Eugene Field “ The Children’s Poet”

1. Eugene Field“The Children’s Poet” By Sarah Ausman

2. Life as a Boy • Born September 2, 1850 in Saint Louis, MO. • Siblings: 1 brother, Roswell, and one sister who died soon after birth. • At age 6 his mother died and was sent along with his brother to live with his cousin, Mary French, in Mass. • Wrote his first poem at 9. • Father wanted him to study Law, so he attended Williams College in Massachusetts for 8 months until his father died. • Transferred to University of Missouri where he met Julia Comstock. • Married Julia when she was 16. They had 8 children; two died as babies, another as a young boy.

3. Life as a Poet • Worked for Chicago Daily News writing a humorous column called, “Sharps and Flats”, where he wrote, “What I please on any subject I please”. • Most famous poems are “Wynken, Blynken, and Nod”, “The Duel”, and “Little Boy Blue”. • Sarcastic, witty humor, however he only wrote children’s poetry. • Was said about Field: “He was forever scanning whatever lies hidden within the folds of the heart of childhood. He knew children through and through because he studied them from themselves and not from books” • Died on November 4, 1895

4. Success as a Poet • Published several books of poetry, including: A Little Book of Western Verse, With Trumpet and Drum, and Love Songs of a Childhood. • Several of his poems were set to music and received great success. • Former home in Saint Louis is now a museum. • There is a memorial to him in Lincoln Park in Chicago.

5. Poetry Style • The majority of his poems were written for children • Uses rhythm in his poetry, rather then free verse, with his poems similar to nursery rhymes. • Uses old English style such as to-day, hath, and holdeth, because poems were written in late 1800s • Topics include Christmas, the sea, nature, family, and toys.

6. Little Boy Blue • The little toy dog is covered with dust, • But sturdy and stanch he stands; • And the little toy soldier is red with rust, • And his musket moulds in his hands. • Time was when the little toy dog was new, • And the soldier was passing fair; • And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue • Kissed them and put them there. • “Now, don’t you go till I come,” he said, • “And don’t you make any noise!” • So, toddling off to his trundle-bed, • He dreamt of the pretty toys; • And, as he was dreaming, an angel song • Awakened our Little Boy Blue--- • Oh! The years are many, the years are long, • But the little toy friends are true • Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand, • Each in the same old place--- • Awaiting the touch of a little hand, • The smile of a little face; • And they wonder, as waiting the long years through • In the dust of that little chair, • What has become of our Little Boy Blue, • Since he kissed them and put them there. *This is one of Field’s most famous poems, with a rhyme scheme of A-B-A-B-C-D-C-D

7. A Drinking Song Another popular poem, however one of the few that is not written for children. Come, brothers, share the fellowship We celebrate to-night; There's grace of song on every lip And every heart is light! But first, before our mentor chimes The hour of jubilee, Let's drink a health to good old times, And good times yet to be! Clink, clink, clink! Merrily let us drink! There's store of wealth And more of health In every glass, we think. Clink, clink, clink! To fellowship we drink! And from the bowl No genial soul In every sip Of friendship's brew, we think. In such an hour can shrink. And you, oh, friends from west and east And other foreign parts, Come share the rapture of our feast, The love of loyal hearts; And in the wassail that suspends All matters burthensome, We 'll drink a health to good old friends And good friends yet to come. Clink, clink, clink! To fellowship we drink! And from the bowl No genial soul In such an hour will shrink. Clink, clink, clink! Merrily let us drink! There's fellowship

8. Yet there he lay, so peaceful like; God bless his curly head, I quite forgave the little tyke For wetting of the bed. Ah me, those happy days have flown. My boy's a father, too, And little Willies of his own Do what he used to do. And I! Ah, all that's left for me Is dreams of pleasure fled! Our boys ain't what they used to be When Willie wet the bed. Had I my choice, no shapely dame Should share my couch with me, No amorous jade of tarnished fame, Nor wench of high degree; But I would choose and choose again The little curly head, Who cuddled close beside me when He used to wet the bed. Little Willie When Willie was a little boy, No more than five or six, Right constantly he did annoy His mother with his tricks. Yet not a picayune cared I For what he did or said, Unless, as happened frequently, The rascal wet the bed. Closely he cuddled up to me, And put his hands in mine, Till all at once I seemed to be Afloat in seas of brine. Sabean odors clogged the air, And filled my soul with dread, Yet I could only grin and bear When Willie wet the bed. 'Tis many times that rascal has Soaked all the bedclothes through, Whereat I'd feebly light the gas And wonder what to do. A lot of his poems rhyme about common childhood topics, such as wetting the bed and mother-child relationships

9. I once knew all the birds that came And nested in our orchard trees; For every flower I had a name-- My friends were woodchucks, toads, and bees; I knew where thrived in yonder glen What plants would soothe a stone-bruised toe-- Oh, I was very learned then; But that was very long ago! I knew the spot upon the hill Where checkerberries could be found, I knew the rushes near the mill Where pickerel lay that weighed a pound! I knew the wood,--the very tree Where lived the poaching, saucy crow, And all the woods and crows knew me-- But that was very long ago. And pining for the joys of youth, I tread the old familiar spot Only to learn this solemn truth: I have forgotten, am forgot. Yet here's this youngster at my knee Knows all the things I used to know; To think I once was wise as he-- But that was very long ago. This is my favorite poem by Eugene Field. It is about growing up and has such vivid descriptions about nature and childhood things it paints the picture of the words in my head. The rhyme scheme, like many of his other poems, is A-B-A-B I know it's folly to complain Of whatsoe'er the Fates decree; Yet were not wishes all in vain, I tell you what my wish should be: I'd wish to be a boy again, Back with the friends I used to know; For I was, oh! so happy then-- But that was very long ago! Long Ago