child_verseH ShepardWe Are Sixcollection of poems reflecting the experiences of a little English boy growing up in the early part of the twentieth century..A. Milne

child_verseH ShepardWe Are Sixcollection of poems reflecting the experiences of a little English boy growing up in the early part of the twentieth century..A. Milne

We Are Six

By Ernest H. ShepardANNE DARLINGTON she is seven and because she is so YOU ARE reciting poetry, which is a thing we never do, you find sometimes, just as you are beginning, that Uncle John is still telling Aunt Rose that if he can’t find his spectacles he won’t be able to hear properly, and does she know where they are; and by the time everybody has stopped looking for them, you are at the last verse, and in another minute they will be saying, “Thank-you, thank-you,” without really knowing what it was all about. So, next time, you are more careful; and, just before you begin you say, “ Er-h’r’m! ” very loudly, which means, “Now then, here we are” and everybody stops talking and looks at you: which is what you want. So then you get in the way of saying it whenever you are asked to recite…and sometimes it is just as well, and sometimes it isn’t…. And by and by you find yourself saying it without thinking. Well, this bit which I am writing now, called Introduction, is really the er-h’r’m of the book, and I have put it in, partly so as not to take you by surprise, and partly because I can’t do without it now. There are some very clever writers who say that it is quite easy not to have an er-h’r’m but I don’t agree with them. I think it is much easier not to have all the rest of the book. I want to explain in the Introduction is this. We have been nearly three years writing this book. We began it when we were very young…and now we are six. So, of course, bits of it seem rather babyish to us, almost as if they had slipped out of some other book by mistake. On page whatever-it-is there is a thing which is simply three-ish, and when we read it to ourselves just now we said, “Well, well, well,” and turned over rather quickly. So we want you to know that the name of the book doesn’t mean that this is us being six all the time, but that it is about as far as we’ve got at present, and we half think of stopping there..S. Pooh wants us to say that he thought it was a different book; and he hopes you won’t mind, but he walked through it one day, looking for his friend Piglet, and sat down on some of the pages by mistake. have a house where I go there’s too many people, have a house where I go no one can be; have a house where I go, nobody ever says “No” no one says anything—so is no one but me.

John’s Christmas John was not a good man— had his little ways. sometimes no one spoke to him days and days and days. men who came across him, walking in the town, him a supercilious stare, passed with noses in the air— bad King John stood dumbly there, beneath his crown.

John was not a good man, no good friends had he. stayed in every afternoon… no one came to tea., round about December, cards upon his shelf wished him lots of Christmas cheer, fortune in the coming year, never from his near and dear, only from himself. John was not a good man, had his hopes and fears. ’d given him no present now years and years and years. every year at Christmas, minstrels stood about, tribute from the young all the songs they might have sung, stole away upstairs and hung hopeful stocking out.

John was not a good man, lived his life aloof; he thought a message out climbing up the roof. wrote it down and propped it the chimney stack:

“TO ALL AND SUNDRY—NEAR AND FAR—. CHRISTMAS IN PARTICULAR.” signed it not “Johannes R.” very humbly, “JACK.”

“I want some crackers, I want some candy; think a box of chocolates come in handy; don’t mind oranges, do like nuts! I SHOULD like a pocket-knife really cuts., oh! Father Christmas, if you love me at all, me a big, red, india-rubber ball!”

John was not a good man— wrote this message out, gat him to his room again, by the spout. all that night he lay there, prey to hopes and fears.

“I think that’s him a-coming now.”

(Anxiety bedewed his brow.)

“He’ll bring one present, anyhow— first I’ve had for years.”

“Forget about the crackers, forget about the candy; ’m sure a box of chocolates never come in handy; don’t like oranges, don’t want nuts, I HAVE got a pocket-knife almost cuts., oh! Father Christmas, if you love me at all, me a big, red, india-rubber ball!”

John was not a good man— morning when the sun up to tell a waiting world Christmas had begun, people seized their stockings, opened them with glee, crackers, toys and games appeared, lips with sticky sweets were smeared, John said grimly: “As I feared, again for me!”

“I did want crackers, I did want candy; know a box of chocolates come in handy; do love oranges, did want nuts. haven’t got a pocket-knife— one that cuts., oh! if Father Christmas had loved me at all, would have brought a big, red, india-rubber ball!” John stood by the window, frowned to see below happy bands of boys and girls playing in the snow. while he stood there watching, envying them all… through the window big and red hurtled by his royal head, bounced and fell upon the bed, india-rubber ball!, OH, FATHER CHRISTMAS, BLESSINGS ON YOU FALL BRINGING HIM BIG, RED, RUBBER!

think I am a Muffin Man. I haven’t got a bell, haven’t got the muffin things that muffin people sell.

I am a Postman. No, I think I am a Tram. ’m feeling rather funny and I don’t know what I am—

about round about round about I go— around the table, table in the nursery—

about round about round about I go; think I am a Traveller escaping from a Bear;

think I am an Elephant, another Elephant another Elephant who isn’t really there….

about round about round about and round about round about round about go.

think I am a Ticket Man who’s selling tickets—please,

think I am a Doctor who is visiting a Sneeze;

I’m just a Nanny who is walking with a pram ’m feeling rather funny and I don’t know what I am—

about round about round about I go— around the table, table in the nursery— about round about round about I go: think I am a Puppy, so I’m hanging out my tongue;

think I am a Camel who looking for a Camel who looking for a Camel who is looking for its Young…. about round about round about and round about round about round about go.

Robin wheezles sneezles, bundled him bed. gave him what goes a cold in the nose, some more for a cold the head. wondered wheezles turn measles, sneezles turn mumps;

examined his chest a rash, the rest his body for swellings and lumps. sent for some doctors sneezles wheezles tell them what ought be done.

sorts of conditions famous physicians hurrying round a run. all made a note the state of his throat, asked if he suffered from thirst; asked if the sneezles after the wheezles, if the first sneezle first. said, “If you teazle sneezle wheezle, measle easily grow. humour or pleazle wheezle sneezle, measle certainly go.” expounded the reazles sneezles wheezles, manner of measles new. said, “If he freezles draughts and in breezles, PHTHEEZLES even ensue.”

Robin up in the morning, sneezles had vanished away. the look in his eye to say to the sky,

“ Now, how to amuse them today? ”

—what I call him—is a secret of my own, Binker is the reason why I never feel alone. in the nursery, sitting on the stair, I am busy at, Binker will be there., Daddy is clever, he’s a clever sort of man, Mummy is the best since the world began, Nanny is Nanny, and I call her Nan— they can’t. ’s always talking, ’cos I’m teaching him to speak: sometimes likes to do it in a funny sort of squeak, he sometimes likes to do it in a hoodling sort of roar… I have to do it for him ’cos his throat is rather sore., Daddy is clever, he’s a clever sort of man, Mummy knows all that anybody can, Nanny is Nanny, and I call her Nan— they don’t. ’s brave as lions when we’re running in the park; ’s brave as tigers when we’re lying in the dark; ’s brave as elephants. He never, never cries… (like other people) when the soap gets in his eyes.

, Daddy is Daddy, he’s a Daddy sort of man, Mummy is as Mummy as anybody can, Nanny is Nanny, and I call her Nan… they’re not.

isn’t greedy, but he does like things to eat, I have to say to people when they’re giving me a sweet,

“Oh, Binker wants a chocolate, so could you give me two?” then I eat it for him, ’cos his teeth are rather new., I’m very fond of Daddy, but he hasn’t time to play, I’m very fond of Mummy, but she sometimes goes away, I’m often cross with Nanny when she wants to brush my hair…

Binker’s always Binker, and is certain to be there. Stones

, Tailor,

, Sailor,

Man, Poor Man,

, Thief—

what about a Cowboy,, Jailer, driver, Pirate Chief? about a Postman—or a Keeper at the Zoo? about the Circus Man who lets the people through? the man who takes the pennies for the round-abouts and swings, the man who plays the organ, and the other man who sings? about a Conjuror with rabbits in his pockets? about a Rocket Man who’s always making rockets?, there’s such a lot of things to do and such a lot to be there’s always lots of cherries on my little cherry-tree!

Knight Whose Armour Didn’t Squeak

all the Knights in Appledore wisest was Sir Thomas Tom. multiplied as far as four, knew what nine was taken from make eleven. He could write letter to another Knight.

other Knight in all the land do the things which he could do only did he understand way to polish swords, but knew remedy a Knight should seek armour had begun to squeak., if he didn’t fight too much, wasn’t that he did not care blips and buffetings and such, felt that it was hardly fair risk, by frequent injuries, brain as delicate as his.

castle (Castle Tom) was set on a hill; daily, when it wasn’t wet, paced the battlements until smaller Knight who couldn’t swim reach the moat and challenge him.

sometimes, feeling full of fight, hurried out to scour the plain;, seeing some approaching Knight, either hurried home again, hid; and, when the foe was past, a triumphant trumpet-blast.

day when good Sir Thomas Tom resting in a handy ditch, noises he was hiding from, very much the noises which ’d always hidden from before, somehow less…. Or was it more? trotting horse, the trumpet’s blast, whistling sword, the armour’s squeak,, and especially the last, clattered by him all the week. this the same, or was it not? was different. But what? Thomas raised a cautious ear listened as Sir Hugh went by,

suddenly he seemed to hear

(Or not to hear) the reason why stranger made a nicer sound other Knights who lived around. Thomas watched the way he went— rage was such he couldn’t speak, years they’d called him down in Kent Knight Whose Armour Didn’t Squeak! here and now he looked upon Knight whose squeak had gone. rushed to where his horse was tied; spurred it to a rapid trot. only fear he felt inside his enemy was not

“How sharp his sword?” “How stout his heart?” “Has he got too long a start?”

Hugh was singing, hand on hip, something sudden came along, caught him a terrific blip in the middle of his song.

“A thunderstorm!” he thought. “Of course!” toppled gently off his horse.

said the good Sir Thomas Tom, with a friendly air,

“Allow me to extract you from heavy armour that you wear. times like these the bravest Knight find his armour much too tight.” hundred yards or so beyond scene of brave Sir Hugh’s defeat Thomas found a useful pond,, careful not to wet his feet, brought the armour to the brink flung it in…and watched it sink.

ever after, more and more, men of Kent would proudly speak Thomas Tom of Appledore,

“The Knight Whose Armour Didn’t Squeak” Hugh, the Knight who gave him best, just as badly as the rest.

Days

is Anne? above the buttercups, by the stream, among the buttercups. is Anne? with her man, in a dream, among the buttercups. has she got in that little brown head? thoughts which can never be said. has she got in that firm little fist of hers? ’s thumb, and it feels like Christopher’s. is Anne? to her man. head, gold head, and out the buttercups.

Charcoal-Burner

charcoal-burner has tales to tell. lives in the Forest, in the Forest; sits in the Forest, in the Forest. the sun comes slanting between the trees, rabbits come up, and they give him good-morning, rabbits come up and say, “Beautiful morning….”

the moon swings clear of the tall black trees, owls fly over and wish him good-night, over to wish him good-night…. he sits and thinks of the things they know, and the Forest, alone together— springs that come and the summers that go, dew on bracken and heather, drip of the Forest beneath the snow…. the things they have seen, the things they have heard: April sky swept clean and the song of a bird…, the charcoal-burner has tales to tell! he lives in the Forest and knows us well.

Two

I am, there’s always Pooh, ’s always Pooh and Me. I do, he wants to do,

“Where are you going today?” says Pooh:

“Well, that’s very odd ’cos I was too. ’s go together,” says Pooh, says he.

“Let’s go together,” says Pooh.

“What’s twice eleven?” I said to Pooh.

(“Twice what?” said Pooh to Me.)

“I think it ought to be twenty-two.”

“Just what I think myself,” said Pooh.

“It wasn’t an easy sum to do, that’s what it is,” said Pooh, said he.

“That’s what it is,” said Pooh.

“Let’s look for dragons,” I said to Pooh.

“Yes, let’s,” said Pooh to Me. crossed the river and found a few—

“Yes, those are dragons all right,” said Pooh.

