No gift his genius might have had,
Of titles high in church or State,
Could charm him as the one he bore
Of children's poet laureate.
He smiling pressed aside the bays
And laurel garlands that he won,
And bowed his head for baby hands
To place a daisy wreath upon.
He found his kingdom in the ways
Of little ones he loved so well;
For them he tuned his lyre and sang
Sweet simple songs of magic spell.
Oh, greater feat to storm the gates
Of children's pure and cleanly hearts,
Than to subdue a warring world
By stratagems and doubtful arts!
So, when he laid him down to sleep
And earthly honors seemed so poor;
Methinks he clung to little hands
The latest, for the love they bore.
A tribute paid by chanting choirs
And pealing organs rises high;
But soft and clear, somewhere he hears
Through all, a child's low lullaby.
November 6, 2012
the death of his friend and fellow author Eugene Field. Originally, he called his column "Tales of the Town" before changing it to "Some Postscripts." Most were short, humorous vignettes. On November 6, 1895, two days after Field's death, however, he offered this poetic tribute: