Eugene Field

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

Eugene Field Poems

161. A Dream Of Sunshine 4/9/2010
162. Francois Villon 4/9/2010
163. Little All-Aloney 1/1/2004
164. The Delectable Ballad Of The Waller Lot 1/1/2004
165. The Discreet Collector 1/1/2004
166. The Lyttel Boy 1/1/2004
167. A Paraphrase, Circa 1715 4/9/2010
168. The Happy Isles 4/9/2010
169. The Three Kings Of Cologne 4/9/2010
170. The Bibliomaniac's Bride 1/1/2004
171. After Reading Trollope's History Of Florence 4/9/2010
172. Old Spanish Song 4/9/2010
173. Little-Oh Dear 1/1/2004
174. In The Firelight 1/1/2004
175. The Bow-Leg Boy 1/1/2004
176. Ed 1/1/2004
177. To A Bully 4/9/2010
178. The Wooing Of The Southland 1/1/2004
179. Uhland's 1/1/2004
180. Hugo's "Flower To Butterfly" 1/1/2004
181. The Wind 1/1/2004
182. The Bench-Legged Fyce 1/1/2004
183. A Paraphrase Of Heine 4/9/2010
184. Thirty-Nine 1/1/2004
185. Inscription For My Little Son's Silver Plate 1/1/2004
186. Long Ago 1/1/2004
187. The Bibliomaniac's Prayer 1/1/2004
188. The Stork 1/1/2004
189. Christmas Treasures 1/1/2004
190. The "Happy Isles" Of Horace 1/1/2004
191. Stoves And Sunshine 1/1/2004
192. The Limitations Of Youth 1/1/2004
193. The Ride To Bumpville 1/1/2004
194. Heine's "Widow Or Daughter?" 1/1/2004
195. Chicago Weather 1/1/2004
196. With Brutus In St. Jo 1/1/2004
197. The Dead Babe 1/1/2004
198. The Shut-Eye Train 1/1/2004
199. Little Miss Brag 1/1/2004
200. Little Willie 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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