Fashions in beauty have a way
Of altering from day to day.
Is ‘Handsome Louis’ with us yet?
Unfortunately I forget.”
Next morning (nose to window-pane)
The doubt occurred to him again.
One question hammered in his head:
“Is he alive or is he dead?”
Thus, nose to pane, he pondered; but
The lattice window, loosely shut,
Swung open. With one startled “Oh!”
Our Teddy disappeared below.
There happened to be passing by
A plump man with a twinkling eye,
Who, seeing Teddy in the street,
Raised him politely to his feet,
And murmured kindly in his ear
Soft words of comfort and of cheer:
“Well, well!” “Allow me!” “Not at all.”
“Tut-tut! A very nasty fall.”
Our Teddy answered not a word;
It’s doubtful if he even heard.
Our bear could only look and look:
The stout man in the picture-book!
That “handsome” King—could this be he,
This man of adiposity?
“Impossible,” he thought. “But still,
No harm in asking. Yes I will!”
“Are you,” he said, “by any chance
His Majesty the King of France?”
The other answered, “I am that,”
Bowed stiffly, and removed his hat;
Then said, “Excuse me,” with an air,
“But is it Mr. Edward Bear?”
And Teddy, bending very low,
Replied politely, “Even so!”
They stood beneath the window there,
The King and Mr. Edward Bear,
And, handsome, if a trifle fat,
Talked carelessly of this and that….
Then said His Majesty, “Well, well,
I must get on,” and rang the bell.
“Your bear, I think,” he smiled. “Good-day!”
And turned, and went upon his way.
A bear, however hard he tries,
Grows tubby without exercise.
Our Teddy Bear is short and fat,
Which is not to be wondered at.
But do you think it worries him
To know that he is far from slim?
No, just the other way about—
He’s proud of being short and stout.
Bad Sir Brian Botany
Sir Brian had a battleaxe with great big knobs on;
He went among the villagers and blipped them on the head.
On Wednesday and on Saturday, but mostly on the latter day,
He called at all the cottages, and this is what he said:
“I am Sir Brian!” (ting-ling)
“I am Sir Brian!” (rat-tat)
“I am Sir Brian, as bold as a lion—
Take that!—and that—and that!”
Sir Brian had a pair of boots with great big spurs on,
A fighting pair of which he was particularly fond.
On Tuesday and on Friday, just to make the street look tidy,
He’d collect the passing villagers and kick them in the pond.
“I am Sir Brian!” (sper-lash)
“I am Sir Brian!” (sper-losh!)
“I am Sir Brian, as bold as a lion—
Is anyone else for a wash?”
Sir Brian woke one morning, and he couldn’t find his battleaxe;
He walked into the village in his second pair of boots.
He had gone a hundred paces, when the street was full of faces,
And the villagers were round him with ironical salutes.
“You are Sir Brian? Indeed!
You are Sir Brian? Dear, dear!
You are Sir Brian, as bold as a lion?
Delighted to meet you here!”
Sir Brian went a journey, and he found a lot of duckweed;
They pulled him out and dried him, and they blipped him on the head.
They took him by the breeches, and they hurled him into ditches,
And they pushed him under waterfalls, and this is what they said:
“You are Sir Brian—don’t laugh,
You are Sir Brian—don’t cry;
You are Sir Brian, as bold as a lion—
Sir Brian, the lion, good-bye!”
Sir Brian struggled home again, and chopped up his battleaxe,
Sir Brian took his fighting boots, and threw them in the fire.
He is quite a different person now he hasn’t got his spurs on,
And he goes about the village as B. Botany, Esquire.
“I am Sir Brian? Oh, no!
I am Sir Brian? Who’s he?
I haven’t got any title, I’m Botany—
Plain Mr. Botany (B).”
In the Fashion
A lion has a tail and a very fine tail,
And so has an elephant, and so has a whale,
And so has a crocodile, and so has a quail—
They’ve all got tails but me.
If I had sixpence I would buy one;
I’d say to the shopman, “Let me try one”
I’d say to the elephant, “This is my one.”
They’d all come round to see.
Then I’d say to the lion, “Why, you’ve got a tail!
And so has the elephant, and so has the whale!
And, look! There’s a crocodile! He’s got a tail!
“You’ve all got tails like me!”
The Alchemist
There lives an old man at the top of the street,
And the end of his beard reaches down to his feet,
And he’s just the one person I’m longing to meet.
I think that he sounds so exciting;
For he talks all the day to his tortoiseshell cat,
And he asks about this, and explains about that,
And at night he puts on a big wide-awake* hat
And sits in the writing-room, writing.
He has worked all his life (and he’s terribly old)
At a wonderful spell which says, “Lo, and behold!
Your nursery fender is gold!”—and it’s gold!
(Or the tongs, or the rod for the curtain);
But somehow he hasn’t got hold of it quite,
Or the liquid you pour on it first isn’t right,
So that’s why he works at it night after night
Till he knows he can do it for certain.
Growing Up
I’ve got shoes with grown up laces,
I’ve got knickers and a pair of braces,
I’m all ready to run some races.
Who’s coming out with me?
I’ve got a nice new pair of braces,
I’ve got shoes with new brown laces,
I know wonderful paddly places.
Who’s coming out with me?
Every morning my new grace is,
“Thank you, God, for my nice braces:
I can tie my new brown laces.”
Who’s coming out with me?
If I Were King
I often wish I were a King,
And then I could do anything.
If only I were King of Spain,
I’d take my hat off in the rain.
If only I were King of France,
I wouldn’t brush my hair for aunts.
I think, if I were King of Greece,
I’d push things off the mantelpiece.
If I were King of Norroway,
I’d ask an elephant to stay.
If I were King of Babylon,
I’d leave my button gloves undone.
If I were King of Timbuctoo,
I’d think of lovely things to do.
If I were King of anything,
I’d tell the soldiers, “I’m the King!”
Vespers
Little Boy kneels at the foot of the bed,
&n
bsp; Droops on the little hands little gold head.
Hush! Hush! Whisper who dares!
Christopher Robin is saying his prayers.
God bless Mummy. I know that’s right.
Wasn’t it fun in the bath tonight?
The cold’s so cold, and the hot’s so hot.
Oh! God bless Daddy—I quite forgot.
If I open my fingers a little bit more,
I can see Nanny’s dressing-gown on the door.
It’s a beautiful blue, but it hasn’t a hood.
Oh! God bless Nanny and make her good.
Mine has a hood, and I lie in bed,
And pull the hood right over my head,
And I shut my eyes, and I curl up small,
And nobody knows that I’m there at all.
Oh! Thank you, God, for a lovely day.
And what was the other I had to say?
I said “Bless Daddy,” so what can it be?
Oh! Now I remember. God bless Me.
Little Boy kneels at the foot of the bed,
Droops on the little hands little gold head.
Hush! Hush! Whisper who dares!
Christopher Robin is saying his prayers.
*This poem, being printed in the Library of the Queen’s Dolls’ House, is printed here by special permission.
*So as not to go to sleep.
A. A. Milne, When We Were Very Young
(Series: Winnie-the-Pooh # 3)
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