{"id":153344,"date":"2021-01-30T19:30:00","date_gmt":"2021-01-30T19:30:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.english-culture.com\/?p=153344"},"modified":"2024-03-22T16:14:50","modified_gmt":"2024-03-22T16:14:50","slug":"robert-louis-stevenson-poems","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.english-culture.com\/robert-louis-stevenson-poems\/","title":{"rendered":"Robert Louis Stevenson poems"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"A<\/a>
A child’s garden of verses<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

Robert Louis Stevenson poems. Humour, as such, does not seem to be a major part of Scottish culture, as it is with the English or the Jews. On the other hand there is a sort of gentle humour<\/a> that appears in traditional folk tales, literature and poems, and this is certainly the case of Stevenson’s collection of poems entitled A Child’s Garden of Verses.
\n<\/span><\/p>\n

Robert Louis Stevenson was born in Edimburgh<\/a> in 1850. Although seriously ill all his life with tubercolosis, Stevenson had an insatiable desire for new experiences and places and a deep interest in mistery which entitled him to be numbered among the foremost writers of the “Romantic revival” of the late nineteenth century. Critically acclaimed for his exceptional ability as a prose stylist, his great adventure stories and romantic essays in the personal vein are certainly world-wide famous.<\/span><\/p>\n

He is best known for his split-personality thriller Dr. Jekyll and My. Hyde and his two adventure novels Treasure Island and Kidnapped. But children all over the English speaking world have brought up on his charming poems which form a collection called The Child’s Garden of Verses and they are certainly not without humour.<\/span><\/p>\n

This collection concerns childhood, illness, play, and solitude. It first appeared in 1885 under the title Penny Whistles, but has been reprinted many times, often in illustrated versions. It contains about 66 poems, including “Foreign Children”, “The Lamplighter,” “The Land of Counterpane”, “Bed in Summer”, “My Shadow”, and “The Swing”.<\/span><\/p>\n

Stevenson dedicated the poems to his nurse Cummy (Alison Cunningham), who cared for him during his many childhood illnesses. They are a really delightful look at childhood, written by a master of poetry and prose. In this work Stevenson recalls the joys of his childhood, from sailing boats down a river, to waiting for the lamplighter, to sailing off to foreign lands in his imagination.<\/span><\/p>\n

\"Robert<\/a>
Robert Louis Stevenson poems<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

Some of the poems, particularly those in \u201cThe Child Alone\u201d section evoke the loneliness of being young, ill and without companions (certainly Stevenson was here remembering his own childhood). Children in these poems (for example \u201cThe Unseen Playmate\u201d. \u201cMy Ship and I\u201d, and \u201cMy Kingdom\u201d) use their imaginations to entertain themselves, rather than the company of a friend.<\/span><\/p>\n

Poems in the \u201cGarden Days\u201d section of the collection are concerned with nature and the seasons. Other poems in the book are moral reminders to children. For example, \u201cGood and Bad Children\u201d warns that children who behave badly will be disliked as adults. <\/span><\/p>\n

In the last poem of the collection, \u201cTo Any Reader\u201d, Stevenson reminds his readers that all children eventually grow up, and that these poems are memories of a time that has past. This poem also serves to show that A Child\u2019s Garden of Verses is not just a book for children, but addresses adult themes like loss and loneliness.<\/span><\/p>\n

To Any Reader<\/span><\/p>\n

As from the house your mother sees<\/span>
\nYou playing round the garden trees,<\/span>
\nSo you may see, if you will look<\/span>
\nThrough the windows of this book,<\/span>
\nAnother child, far, far away,<\/span>
\nAnd in another garden, play.<\/span>
\nBut do not think you can at all,<\/span>
\nBy knocking on the window, call<\/span>
\nThat child to hear you. He intent<\/span>
\nIs all on his play-business bent.<\/span>
\nHe does not hear, he will not look,<\/span>
\nNor yet be lured out of this book.<\/span>
\nFor, long ago, the truth to say,<\/span>
\nHe has grown up and gone away,<\/span>
\nAnd it is but a child of air<\/span>
\nThat lingers in the garden there.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c<\/p>\n

