When I was young I had a book,
In which I often used to look.
The pictures, in an olden style,
Would make me cry and make me smile.
I lost the book in War's alarms,
But still I pondered on its charms.
The story was forgotten too,
As old books were replaced by new.
I only knew that there were crows,
Lined up in trees in long dark rows.
And I recall the plaintive cry,
As crows sent mourning notes on high.
The words that always touched me so?
'There is no joy unmixed with woe.'
Today, the picture up above,
Set me nostalgically thinking of
The book, the pictures and the loss.
What a lovely thing to come across!
For I Googled and at last I saw
The very book I was searching for!
I photographed it from the screen!
It was exactly what I had seen
As a little girl of seven or eight
(I think we'll just ignore the date!).
So I'm reproducing here, below,
The pages that entranced me so!
The story's sad, but as we know,
'There is no joy unmixed with woe'.
Here are a few of the pages from the book.
Children's literature has changed quite a bit since the 1870s when this book was created, hasn't it!
Incidentally the book was already seventy years old when I was reading it.
Another childhood memory here: