Eugene Field

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

Eugene Field Poems

81. Fiddle-Dee-Dee 1/1/2004
82. Fisherman Jim's Kids 1/1/2004
83. Francois Villon 4/9/2010
84. Ganderfeather's Gift 3/31/2012
85. Garden And Cradle 1/1/2004
86. Gold And Love For Dearie 3/31/2012
87. Good-Bye--God Bless You! 1/1/2004
88. Good-Children Street 1/1/2004
89. Googly-Go0 1/1/2004
90. Guess 4/9/2010
91. Heine's "Widow Or Daughter?" 1/1/2004
92. Hi-Spy 1/1/2004
93. Horace And Lydia Reconciled 1/1/2004
94. Horace I, 22. 4/9/2010
95. Horace I, 31. 4/9/2010
96. Horace I, 4. 4/9/2010
97. Horace Ii, 13. 4/9/2010
98. Horace Ii, 3. 4/9/2010
99. Horace Iii. 13 1/1/2004
100. Horace To His Lute 4/9/2010
101. Horace To Maecenas 4/9/2010
102. Horace To Melpomene 1/1/2004
103. Horace To Phyllis 1/1/2004
104. Horace To Pyrrha 1/1/2004
105. Horatian Lyrics Odes I, 11. 4/9/2010
106. Horatian Lyrics Odes I, 23. 4/9/2010
107. How Salty Win Out 4/9/2010
108. Hugo's "Flower To Butterfly" 1/1/2004
109. Hugo's "Pool In The Forest" 1/1/2004
110. Hymn 1/1/2004
111. In Flanders 1/1/2004
112. In New Orleans 4/9/2010
113. In Praise Of Contentment 4/9/2010
114. In The Firelight 1/1/2004
115. In The Springtime 4/9/2010
116. Inscription For My Little Son's Silver Plate 1/1/2004
117. It Is The Printer's Fault 4/9/2010
118. Japanese Lullaby 1/1/2004
119. Jennie 4/9/2010
120. Jessie 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

Pan Liveth

They told me once that Pan was dead,
And so, in sooth, I thought him;
For vainly where the streamlets led
Through flowery meads I sought him--
Nor in his dewy pasture bed
Nor in the grove I caught him.
"Tell me," 'twas so my clamor ran--
"Tell me, oh, where is Pan?"

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