“As soon as I saw their beaks I knew. ’s what they are,” said Pooh, said he.

“That’s what they are,” said Pooh.

“Let’s frighten the dragons,” I said to Pooh.

“That’s right,” said Pooh to Me.

“ I’m not afraid,” I said to Pooh, I held his paw and I shouted “Shoo! old dragons!”—and off they flew.

“I wasn’t afraid,” said Pooh, said he,

“I’m never afraid with you.” wherever I am, there’s always Pooh, ’s always Pooh and Me.

“What would I do?” I said to Pooh,

“If it wasn’t for you,” and Pooh said: “True, isn’t much fun for One, but Two stick together,” says Pooh, says he.

“That’s how it is,” says Pooh.

Old Sailor

was once an old sailor my grandfather knew had so many things which he wanted to do, whenever he thought it was time to begin, couldn’t because of the state he was in. was shipwrecked, and lived on an island for weeks,

he wanted a hat, and he wanted some breeks; he wanted some nets, or a line and some hooks turtles and things which you read of in books.

, thinking of this, he remembered a thing he wanted (for water) and that was a spring; he thought that to talk to he’d look for, and keep

(If he found it) a goat, or some chickens and sheep.

, because of the weather, he wanted a hut a door (to come in by) which opened and shut

(With a jerk, which was useful if snakes were about), a very strong lock to keep savages out.

began on the fish-hooks, and when he’d begun decided he couldn’t because of the sun. he knew what he ought to begin with, and that to find, or to make, a large sun-stopping hat. was making the hat with some leaves from a tree, he thought, “I’m as hot as a body can be, I’ve nothing to take for my terrible thirst; I’ll look for a spring, and I’ll look for it first.” he thought as he started, “Oh, dear and oh, dear! ’ll be lonely tomorrow with nobody here!” he made in his note-book a couple of notes:

“ I must first find some chickens ” “ No, I mean goats.”

had just seen a goat (which he knew by the shape) he thought, “But I must have a boat for escape. a boat means a sail, which means needles and thread; I’d better sit down and make needles instead.”

began on a needle, but thought as he worked,, if this was an island where savages lurked, safe in his hut he’d have nothing to fear, now they might suddenly breathe in his ear!

he thought of his hut…and he thought of his boat, his hat and his breeks, and his chickens and goat, the hooks (for his food) and the spring (for his thirst)… he never could think which he ought to do first.

so in the end he did nothing at all, basked on the shingle wrapped up in a shawl. I think it was dreadful the way he behaved— did nothing but basking until he was saved!

Engineer

it rain! cares? ’ve a train, a brake I make a string of thing, works jerks,

’Cos it drops the spring,

stops the string, the wheels stick quick it feels a thing you make a brake, string…. that’s what I make, the day’s all wet. ’s a good sort of brake it hasn’t worked yet.

’s End, Christopher, where are you going, Robin?

“Just up to the top of the hill, and upping until am right on the top of the hill,” Christopher Robin.

, Christopher, where are you going, Robin? ’s nothing to see, so when ’ve got to the top, what then?

“Just down to the bottom again,” Christopher Robin. Bear

I were a bear, a big bear too, shouldn’t much care it froze or snew; shouldn’t much mind it snowed or friz— ’d be all fur-lined a coat like his! I’d have fur boots and a brown fur wrap, brown fur knickers and a big fur cap. ’d have a fur muffle-ruff to cover my jaws, brown fur mittens on my big brown paws. a big brown furry-down up to my head, ’d sleep all the winter in a big fur bed.

found a little beetle, so that Beetle was his name, I called him Alexander and he answered just the same. put him in a match-box, and I kept him the day… Nanny let my beetle out—

, Nanny let my beetle out—

went and let my beetle out—

Beetle ran away.

said she didn’t mean it, and I never said she did, said she wanted matches and she just took off the lid, said that she was sorry, but it’s difficult to catch excited sort of beetle you’ve mistaken for a match. said that she was sorry, and I really mustn’t mind, there’s lots and lots of beetles which she’s certain we could find we looked about the garden for the holes where beetles hid— we’d get another match-box and write on the lid.

went to all the places which a beetle might be near, we made the sort of noises which a beetle likes to hear, I saw a kind of something, and I gave a sort of shout:

“A beetle-house and Alexander Beetle coming out!” was Alexander Beetle I’m as certain as can be he had a sort of look as if he thought it must be ME,

he had a sort of look as if he thought he ought to say:

“I’m very, very sorry that I tried to run away.” Nanny’s very sorry too for you-know-what-she-did, she’s writing ALEXANDER very blackly on the lid. Nan and Me are friends, because it’s difficult to catch excited Alexander you’ve mistaken for a match.

