And soon the house that had kept it warm
Was tossed about by the autumn storm;
The stem was cracked, the old house fell,
And the chestnut burr was an empty shell.

But the little nut, as it waiting lay,
Dreamed a wonderful dream one day,
Of how it should break its coat of brown,
And live as a tree, to grow up and down.
                               Anonymous.

MARJORIE’S ALMANAC

Robins in the tree-top,
  Blossoms in the grass,
Green things a-growing
  Everywhere you pass;
Sudden little breezes,
  Showers of silver dew,
Black bough and bent twig
  Budding out anew;
Pine-tree and willow-tree,
  Fringed elm and larch,—­
Don’t you think that May-time’s
  Pleasanter than March?

Apples in the orchard
  Mellowing one by one;
Strawberries upturning
  Soft cheeks to the sun;

Roses faint with sweetness,
  Lilies fair of face,
Drowsy scents and murmurs
  Haunting every place;
Lengths of golden sunshine,
  Moonlight bright as day,—­
Don’t you think that summer’s
  Pleasanter than May?

Roger in the corn-patch
  Whistling negro songs;
Pussy by the hearth-side
  Romping with the tongs;
Chestnuts in the ashes
  Bursting through the rind;
Red leaf and gold leaf
  Rustling down the wind;
Mother “doin’ peaches”
  All the afternoon,—­
Don’t you think that autumn’s
  Pleasanter than June?

Little fairy snow-flakes
  Dancing in the flue;
Old Mr. Santa Claus,
  What is keeping you? 
Twilight and firelight
  Shadows come and go;

Merry chime of sleigh-bells
  Tinkling through the snow;
Mother knitting stockings
  (Pussy’s got the ball),—­
Don’t you think that winter’s
  Pleasanter than all?
              Thomas Bailey Aldrich.

KRISS KRINGLE

Just as the moon was fading
  Amid her misty rings,
And every stocking was stuffed
  With childhood’s precious things,

Old Kriss Kringle looked around,
  And saw on the elm-tree bough,
High hung, an oriole’s nest,
  Lonely and empty now.

“Quite a stocking,” he laughed,
  “Hung up there on a tree! 
I didn’t suppose the birds
  Expected a present from me!”

Then old Kriss Kringle, who loves
  A joke as well as the best,
Dropped a handful of snowflakes
  Into the oriole’s empty nest.
               Thomas Bailey Aldrich.

LITTLE BY LITTLE

“Little by little,” an acorn said,
As it slowly sank in its mossy bed,
“I am improving every day,
Hidden deep in the earth away.”

Little by little, each day it grew;
Little by little, it sipped the dew;
Downward it sent out a thread-like root;
Up in the air sprung a tiny shoot.