped, roaring through the Town
‘Matilda’s House is Burning Down!’
Inspired by British Cheers and Loud
Proceeding from the Frenzied Crowd,
They ran their ladders through a score
Of windows on the Ball Room Floor;
And took Peculiar Pains to Souse
The Pictures up and down the House,
Until Matilda’s Aunt succeeded
In showing them they were not needed;
And even then she had to pay
To get the Men to go away!
It happened that a few Weeks later
Her Aunt was off to the Theatre
To see that Interesting Play
The Second Mrs Tanqueray.
She had refused to take her Niece
To hear this Entertaining Piece:
A Deprivation Just and Wise
To Punish her for Telling Lies.
That Night a Fire did break out-
You should have heard Matilda Shout!
You should have heard her Scream and Bawl,
And throw the window up and call
To People passing in the Street-
(The rapidly increasing Heat
Encouraging her to obtain
Their confidence)-but all in vain!
For every time She shouted ‘Fire!’
They only answered ‘Little Liar’!
And therefore when her Aunt returned,
Matilda, and the House, were Burned.
.
.
.
.

“The Awefull Battle of The Pekes and The Pollicles” by T.S. Eliot

The name T.S. Eliot is rarely evoked in this corner of the poetry world except to damn (sometimes with faint praise) the excesses of the modernist project it is so indelibly associated with. It seems telling then that when he came to write his only book for children, Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats, he chose to do it, for the most part, in rhymed, metrical verse. Perhaps he knew all that sophistry about “poetry” versus “mere versification” wouldn’t pass muster to the critical ears of children or perhaps he wanted to prove to his more conservative critics that he could indeed write equally well in form if he chose to. The overly anachronistic title here suggests it was more likely an exercise in pure nostalgia but, whatever the reason, Eliot’s formal skill is on full display in poems like “(Of) The Awefull Battle of The Pekes and The Pollicles” whilst others from the same volume, written in freer verse, tend to fall a bit flat, lacking as they do the clear musicality which would make hearing them read out loud a pleasure.
.
.
.
.

(Of) The Awefull Battle of the Pekes and the Pollicles
(Together with Some Account of the Participation of
the Pugs and the Poms, and the Intervention of the
Great Rumpuscat)

The Pekes and the Pollicles, everyone knows,
Are proud and implacable passionate foes;
It is always the same, wherever one goes.
And the Pugs and the Poms, although most people say
That they do not like fighting, will often display
Every symptom of wanting to join in the fray.
____And they
__Bark bark bark bark
__Bark bark BARK BARK
Until you can hear them all over the Park.
.
Now on the occasion of which I shall speak
Almost nothing had happened for nearly a week
(And that’s a long time for a Pol or a Peke).
The big Police Dog was away from his beat—
I don’t know the reason, but most people think
He’d slipped into the Bricklayer’s Arms for a drink—
And no one at all was about on the street
When a Peke and a Pollicle happened to meet.
They did not advance, or exactly retreat,
But they glared at each other and scraped their hind feet,
____And started to
__Bark bark bark bark
__Bark bark BARK BARK
Until you could hear them all over the Park.
.
Now the Peke, although people may say what they please,
Is no British Dog, but a Heathen Chinese.
And so all the Pekes, when they heard the uproar,
Some came to the window, some came to the door;
There were surely a doyen, more likely a score.
And together they started to grumble and wheeye
In their huffery-snuffery Heathen Chinese.
But a terrible din is what Pollicles like,
for your Pollicle Dog is a dour Yorkshire tyke,
And his braw Scottish cousins are snappers and biters,
And every dog-jack of them notable fighters;
And so they stepped out, with their pipers in order,
Playing When the Blue Bonnets Came Over the Border.
Then the Pugs and the Poms held no longer aloof,
But some from the balcony, some from the roof,
____Joined in
____To the din
____With a
__Bark bark bark bark
__Bark bark BARK BARK
Until you could hear them all over the Park.
.
Now when these bold heroes together assembled,
The traffic all stopped, and the Underground trembled,
And some of the neighbours were so much afraid
That they started to ring up the Fire Brigade.
When suddenly, up from a small basement flat,
Why who should stalk out but the GREAT RUMPUSCAT.
His eyes were like fireballs fearfully blazing,
He gave a great yawn, and his jaws were amazing;
And when he looked out through the bars of the area,
You never saw anything fiercer or hairier.
And what with the glare of his eyes and his yawning,
The Pekes and the Pollicles quickly took warning.
He looked at the sky and he gave a great leap—
And they every last one of them scattered like sheep.
.
And when the Police Dog returned to his beat,
There wasn’t a single one left in the street.
.
.
.
.
Shaun C. Duncan is a picture framer and fine art printer who lives in Adelaide, South Australia.