Bed in Summer<\/span><\/p>\n

In winter I get up at night<\/span>
\nAnd dress by yellow candle-light.<\/span>
\nIn summer quite the other way,<\/span>
\nI have to go to bed by day.<\/span><\/p>\n

I have to go to bed and see<\/span>
\nThe birds still hopping on the tree,<\/span>
\nOr hear the grown-up people’s feet<\/span>
\nStill going past me in the street.<\/span><\/p>\n

And does it not seem hard to you,<\/span>
\nWhen all the sky is clear and blue,<\/span>
\nAnd I should like so much to play,<\/span>
\nTo have to go to bed by day?<\/span><\/p>\n

\"Winter<\/a>
Winter time a poem by Robert Stevenson<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

Foreign Lands<\/span><\/p>\n

Up into the cherry tree<\/span>
\nWho should climb but little me?<\/span>
\nI held the trunk with both my hands<\/span>
\nAnd looked abroad in foreign lands.<\/span><\/p>\n

I saw the next door garden lie,<\/span>
\nAdorned with flowers, before my eye,<\/span>
\nAnd many pleasant places more<\/span>
\nThat I had never seen before.<\/span><\/p>\n

I saw the dimpling river pass<\/span>
\nAnd be the sky’s blue looking-glass;<\/span>
\nThe dusty roads go up and down<\/span>
\nWith people tramping in to town.<\/span><\/p>\n

If I could find a higher tree<\/span>
\nFarther and farther I should see,<\/span>
\nTo where the grown-up river slips<\/span>
\nInto the sea among the ships,<\/span><\/p>\n

To where the road on either hand<\/span>
\nLead onward into fairy land,<\/span>
\nWhere all the children dine at five,<\/span>
\nAnd all the playthings come alive.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c<\/p>\n

Pirate Story<\/span><\/p>\n

Three of us afloat in the meadow by the swing,<\/span>
\nThree of us abroad in the basket on the lea.<\/span>
\nWinds are in the air, they are blowing in the spring,<\/span>
\nAnd waves are on the meadow like the waves there are at sea.<\/span><\/p>\n

Where shall we adventure, to-day that we’re afloat,<\/span>
\nWary of the weather and steering by a star?<\/span>
\nShall it be to Africa, a-steering of the boat,<\/span>
\nTo Providence, or Babylon or off to Malabar?<\/span><\/p>\n

Hi! but here’s a squadron a-rowing on the sea–<\/span>
\nCattle on the meadow a-charging with a roar!<\/span>
\nQuick, and we’ll escape them, they’re as mad as they can be,<\/span>
\nThe wicket is the harbour and the garden is the shore.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c<\/p>\n

My Shadow<\/span><\/p>\n

I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,<\/span>
\nAnd what can be the use of him is more than I can see.<\/span>
\nHe is very, very like me from the heels up to the head;<\/span>
\nAnd I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.<\/span><\/p>\n

The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow–<\/span>
\nNot at all like proper children, which is always very slow;<\/span>
\nFor he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber ball,<\/span>
\nAnd he sometimes goes so little that there’s none of him at all.<\/span><\/p>\n

He hasn’t got a notion of how children ought to play,<\/span>
\nAnd can only make a fool of me in every sort of way.<\/span>
\nHe stays so close behind me, he’s a coward you can see;<\/span>
\nI’d think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me!<\/span><\/p>\n

One morning, very early, before the sun was up,<\/span>
\nI rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup;<\/span>
\nBut my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head,<\/span>
\nHad stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c<\/p>\n

The Unseen Playmate<\/span><\/p>\n

When children are playing alone on the green,<\/span>
\nIn comes the playmate that never was seen.<\/span>
\nWhen children are happy and lonely and good,<\/span>
\nThe Friend of the Children comes out of the wood.<\/span><\/p>\n

Nobody heard him, and nobody saw,<\/span>
\nHis is a picture you never could draw,<\/span>
\nBut he’s sure to be present, abroad or at home,<\/span>
\nWhen children are happy and playing alone.<\/span><\/p>\n

