Favourite Enid Blyton Poems

[Courtenay]

I love "The Meeting" too!

Until I found this website I had no idea of Enid's gift for poetry. I'd probably read a few poems here and there in the Magazine Annuals and some of the Dean collections I had as a child, but had no idea she had written so much and of such variety and quality.

It just makes it even more infuriating that she is so blithely dismissed as a hack, who only churned out formulaic children's books. As a writer, she clearly is so much better than that.

My thoughts exactly.

[Rob Houghton]

Maybe not one of Enid's best poems (in fact it's a song rather than a poem) - but interesting, just the same -

From Enid Blyton's play Noddy In Toyland -


Oh, once on a time when the world was new
A magical tree in the woodland grew,
It grew so broad and it grew so high
Its branches reached to the top of the sky,
And in it's shelter the owl took rest,
And squirrels found a hole for a nest.
And pixies and brownies all day long
Climbed up its trunk, so sturdy and strong.

Come with me, come with me,
Come with me to the Faraway Tree,
Climb with me to the topmost bough,
Take my hand, let me show you how,
The Fairy Kingdom is waiting now
At the top of the Faraway Tree.

[Rob Houghton]

The Harvest of the Corn

Now sleeps the golden field,
For day is hardly yet begun,
And in the eastern sky the sun
Hangs like a burnished shield.
Blue shadows from the elm trees tall
Across the sleeping cornfield fall,
And not a sound is heard
From drowsy beast or bird.

Then comes the farmer's men,
With hairy arms and sunburnt throats,
And pile their cans and shabby coats
Within a nook, and then
Their shining scythes they downward swing,
And with each rhythmic stroke they bring
The golden corn to earth,
That gave it tender birth.

And all day sighs the field,
Until the sun is vanished quite,
And rising golden through the night
The harvest moon's revealed.
Serene and slow she goes her way,
And sees, where once the corn did sway,
A field of sheaves forlorn -
The harvest of the corn.

[Anita Bensoussane]

The song/poem from Noddy in Toyland isn't a favourite of mine as the rhymes are a bit banal (sorry!) but I love 'The Harvest of the Corn'. The language is rich and evocative, conjuring up colours, sounds and atmosphere very strongly.

[Rob Houghton]

I agree - the poem from Noddy In Toyland isn't my favourite either (despite the title of this thread!) but I thought it was interesting if others haven't seen anything from this play before.

I love The Harvest of the Corn - it's a great example of how Enid used colour and sounds to create an atmosphere, as you say - and a good example of how she could take us straight into a scene and feel we were experiencing it first hand.

[Courtenay]

I love The Harvest of the Corn too, except for one niggling complaint... "sunburnt throats". When someone's working upright, as the farmer's men would have been (rather than lying on their backs sunbathing), it's almost impossible for one's throat to get sunburnt, because the chin shades it nearly all the time. It's the back of the neck that's far more liable to be burnt - plus the face (especially the nose), ears, and shoulders and arms if they're exposed. Trust me, growing up in Australia, one learns these things pretty quickly.

[Rob Houghton]

I thought exactly the same thing - a real case of Enid 'forcing the common sense so it would rhyme' - something our teacher at school often complained about when someone would write a poem along the lines of 'Mr Brown is like a clown'

[Courtenay]

That reminds me of Billy Joel's legendary "And he's talking with Davy who's still in the Navy..."

[Kate Mary]

We haven't had a poem for a couple of days. This charming piece of whimsy comes from The Teachers' World, 25th April 1923:

The Robin's Wooing

As I came down the lane today
The air was full of song,
And lots of little happy birds
Flew chirruping along.

There came a robin sleek and fat,
And perched upon a gate;
And in the hedge a-peeping out
I saw his little mate.

"Trilla-trilla-trilla-true!"
Sang robin, loud and long.
"You little beauty in the hedge,
Oh, come and hear my song!"

"Oh, will you be my little wife,
And come and live with me?
I've found a very cosy spot
Within a hazel tree!"

"And shall we build a little nest,
The softest ever made?
And shall we have some tiny eggs,
The sweetest ever laid?"

"And shall I sing to you each day
Oh, trilla-trilla-true;
And tell the other birds around
How fond I am of you?"