Emperor’s Rhyme

King of Peru

(Who was Emperor too) a sort of a rhyme was useful to know,

he felt very shy a stranger came by, they asked him the time his watch didn’t go; supposing he fell

(By mistake) down a well,

he tumbled when skating sat on his hat, perhaps wasn’t told, his porridge was cold, his breakfast was waiting something like that;

, whenever the Emperor into a temper, or himself sulky or sad, would murmur and murmur, he felt firmer, curious rhyme which he had:

eights are sixty-four; by seven. it’s done, one, take away eleven. nines are eighty-one; by three. it’s more, four, then it’s time for tea.

whenever the Queen his armour to clean, she didn’t remember use any starch; his birthday (in May) a horrible day, wet as November windy as March;, if sitting in state the Wise and the Great, just happened to hiccup signing his name, the Queen gave a cough, his crown tumbled off

he bent down to pick up pen for the same;, whenever the Emperor into a temper, or himself awkward and shy, would whisper and whisper, he felt crisper, odd little rhyme to the sky:

eights are eighty-one; by seven. it’s more, four, take away eleven. nines are sixty-four; by three. it’s done, one, then it’s time for tea.

in-Armour I’m a shining Knight, buckle on my armour tight; then I look about for things, Rushings-Out, and Rescuings, Savings from the Dragon’s Lair, fighting all the Dragons there. sometimes when our fights begin, think I’ll let the Dragons win… then I think perhaps I won’t, they’re Dragons, and I don’t.

Out with Me ’s sun on the river and sun on the hill …. can hear the sea if you stand quite still! ’s eight new puppies at Roundabout Farm— I saw an old sailor with only one arm! every one says, “Run along!”

(Run along, run along!) of them say, “Run along! I’m busy as can be.” one says, “Run along, ’s a little darling!” I’m a little darling, why don’t they run with me? ’s wind on the river and wind on the hill … ’s a dark dead water-wheel under the mill! saw a fly which had just been drowned— I know where a rabbit goes into the ground! every one says, “Run along!”

(Run along, run along!) of them say, “Yes, dear,” and never notice me. one says, “Run along, ’s a little darling!” I’m a little darling, why won’t they come and see?

by the Pond

’m fishing. ’t talk, anybody, don’t come near! ’t you see that the fish might hear? thinks I’m playing with a piece of string; thinks I’m another sort of funny sort of thing, he doesn’t know I’m fishing — doesn’t know I’m fishing. ’s what I’m doing—.

, I’m not, I’m newting. ’t cough, anybody, don’t come by! small noise makes a newt feel shy. thinks I’m a bush, or a new sort of tree; thinks it’s somebody, but doesn’t think it’s Me, he doesn’t know I’m newting—, he doesn’t know I’m newting. ’s what I’m doing—.

Little Black Hen

and Baxter, and Penn old Farmer Middleton five big men… all of them were after Little Black Hen. ran quickly, ran fast; was first, and was last. sat and watched the old plum-tree… squawked through the hedge she came to me.

Little Black Hen “Oh, it’s you!” said “Thank you, do you do? please will you tell me, Black Hen, did they want, five big men?”

Little Black Hen said to me:

“They want me to lay them egg for tea. they were Emperors, they were Kings. ’m much too busy lay them things.”

“I’m not a King I haven’t a crown; climb up trees, I tumble down. can shut one eye, can count to ten, lay me an egg, please, Black Hen.” Little Black Hen said,

“What will you pay, I lay you an egg Easter Day?”