He lies in the laurels, he runs on the grass,<\/span>
\nHe sings when you tinkle the musical glass;<\/span>
\nWhene’er you are happy and cannot tell why,<\/span>
\nThe Friend of the Children is sure to be by!<\/span><\/p>\n

He loves to be little, he hates to be big,<\/span>
\n‘T is he that inhabits the caves that you dig;<\/span>
\n‘T is he when you play with your soldiers of tin<\/span>
\nThat sides with the Frenchmen and never can win.<\/span><\/p>\n

‘T is he, when at night you go off to your bed,<\/span>
\nBids you go to sleep and not trouble your head;<\/span>
\nFor wherever they’re lying, in cupboard or shelf,<\/span>
\n‘T is he will take care of your playthings himself!<\/span><\/p>\n

\"Poems<\/a>
Poems by Robert Louis Stevenson<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

The Land of Counterpane<\/span><\/p>\n

When I was sick and lay a-bed,<\/span>
\nI had two pillows at my head,<\/span>
\nAnd all my toys beside me lay,<\/span>
\nTo keep me happy all the day.<\/span><\/p>\n

And sometimes for an hour or so<\/span>
\nI watched my leaden soldiers go,<\/span>
\nWith different uniforms and drills,<\/span>
\nAmong the bed-clothes, through the hills;<\/span><\/p>\n

And sometimes sent my ships in fleets<\/span>
\nAll up and down among the sheets;<\/span>
\nOr brought my trees and houses out,<\/span>
\nAnd planted cities all about.<\/span><\/p>\n

I was the giant great and still<\/span>
\nThat sits upon the pillow-hill,<\/span>
\nAnd sees before him, dale and plain,<\/span>
\nThe pleasant land of counterpane.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c<\/p>\n

Good and Bad Children<\/span><\/p>\n

Children, you are very little,<\/span>
\nAnd your bones are very brittle;<\/span>
\nIf you would grow great and stately,<\/span>
\nYou must try to walk sedately.<\/span><\/p>\n

You must still be bright and quiet,<\/span>
\nAnd content with simple diet;<\/span>
\nAnd remain, through all bewild’ring,<\/span>
\nInnocent and honest children.<\/span><\/p>\n

Happy hearts and happy faces,<\/span>
\nHappy play in grassy places–<\/span>
\nThat was how in ancient ages,<\/span>
\nChildren grew to kings and sages.<\/span><\/p>\n

But the unkind and the unruly,<\/span>
\nAnd the sort who eat unduly,<\/span>
\nThey must never hope for glory–<\/span>
\nTheirs is quite a different story!<\/span><\/p>\n

Cruel children, crying babies,<\/span>
\nAll grow up as geese and gabies,<\/span>
\nHated, as their age increases,<\/span>
\nBy their nephews and their nieces.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c<\/p>\n

My Ship and I<\/span><\/p>\n

O it’s I that am the captain of a tiny little ship,<\/span>
\nOf a ship that goes a sailing on the pond;<\/span>
\nAnd my ship it keeps a-turning all around and all about;<\/span>
\nBut when I’m a little older, I shall find the secret out<\/span>
\nHow to send my vessel sailing on beyond.<\/span><\/p>\n

For I mean to grow a little as the dolly at the helm,<\/span>
\nAnd the dolly I intend to come alive;<\/span>
\nAnd with him beside to help me, it’s a-sailing I shall go,<\/span>
\nIt’s a-sailing on the water, when the jolly breezes blow<\/span>
\nAnd the vessel goes a dive-dive-dive.<\/span><\/p>\n

O it’s then you’ll see me sailing through the rushes and the reeds,<\/span>
\nAnd you’ll hear the water singing at the prow;<\/span>
\nFor beside the dolly sailor, I’m to voyage and explore,<\/span>
\nTo land upon the island where no dolly was before,<\/span>
\nAnd to fire the penny cannon in the bow.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c<\/p>\n

Escape at Bedtime<\/span><\/p>\n

The lights from the parlour and kitchen shone out<\/span>
\nThrough the blinds and the windows and bars;<\/span>
\nAnd high overhead and all moving about,<\/span>
\nThere were thousands of millions of stars.<\/span>
\nThere ne’er were such thousands of leaves on a tree,<\/span>
\nNor of people in church or the Park,<\/span>
\nAs the crowds of the stars that looked down upon me,<\/span>
\nAnd that glittered and winked in the dark.<\/span><\/p>\n

The Dog, and the Plough, and the Hunter, and all,<\/span>
\nAnd the star of the sailor, and Mars,<\/span>
\nThese shown in the sky, and the pail by the wall<\/span>
\nWould be half full of water and stars.<\/span>
\nThey saw me at last, and they chased me with cries,<\/span>
\nAnd they soon had me packed into bed;<\/span>
\nBut the glory kept shining and bright in my eyes,<\/span>
\nAnd the stars going round in my head.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c<\/p>\n

Foreign Children<\/span><\/p>\n

Little Indian, Sioux, or Crow,<\/span>
\nLittle frosty Eskimo,<\/span>
\nLittle Turk or Japanee,<\/span>
\nOh! don’t you wish that you were me?<\/span><\/p>\n

You have seen the scarlet trees<\/span>
\nAnd the lions over seas;<\/span>
\nYou have eaten ostrich eggs,<\/span>
\nAnd turned the turtle off their legs.<\/span><\/p>\n

Such a life is very fine,<\/span>
\nBut it’s not so nice as mine:<\/span>
\nYou must often as you trod,<\/span>
\nHave wearied NOT to be abroad.<\/span><\/p>\n

You have curious things to eat,<\/span>
\nI am fed on proper meat;<\/span>
\nYou must dwell upon the foam,<\/span>
\nBut I am safe and live at home.<\/span>
\nLittle Indian, Sioux or Crow,<\/span>
\nLittle frosty Eskimo,<\/span>
\nLittle Turk or Japanee,<\/span>
\nOh! don’t you wish that you were me?<\/span><\/p>\n

\"Robert<\/a>
Robert Louis Stevenson poems collection<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

My Kingdom<\/span><\/p>\n

Down by a shining water well<\/span>
\nI found a very little dell,<\/span>
\nNo higher than my head.<\/span>
\nThe heather and the gorse about<\/span>
\nIn summer bloom were coming out,<\/span>
\nSome yellow and some red.<\/span><\/p>\n

I called the little pool a sea;<\/span>
\nThe little hills were big to me;<\/span>
\nFor I am very small.<\/span>
\nI made a boat, I made a town,<\/span>
\nI searched the caverns up and down,<\/span>
\nAnd named them one and all.<\/span><\/p>\n

And all about was mine, I said,<\/span>
\nThe little sparrows overhead,<\/span>
\nThe little minnows too.<\/span>
\nThis was the world and I was king;<\/span>
\nFor me the bees came by to sing,<\/span>
\nFor me the swallows flew.<\/span><\/p>\n

I played there were no deeper seas,<\/span>
\nNor any wider plains than these,<\/span>
\nNor other kings than me.<\/span>
\nAt last I heard my mother call<\/span>
\nOut from the house at evenfall,<\/span>
\nTo call me home to tea.<\/span><\/p>\n

And I must rise and leave my dell,<\/span>
\nAnd leave my dimpled water well,<\/span>
\nAnd leave my heather blooms.<\/span>
\nAlas! and as my home I neared,<\/span>
\nHow very big my nurse appeared.<\/span>
\nHow great and cool the rooms!<\/span><\/p>\n

\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c<\/p>\n

The Cow<\/span><\/p>\n

The friendly cow all red and white,<\/span>
\nI love with all my heart:<\/span>
\nShe gives me cream with all her might,<\/span>
\nTo eat with apple-tart.<\/span><\/p>\n

She wanders lowing here and there,<\/span>
\nAnd yet she cannot stray,<\/span>
\nAll in the pleasant open air,<\/span>
\nThe pleasant light of day;<\/span><\/p>\n

And blown by all the winds that pass<\/span>
\nAnd wet with all the showers,<\/span>
\nShe walks among the meadow grass<\/span>
\nAnd eats the meadow flowers.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c<\/p>\n

The Lamplighter<\/span><\/p>\n

My tea is nearly ready and the sun has left the sky.<\/span>
\nIt’s time to take the window to see Leerie going by;<\/span>
\nFor every night at teatime and before you take your seat,<\/span>
\nWith lantern and with ladder he comes posting up the street.<\/span><\/p>\n

Now Tom would be a driver and Maria go to sea,<\/span>
\nAnd my papa’s a banker and as rich as he can be;<\/span>
\nBut I, when I am stronger and can choose what I’m to do,<\/span>
\nO Leerie, I’ll go round at night and light the lamps with you!<\/span><\/p>\n

For we are very lucky, with a lamp before the door,<\/span>
\nAnd Leerie stops to light it as he lights so many more;<\/span>
\nAnd oh! before you hurry by with ladder and with light;<\/span>
\nO Leerie, see a little child and nod to him to-night!<\/span><\/p>\n

\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c<\/p>\n

My Bed is a Boat<\/span><\/p>\n

My bed is like a little boat;<\/span>
\nNurse helps me in when I embark;<\/span>
\nShe girds me in my sailor’s coat<\/span>
\nAnd starts me in the dark.<\/span><\/p>\n

At night I go on board and say<\/span>
\nGood-night to all my friends on shore;<\/span>
\nI shut my eyes and sail away<\/span>
\nAnd see and hear no more.<\/span><\/p>\n

And sometimes things to bed I take,<\/span>
\nAs prudent sailors have to do;<\/span>
\nPerhaps a slice of wedding-cake,<\/span>
\nPerhaps a toy or two.<\/span><\/p>\n

All night across the dark we steer;<\/span>
\nBut when the day returns at last,<\/span>
\nSafe in my room beside the pier,<\/span>
\nI find my vessel fast.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c<\/p>\n

The Sun’s Travels<\/span><\/p>\n

The sun is not a-bed, when I<\/span>
\nAt night upon my pillow lie;<\/span>
\nStill round the earth his way he takes,<\/span>
\nAnd morning after morning makes.<\/span><\/p>\n

While here at home, in shining day,<\/span>
\nWe round the sunny garden play,<\/span>
\nEach little Indian sleepy-head<\/span>
\nIs being kissed and put to bed.<\/span><\/p>\n

And when at eve I rise form tea,<\/span>
\nDay dawns beyond the Atlantic Sea;<\/span>
\nAnd all the children in the west<\/span>
\nAre getting up and being dressed.<\/span><\/p>\n

\"The<\/a>
The swing a poem by Robert Louis Stevenson<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

The Wind<\/span><\/p>\n

I saw you toss the kites on high<\/span>
\nAnd blow the birds about the sky;<\/span>
\nAnd all around I heard you pass,<\/span>
\nLike ladies’ skirts across the grass–<\/span>
\nO wind, a-blowing all day long,<\/span>
\nO wind, that sings so loud a song!<\/span><\/p>\n

I saw the different things you did,<\/span>
\nBut always you yourself you hid.<\/span>
\nI felt you push, I heard you call,<\/span>
\nI could not see yourself at all–<\/span>
\nO wind, a-blowing all day long,<\/span>
\nO wind, that sings so loud a song!<\/span><\/p>\n

O you that are so strong and cold,<\/span>
\nO blower, are you young or old?<\/span>
\nAre you a beast of field and tree,<\/span>
\nOr just a stronger child than me?<\/span>
\nO wind, a-blowing all day long,<\/span>
\nO wind, that sings so loud a song!<\/span><\/p>\n

\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c<\/p>\n

The Moon<\/span><\/p>\n

The moon has a face like the clock in the hall;<\/span>
\nShe shines on thieves on the garden wall,<\/span>
\nOn streets and fields and harbour quays,<\/span>
\nAnd birdies asleep in the forks of the trees.<\/span><\/p>\n

The squalling cat and the squeaking mouse,<\/span>
\nThe howling dog by the door of the house,<\/span>
\nThe bat that lies in bed at noon,<\/span>
\nAll love to be out by the light of the moon.<\/span><\/p>\n

But all of the things that belong to the day<\/span>
\nCuddle to sleep to be out of her way;<\/span>
\nAnd flowers and children close their eyes<\/span>
\nTill up in the morning the sun shall arise.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c<\/p>\n

The Gardener<\/span><\/p>\n

The gardener does not love to talk.<\/span>
\nHe makes me keep the gravel walk;<\/span>
\nAnd when he puts his tools away,<\/span>
\nHe locks the door and takes the key.<\/span><\/p>\n

Away behind the currant row,<\/span>
\nWhere no one else but cook may go,<\/span>
\nFar in the plots, I see him dig,<\/span>
\nOld and serious, brown and big.<\/span><\/p>\n

He digs the flowers, green, red, and blue,<\/span>
\nNor wishes to be spoken to.<\/span>
\nHe digs the flowers and cuts the hay,<\/span>
\nAnd never seems to want to play.<\/span><\/p>\n

Silly gardener! summer goes,<\/span>
\nAnd winter comes with pinching toes,<\/span>
\nWhen in the garden bare and brown<\/span>
\nYou must lay your barrow down.<\/span><\/p>\n

Well now, and while the summer stays,<\/span>
\nTo profit by these garden days<\/span>
\nO how much wiser you would be<\/span>
\nTo play at Indian wars with me!<\/span><\/p>\n

\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c\u223c<\/p>\n

Historical Associations<\/span><\/p>\n

Dear Uncle Jim. this garden ground<\/span>
\nThat now you smoke your pipe around,<\/span>
\nhas seen immortal actions done<\/span>
\nAnd valiant battles lost and won.<\/span><\/p>\n

Here we had best on tip-toe tread,<\/span>
\nWhile I for safety march ahead,<\/span>
\nFor this is that enchanted ground<\/span>
\nWhere all who loiter slumber sound.<\/span><\/p>\n

Here is the sea, here is the sand,<\/span>
\nHere is the simple Shepherd’s Land,<\/span>
\nHere are the fairy hollyhocks,<\/span>
\nAnd there are Ali Baba’s rocks.<\/span>
\nBut yonder, see! apart and high,<\/span>
\nFrozen Siberia lies; where I,<\/span>
\nWith Robert Bruce William Tell,<\/span>
\nWas bound by an enchanter’s spell.<\/span><\/p>\n

If you want to read all the poems, songs and adventure books of this great author you can visit the following links:<\/span><\/p>\n

www.daimon.org\/lib\/authorss.htm<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n

www.poetryloverspage.com\/poets\/stevenson\/stevenson_ind.html<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n

robert-louis-stevenson.org\/<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n

Literature, Poetry and poems<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n

Literature living poems<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n

Alchemy of Suffering by Charles Baudelaire<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n

A Child\u2019s Garden of Verses by Robert L. Stevenson<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n

The Book of Nonsense by Edward Lear<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n

Poems and Thoughts on Halloween<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n

Poems on Halloween, death and souls<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n

T.S. Eliot poetic quotes and aphorisms<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n

Christmas magic poems<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n

Christmas magic carols<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Robert Louis Stevenson poems. Humour, as such, does not seem to be a major part of Scottish culture, as it is with the English or the Jews. On the other hand there …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[202,1220,718,2811,261,182,185,209,143,831,2139,11,190,192,193,90,132,12],"tags":[3628,1397,3981,3979,902,294,3978,1589,3977,3980],"class_list":["post-153344","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-creativity","category-culture","category-english-world","category-entertainment","category-fantasy","category-happiness","category-humour","category-imagination","category-language","category-learning","category-lifestyle","category-literature","category-love","category-people","category-poetry","category-spirituality","category-the-world-of-english","category-writing","tag-child","tag-children","tag-garden","tag-louis","tag-poems","tag-poetry","tag-robert","tag-scotland","tag-stevenson","tag-verses"],"aioseo_notices":[],"aioseo_head":"\n\t\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t