Eugene Field

(2 September 1850 - 4 November 1895 / St Louis / Missouri / United States)

Eugene Field Poems

41. Ballad Of Women I Love 1/1/2004
42. Bambino (Corsican Lullaby) 3/31/2012
43. Be My Sweetheart 4/9/2010
44. Beard And Baby 4/9/2010
45. Ben Apfelgarten 1/1/2004
46. Beranger's 4/9/2010
47. Béranger's "Broken Fiddle" 1/1/2004
48. Beranger's My Last Song Perhaps (January 1814) 1/1/2004
49. Bethlehem-Town 4/9/2010
50. Boccaccio 4/9/2010
51. By My Sweetheart 1/1/2004
52. Casey's Table D'Hote 4/9/2010
53. Chicago Weather 1/1/2004
54. Child And Mother 1/1/2004
55. Christmas Eve 4/9/2010
56. Christmas Eve 1914 4/9/2010
57. Christmas Hymn 4/9/2010
58. Christmas Morning 4/9/2010
59. Christmas Treasures 1/1/2004
60. Chrystmasse Of Olde 1/1/2004
61. Clare Market 4/9/2010
62. Cobbler And Stork 3/31/2012
63. Consistency 4/9/2010
64. Contentment 4/9/2010
65. Cornish Lullaby 1/1/2004
66. De Amicitiis 1/1/2004
67. Dead Roses 4/9/2010
68. Dear Old London 4/9/2010
69. Der Mann Im Keller 1/1/2004
70. Dibdin's Ghost 4/9/2010
71. Doctor Rabelais 4/9/2010
72. Dr. Sam 1/1/2004
73. Dutch Lullaby 1/1/2004
74. Echoes From The Sabine Farm 4/9/2010
75. Ed 1/1/2004
76. Envoy 1/1/2004
77. Epilogue 4/9/2010
78. Fame _Vs._ Riches 4/9/2010
79. Father's Letter 3/31/2012
80. Fiddle-Dee-Dee 1/1/2004
Best Poem of Eugene Field

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 molds 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 dreamed of the pretty toys.
And as he was dreaming, an angel song
Awakened our Little Boy Blue,--
Oh, the years are many, the ...

Read the full of Little Boy Blue

Picnic-Time

It's June ag'in, an' in my soul I feel the fillin' joy
That's sure to come this time o' year to every little boy;
For, every June, the Sunday-schools at picnics may be seen,
Where "fields beyont the swellin' floods stand dressed in livin' green";
Where little girls are skeered to death with spiders, bugs, and ants,
An' little boys get grass-stains on their go-to meetin' pants.
It's June ag'in, an' with it all what happiness is mine -
There's goin' to be a picnic, an' I'm goin' to jine!

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