“I’ll give you a Please a How-do-you-do, ’ll show you the Bear lives in the Zoo, ’ll show you the nettle-place my leg, you’ll lay me a great big egg.” Little Black Hen “I don’t care a How-do-you-do a Big-brown-bear, I’ll lay you a beautiful egg, you’ll show me the nettle-place your leg.” showed her the place I had my sting. touched it gently one black wing.

“Nettles don’t hurt you count to ten. now for the egg,” the Little Black Hen.

I wake up Easter Day, shall see my egg ’s promised to lay. I were Emperors, I were Kings, couldn’t be fuller wonderful things.

and Baxter, and Penn, Old Farmer Middleton five big men. of them are wanting egg for their tea, the Little Black Hen is much too busy, Little Black Hen is much too busy, Little Black Hen is MUCH too busy… ’s laying my egg for me! Friend

are lots and lots of people who are always asking things, Dates and Pounds-and-ounces and the names of funny Kings, the answer’s either Sixpence or A Hundred Inches Long, I know they’ll think me silly if I get the answer wrong. Pooh and I go whispering, and Pooh looks very bright, says, “Well, I say sixpence, but I don’t suppose ’m right.” then it doesn’t matter what the answer ought to be,

’Cos if he’s right, I’m Right, and if he’s wrong, it isn’t Me. Good Little Girl

’s funny how often they say to me, “Jane?

“Have you been a good girl?”

“Have you been a good girl?” when they have said it, they say it again,

“Have you been a good girl?”

“Have you been a good girl?” go to a party, I go out to tea, go to an aunt for a week at the sea, come back from school or from playing a game; I come from, it’s always the same:

“Well?

“Have you been a good girl, Jane?”

’s always the end of the loveliest day:

“Have you been a good girl?”

“Have you been a good girl?” went to the Zoo, and they waited to say:

“Have you been a good girl?”

“Have you been a good girl?”

, what did they think that I went there to do? why should I want to be bad at the Zoo? should I be likely to say if I had? that’s why it’s funny of Mummy and Dad, asking and asking, in case I was bad,

“Well?

“Have you been a good girl, Jane?” Thought

I were John and John were Me, he’d be six and I’d be three. John were Me and I were John, shouldn’t have these trousers on. Hilary and the Beggarman Hilary the Great and Good tell a tale at Christmas time ’ve often thought the story would prettier but just as good almost anybody should it into rime. I have done the best I can lack of some more learned man. King Hilary to his Chancellor

(Proud Lord Willoughby, High Chancellor):

“Run to the wicket-gate, quickly, to the wicket-gate see who is knocking. may be a rich man, borne from Araby, me peacocks, and ivory; may be a poor man,

worn and weary, me oranges put in my stocking.” Lord Willoughby, High Chancellor, both loud and free: *

“I’ve served Your Majesty, man to man, first Your Majesty’s reign began, I’ve often walked, but I never, never ran,, never, never,” quoth he. King Hilary to his Chancellor

(Proud Lord Willoughby, High Chancellor):

“Walk to the wicket-gate, quickly, to the wicket-gate see who is knocking.

may be a captain, nosed, bearded, me gold-dust,, and sandalwood: may be a scullion, free, whistling, me sugar-plums put in my stocking.” Lord Willoughby, High Chancellor, both loud and free:

“I’ve served in the Palace since I was four, I’ll serve in the Palace a-many years more, I’ve opened a window, but never a door,, never, never,” quoth he. King Hilary to his Chancellor

(Proud Lord Willoughby, High Chancellor):

“Open the window, quickly, the window see who is knocking.

may be a waiting-maid, cheeked, dimpled, by her mistress bring me greeting; may be children,, whispering, me cobnuts, put in my stocking.” Lord Willoughby, High Chancellor, both loud and free;

“I’ll serve Your Majesty till I die— Lord Chancellor, not as spy peep from lattices; no, not I,, never, never,” quoth he.

