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The little folk are out to-day;
I know it by the magic way
Each flowery paddock, hill, and stream
Calls like the elfkins of a dream.

Come, Peter, Molly, Joe, and Nell,
Ring high the happy playtime bell!
Break Teacher Time's old-fashioned rule,
And let the whole world out of school.

A merry, merry mile from Thought
And all the books of men are nought
But fairy fabrics broidered fair
With teasing riddles light as air.

Come Colin, Connie, Meg, and Nance,
Blow up the pipes of sweet Romance;
And while youth dances tip-a-tap,
Crown Age with Simple Simon's cap.

First published in The Sydney Mail, 3 November 1920

Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography, Old Qld Poetry

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There's a little something lying in a dainty, cozy cot,
A something great in miniature, a hero or what not?
While a sunbeam on the threshold seems to brighten up the home,
There is merriment and welcome for the little something come.

He is mottled, he is dimpled, and, though all he says is "gou,"
You think him such a wonder, for he's strikingly like you;
And, though he wakes the echoes with a midnight dance and song,
It's very clear that, in your eyes, "the King can do no wrong."

There's a little something lying in a casket, satin lined,
As if a cherub had been there and left its face behind:
While a shadow on the threshold steals, to fill the home with dread,
There is sighing, there is sobbing, for a little something fled.

First published in Melbourne Punch, 10 September 1903

Author reference site: Austlit.

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Madge sits alone at the close of day
   By the edge of the blue lagoon;
Among the reeds the breezes play
   A wandering woodland tune.
A magpie lights on a red-gum bough,
   And whistles clear and shrill;
The woods with gold and crimson glow
O'er gully, plain, and hill.

The wattle shakes its honey scent
   Upon the warm, sweet breeze;
The clematis its drift white tent
   Spreads for the roving bees.
Under a log a lizard slips
   Quick as a gleam of light.
Madge watches it with parted lips,
   And brown eyes wide and bright.

The sun drops in a crimson haze,
   The wind grows fresh and cool;
The frogs their long, quaint chorus raise
   From creek and marshy pool;
The cricket tunes his tiny trump
   As the short twilight falls;
And from the distant willow clump
   A lonely curlew calls.

Madge scans the sandy cattle track
   Until the cows appear;
She hears her father's stockwhip crack,
   Startling the evening air.
The patient cows -- Jess, Meg, and Pearl --
   Approach the milking rails,
Where mother and the dairy girl
   Wait with the shining pails.

The pageant of the stars unrolled,
   Makes the night glow like noon;
The Southern Cross gleams like pure gold,
   Gilding the dim lagoon.
Madge from her window waits to see
   The stars rise one by one;  
Then, with her prayer at mother's knee,
   Her day is sweetly done.

First published in Australian Town and Country Journal, 23 March 1901

Author: Robert Richardson (1850-1901) was born in New South Wales and completed a B.A. at the University of Sydney.  Best known as a writer for children - and possibly the first Australian born writer to be so titled - he wrote poetry mainly for the Sydney newspapers, especially the Australian Town and Country Journal.  He died in Armidale, New South Wales, in 1901.

Author reference site: Austlit

O the Queen may keep her golden
   Crown and sceptre of command!
I would give them both twice over
   To be King of Babyland.

Sure, it is a wondrous country
   Where the beanstalks grow apace,
And so very near the moon is
   You could almost stroke her face.

And the dwellers in that country
   Hold in such esteem their King,
They believe that if he chooses
   He can do --- just anything!

And, although his regal stature
   May be only four-feet-ten,
Think him tallest, strongest, bravest,
   Noblest, wisest, best of men.

Ah, how fondly I remember
   The good time serene and fair,
In the bygone years when I, too,
   Was a reigning monarch there!

But my subjects they discrowned me
   When they'd older, colder, grown;
And they took away my sceptre,
   And upset my royal throne.

Yet, although a King in Exile,
   Without subjects to command,
I am glad at heart to think I
   Once was King of Babyland.

First published in The Bulletin, 1 February 1896;
and later in
At Dawn and Dusk by Victor Daley, 1902; and
The Children's Treasury of Australian Verse edited by Bertram Stevens and George Mackaness, 1913

Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography, Australian Poetry Library

See also.