My Treasures
Viewed 127 timesMy Treasures
My Treasures
These nuts, that I keep in the back of the nest,
Where all my tin soldiers are lying at rest,
Were gathered in Autumn by nursie and me
In a wood with a well by the side of the sea.
This whistle we made (and how clearly it sounds!)
By the side of a field at the end of the grounds.
Of a branch of a plane, with a knife of my own,
It was nursie who made it, and nursie alone!
The stone, with the white and the yellow and grey,
We discovered I cannot tell HOW far away;
And I carried it back although weary and cold,
For though father denies it, I'm sure it is gold.
But of all my treasures the last is the king,
For there's very few children possess such a thing;
And that is a chisel, both handle and blade,
Which a man who was really a carpenter made.
Miscellany
Other poems by Robert Louis Stevenson (read randomly)
NOW in the sky
And on the hearth of
Now in a drawer the direful cane,
GO(D) knows, my Martial, if we two could be
To enjoy our days set wholly free;
To the true life together bend our mind,
O NEPOS, twice my neigh(b)our (since at home
We're door by door, by Flora's temple dome;
And in the country, still conjoined by fate,
CALL me not rebel, though { here at every word
{in what I sing
If I no longer hail thee { King and Lord
FOR these are sacred fishes all
Who know that lord that is the lord of all;
Come to the brim and nose the friendly hand
O CHIEF director of the growing race,
Of Rome the glory and of Rome the grace,
Me, O Quintilian, may you not forgive
DEAR sir, good-morrow! Five years back,
When you first girded for this arduous track,
And under various whimsical pretexts
AS when the hunt by holt and field
Drives on with horn and strife,
Hunger of hopeless things pursues
CALL it to mind, O my love.
Dear were your eyes as the day,
Bright as the day and the sky;
Let now your soul in this substantial world
Some anchor strike. Be here the body moored; -
This spectacle immutably from now