King Hilary at his Chancellor

(Proud Lord Willoughby, High Chancellor): said no word his stiff-set Chancellor, ran to the wicket-gate see who was knocking. found no rich man from Araby; found no captain, eyed, weather-tanned; found no waiting-maid by her mistress; only a beggarman one red stocking. King Hilary at the beggarman, laughed him three times three; he turned that beggarman round about:

“Your thews are strong, and your arm is stout;

, throw me a Lord High Chancellor out, take his place,” quoth he. Hilary the Good and Great wives at Christmas time relate tale, which points, at any rate, morals on the way. first: “ Whatever Fortune brings, ’t be afraid of doing things.”

(Especially, of course, for Kings.) also seems to say

(But not so wisely): “ He who begs one red stocking on his legs be, as sure as eggs are eggs, Chancellor some day.”

Song I go up in my swing so high. am the King of the fields, and the King Of the town. am the King of the earth, and the King Of the sky. I go up in my swing… I go down.

Ann to her Nan:

“Please will you tell me how God began? must have made Him. So could it be, ’cos I want to know?” Nurse said, “ Well! ” Ann said, “Well? know you know, and I wish you’d tell.” Nurse took pins from her mouth, and said,

“Now then, darling, it’s time for bed.” Ann a wonderful plan: would run round the world till she found a man knew exactly how God began.

got up early, she dressed, and ran to find an Important Man. ran to London and knocked at the door the Lord High Doodelum’s coach-and-four.

“Please, sir (if there’s anyone in), and-ever did God begin?”

Lord High Doodelum lay in bed, out of the window, large and red, the Lord High Coachman’s face instead. the Lord High Coachman laughed and said:

“Well, what put that in your quaint little head?”

Ann went home again took from the ottoman Jennifer Jane.

“Jenniferjane,” said Elizabeth Ann,

“Tell me at once how God began.” Jane, who didn’t much care for speaking, in her usual way by squeaking. did it mean? Well, to be quite candid, don’t know, but Elizabeth Ann did. Ann said softly, “Oh! you, Jennifer. Now I know.”

Times

were Two little Bears who lived in a Wood, one of them was Bad and the other was Good. Bear learnt his Twice Times One— Bad Bear left all his buttons undone. lived in a Tree when the weather was hot, one of them was Good, and the other was Not. Bear learnt his Twice Times Two— Bad Bear’s thingummies were worn right through. lived in a Cave when the weather was cold, they Did, and they Didn’t Do, what they were told. Bear learnt his Twice Times Three— Bad Bear never had his hand-ker-chee.

lived in the Wood with a Kind Old Aunt, one said “ Yes’m, ” and the other said

“ Shan’t! ” Bear learnt his Twice Times Four— Bad Bear’s knicketies were terrible tore.

then quite suddenly (just like Us) got Better and the other got Wuss. Bear muddled his Twice Times Three— Bad Bear coughed in his hand-ker-chee!

Bear muddled his Twice Times Two— Bad Bear’s thingummies looked like new. Bear muddled his Twice Times One— Bad Bear never left his buttons undone.

may be a Moral, though some say not; think there’s a moral, though I don’t know what. if one gets better, as the other gets wuss, Two Little Bears are just like Us. Christopher remembers up to Twice Times Ten… I keep forgetting where I’ve put my pen. *

Morning Walk

Anne and I go out a walk, hold each other’s hand and talk all the things we mean to do Anne and I are forty-two.

when we’ve thought about a thing, bowling hoops or bicycling, falling down on Anne’s balloon, do it in the afternoon. Song Timothy Tim ten pink toes, ten pink toes Timothy Tim. go with him he goes, wherever he goes go with him. Timothy Tim two blue eyes, two blue eyes Timothy Tim. cry with him he cries, whenever he cries, cry with him.

Timothy Tim one red head, one red head Timothy Tim. sleeps with him Timothy’s bed. well, red head Timothy Tim.

at the Window are my two drops of rain on the window-pane. am waiting here to see the winning one will be. of them have different names. is John and one is James. the best and all the worst from which of them is first. has just begun to ooze. ’s the one I want to lose. is waiting to begin. ’s the one I want to win. is going slowly on. sort of sticks to John. is moving off at last. is going pretty fast. is rushing down the pane. is going slow again. has met a sort of smear. is getting very near. he going fast enough?

(James has found a piece of fluff.) has hurried quickly by.