NOTE TO READERS: If you enjoyed this poem or other content, please consider making a donation to the Society of Classical Poets.

The Society of Classical Poets does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or commentary.


CODEC Stories:

13 Responses

  2. Roy Eugene Peterson

    I love Shaun’s essay that reflects so much of my early childhood memories of my mother sharing poetry with me and then in my small school in a South Dakota farming community being encouraged to memorize poetry such as “The Village Blacksmith,” and presenting it in dramatic fashion to my fifth grade class. I know well three of the poems above.

    Reply
  3. Cheryl Corey

    Wonderful essay, Shaun. I was only familiar with two of the poems, and to your list would add Longfellow’s “Paul Revere’s Ride” and Clement Moore’s “A Visit from St. Nicholas”.

    Reply
  4. Norma Pain

    I very much enjoyed your essay Shaun and am familiar with most of your selection. I love Walter de la Mare’s poem, “Bones” with its very funny last line. Thank you for this funny and entertaining read this morning.

    Reply
  5. Brian A. Yapko

    I enjoyed this essay and your selections, Shaun. Along these lines there’s also William Blake’s Songs of Innocence and Experience. “The Lamb” and “The Tyger” are especially fine.

    Reply
  6. Joseph S. Salemi

    Essays and presentations of material like this are precisely what the SCP should encourage. Duncan’s selection of poems suitable for children is judicious, and the accompanying commentary very useful. (I’m really pleased to see Hilaire Belloc in this group — his poems are of that uniquely brilliant sort that can be read by children, but also contain sardonic advice for adults.)

    I really love this essay, because it shows that the surface absurdity of some poems does not necessarily detract from their ability to please; and the implied sexuality of “Goblin Market” need not be the only reason we like it. Meter, rhythm, rhyme, music, and rare diction are just as valuable, and they certainly delight children. About Tennyson’s “Sweet and Low,” it was set to music at some time, and was very well know in that form as a lullaby.

    I remember my mother reading “The Owl and the Pussycat” and “Jabberwocky” to me and my brother, from that wonderful anthology put out by Oscar Williams in the 1950s. She also read us Poe’s “The Bells,” which is a true festival of sound that appeals naturally to the young, and Masefield’s “Spanish Waters,” which forever made me a lover of poetry.

    One typo — the American poet’s name should be spelled “Dr. Seuss.”

    Reply
  7. Cynthia Erlandson

    Thank you, Shaun, this is delightful! I am familiar with most of these, but am grateful for your recommendation of Walter De LaMare. My suggested addition would be A.A. Milne’s “Pooh-etry” embedded in “Winnie the Pooh” and “The House at Pooh Corner”.

    Reply
  8. James Sale

    Very enjoyable poems and commentary, Shaun, thanks. I see we both include Christina Rossetti in our lists (though different poems) and the one that we both love is Jabberwocky! Great choice. Thanks too for reminding me of Walter De La Mare: I have a signed copy of his verses and The Listeners has always been a massive favourite of mine.

    Reply
    • Shaun C. Duncan

      As you might have guessed, I’m a big fan of both Rossetti and de la Mare and would never pass up the opportunity to promote their work. I am also a great admirer of de la Mare’s supernatural tales which sadly seem to be almost impossible to find these days.

      Reply
  9. Daniel Kemper

    Strong selections and a great thread. I’m glad Dr. Salemi nodded towards the deeper layers of “Goblin Market.” That one’s a tough call. It’s true that a child wouldn’t experience anything but a sensory-packed romp. But I’d constantly worry if I were, “formatting the hard drive of their brain” as it were to make them more unconsciously susceptible to ideas that should only be approached very consciously. I’ve brought two kids up through California schools and have seen quite a few things pushed on them that attempt this re-formatting/re-normalizing. Not sure one poem is worth all my worry, but feel like it should be voiced.

    Reply
  10. Susan Jarvis Bryant

    Shaun, this is wonderful! It has my two all-time favorites (“The Owl and the Pussycat” and “Jabberwocky”) and plenty more with enticing write ups and a great intro to whet the appetite of poetry seekers of all ages.

    Reply
  11. Shaun C. Duncan

    Thank you to all who took the time to read this and comment, particularly those who offered their own suggestions!

    Reply
  12. Mrs Howard

    Has anyone please got the piano music to Matilda?My mother used to sing it to us when we were young.

    Reply

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

Captcha loading...

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.