The Little Land

Robert Louis Stevenson · 1885

Catalog grade guidance: K–5 — Short children’s lyric; good for early memorization and reading aloud.

67 content lines · 367 words · Est. recitation about 3 min 34 sec (approx.)

Public-domain text for reading and recitation practice. Source: Project Gutenberg #136.Estimated time uses ~120 words/minute plus short pauses—not a contest rule.

The Little Land

  When at home alone I sit
  And am very tired of it,
  I have just to shut my eyes
  To go sailing through the skies--
  To go sailing far away
  To the pleasant Land of Play;
  To the fairy land afar
  Where the Little People are;
  Where the clover-tops are trees,
  And the rain-pools are the seas,
  And the leaves, like little ships,
  Sail about on tiny trips;
  And above the Daisy tree
       Through the grasses,
  High o'erhead the Bumble Bee
       Hums and passes.

  In that forest to and fro
  I can wander, I can go;
  See the spider and the fly,
  And the ants go marching by,
  Carrying parcels with their feet
  Down the green and grassy street.
  I can in the sorrel sit
  Where the ladybird alit.
  I can climb the jointed grass
       And on high
  See the greater swallows pass
       In the sky,
  And the round sun rolling by
  Heeding no such things as I.

  Through that forest I can pass
  Till, as in a looking-glass,
  Humming fly and daisy tree
  And my tiny self I see,
  Painted very clear and neat
  On the rain-pool at my feet.
  Should a leaflet come to land
  Drifting near to where I stand,
  Straight I'll board that tiny boat
  Round the rain-pool sea to float.

  Little thoughtful creatures sit
  On the grassy coasts of it;
  Little things with lovely eyes
  See me sailing with surprise.
  Some are clad in armour green--
  (These have sure to battle been!)--
  Some are pied with ev'ry hue,
  Black and crimson, gold and blue;
  Some have wings and swift are gone;--
  But they all look kindly on.

  When my eyes I once again
  Open, and see all things plain:
  High bare walls, great bare floor;
  Great big knobs on drawer and door;
  Great big people perched on chairs,
  Stitching tucks and mending tears,
  Each a hill that I could climb,
  And talking nonsense all the time--
       O dear me,
       That I could be
  A sailor on a the rain-pool sea,
  A climber in the clover tree,
  And just come back a sleepy-head,
  Late at night to go to bed.




                                        Garden Days


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