(James was talking to a fly.) is there, and John has won!! I told you! Here’s the sun!

Purr was the mother of Pinkle Purr, little black nothing of feet and fur; by-and-by, when his eyes came through, saw his mother, the big Tattoo. all that he learned he learned from her.

“I’ll ask my mother,” says Pinkle Purr.

was the mother of Pinkle Purr, ridiculous kitten with silky fur. little black Pinkle grew and grew he got as big as the big Tattoo. all that he did he did with her.

“Two friends together,” says Pinkle Purr. was the mother of Pinkle Purr, adventurous cat in a coat of fur. whenever he thought of a thing to do, didn’t much bother about Tattoo, he knows it’s nothing to do with her, “See you later,” says Pinkle Purr. is the mother of Pinkle Purr, enormous leopard with coal-black fur. little brown kitten that’s nearly new now playing games with its big Tattoo… Pink looks lazily down at her:

“Dear little Tat,” says Pinkle Purr.

on the Hill

one can tell me, knows, the wind comes from, the wind goes. ’s flying from somewhere fast as it can, couldn’t keep up with it, if I ran. if I stopped holding string of my kite, would blow with the wind a day and a night. then when I found it, it blew, should know that the wind been going there too. then I could tell them the wind goes… where the wind comes from knows.

of the Nursery in a row, on the high wall, four on the low; Kings and Little Kings, Bears and Black, of them waiting John comes back. think that John boy lost in the wood, say he couldn’t be, say he could. think that John boy on the hill; say he won’t come back, say he will.

was the sun, when went away… they’ve been waiting through the day; Bears and Little Bears, Kings and Black, of them waiting John comes back.

of the Nursery down the hill, saw the sheep-fold, saw the mill; saw the roofs the little grey town… their shadows grew long the sun slipt down.

between the poplars old moon shows; up the star-way full moon rose; down the star-way old moon crept…, one by another, grey fields slept. of the Nursery still watch keep… hear from the sheep-fold rustle of sheep. young bird twitters hides its head; little wind suddenly, and is dead. and slowly the new day… ’s become of John boy? one can say. think that John boy lost on the hill; say he won’t come back, say he will.

’s become of John boy? at all, played with his skipping rope, played with his ball. ran after butterflies, ones and red; did a hundred happy things— then went to bed.

the Dark

’ve had my supper, had my supper, HAD my supper and all; ’ve heard the story Cinderella, how she went to the ball; ’ve cleaned my teeth, I’ve said my prayers, I’ve cleaned and said them right; they’ve all of them been kissed me lots, ’ve all of them said “Good-night.” —here I am in the dark alone, ’s nobody here to see; think to myself, play to myself, nobody knows what I say to myself; I am in the dark alone, is it going to be? can think whatever I like to think, can play whatever I like to play, can laugh whatever I like to laugh, ’s nobody here but me. ’m talking to a rabbit… ’m talking to the sun…

think I am a hundred— ’m one. ’m lying in a forest… ’m lying in a cave… ’m talking to a Dragon… ’m BRAVE. ’m lying on my left side… ’m lying on my right… ’ll play a lot tomorrow… ’ll think a lot tomorrow… ’ll laugh… lot… …

(Heigh-ho!) night. End I was One, had just begun. I was Two, was nearly new. I was Three, was hardly Me. I was Four, was not much more. I was Five, was just alive. now I am Six, I’m as clever as clever. I think I’ll be six now for ever and ever.

.A. MILNE (1882–1956) began his writing career as a humorist for Punch magazine, and also wrote plays and poetry. In 1926, he published his first stories about Winnie-the-Pooh, which were an instant success. Since then, Pooh has become a world-famous bear, and Milne’s stories have been translated into fifty languages. H. SHEPARD (1879–1976) won a scholarship to the Royal Academy Schools, and later, like Milne, worked for Punch magazine, as a cartoonist and illustrator. Shepard’s witty and loving illustrations of Winnie-the-Pooh and his friends in the Hundred Acre Wood have become an inseparable part of the Pooh stories, and they have become classics in their own right.! Haw! Haw! I have had to write this one in pencil.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-04