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THE NEW YORK
ASTOR, LENOX AND
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THE pleasant part of editing a little book like this is the gathering together of many well-loved poems; the heart-breaking part is the exclusion of quite as many more.
“ There is so much inviting us,” says Mr. Arnold, “what are we to take ?” How, in the ripened orchard, can we bear to fill one small basket, and go away leaving the boughs heavy with unplucked fruit? How, amid friends, can we open the door to a few, and bid the others wait? The enjoyment which children receive from poetry is far-reaching and of many kinds. Martial strains which fire the blood, fairy music ringing in the ears, half-told tales which set the
young heart dreaming, brave deede, Inhappy fates, sororo ballads, keen joyous lyrics, and small jeweled verses where every word shines like a polished gem,
all these good things the children know and love. It is useless to offer them mere rhynges and jingles ; it is ungenerous to stint their young, vigorous imaginations with obvious prattle, fitted dexterously to their understandings. In the matter of poetry, a child's imar