"Oh, I will bring you curly worms
And little bits of bread
Oh, leave your lonely hawthorn bush,
And marry me instead!"

He puffed his shiny feathers out,
And chirruped loud and shrill;
And from the hedge a little voice
Came twittering " I Will".

And off the pair of robins flew
To find the hazel tree.
And when they send their wedding cards
I hope they'll think of me!

[Courtenay]

Awwwwwwww

[Rob Houghton]

That's a sweet poem! Reminds me of the nursery Rhyme about Robin and Jenny Wren!


An Evening Of June

Slowly the sun slips over the hill,
The shadows of trees are long,
The blackbird opens his gleaming bill,
And whistles an evensong,
And slowly lumbering down the lane
The hay-wagon comes with its load again.

The hedges look on as the horses pass
And fling out a mischievous spray,
They catch at the burden of scented grass,
And pull little pieces away.
And by all their booty 'tis easy to know,
The way that the lumbering hay-wagons go.

Past the wild roses, delicate, frail,
Whose petals fall soft on the breeze,
Down the long hillside and into the vale
Beneath all the shadowy trees,
Past all the poppies that dance by the road
The hay-wagon carries its very last load.

[Aussie Sue]

This is a lovely topic. One of my favourite books is 'Silver and Gold'. Last year I suggested to my grand-daughter that we should read 'Silver and Gold' together. She wasn't overly keen on the idea of reading a poetry book but by the time we had finished she was hooked. I have now bought her a copy of her own. She has now learned most of the poems by heart and has read some to her class.

They are all worthy of listing but here is her favourite (and by pure co-incidence she was 8 when we read it for the first time).

THINGS I WON'T FORGET

When I'm grown up I won't forget the things I think to-day-
I won't forget the sort of things I like to do and say;
I won't be like the folk I know, who seem so very old,
And quite forget the things they did when they were eight years old.

I won't forget the nasty noise that gurgles every night
When all the water in the bath is swallowed out of sight;
I won't forget I thought it was a thirsty giant's roar,
Who'd swallow both my feed unless I jumped out on the floor!

I always will remember how I simply love to see
A circus where the clowns are all as funny as can be.
I love to see them fall about and knock each other down:
And p'raps when I am quite grown up, I'll be a circus clown.

I won't forget what fun it is to make a bonfire blaze-
The sort that gardener keeps alight on dark November days.
I won't forget what fairies are, nor how I saw a gnome
One summer's day on Bracken Hill when I was hurrying home.

I'll always think what lovely times I have with Auntie Nell-
I won't forget the lovely tales of fairies she can tell.
And oh! I never could forget that horrid horrid sound
That frightens me at night-time when the wind is moaning round!

There's lots of other things, of course, that I'll remember too;
And then when I'm grown up I'll know what children like to do.
I'll know the things they're frightened of, I'll know the things they hate-
And oh! I hope they'll love me, though they'll know I'm long past eight!

I hope you all enjoy this one too, cheers Aussie Sue

[Anita Bensoussane]

'Things I Won't Forget' is a marvellous poem, Sue. I very much like the rhythm and the sentiments. I enjoyed reading the extract from it in Barbara Stoney's Biography but it wasn't until much later that I came across the whole thing. I'm glad your granddaughter loves the poems in Silver and Gold - you must be thrilled!

Not at all seasonal, but I'm lulled by the rhythm and atmosphere of 'A Song of July':

Softly the river goes swaying along,
Dreamily singing its rippling song,
Round by the mill, and away by the trees,
Caressing the little boats lying at ease,
Lazily murm'ring a lullaby,
Drowsily wrapped in the heat of July.

Tall is the corn, a-curtseying low,
Whenever the breezes begin to blow,
Whispering secrets, innocent, sweet,
Half-asleep in the shimmering heat
That quivers and trembles all the day through,
Wrapping the hills in a mist of blue.

Roses droop on the wayside hedge,
White ducks drowse by the water's edge.
Birds are silent among the trees,
And only the brook and only the breeze
Croon a song as they go their way,
For the poppies to dance to, lissom and gay.

[Rob Houghton]

Another lovely poem Anita. You won't believe this, but that's another poem I almost posted the other day, but then I opted for the hay cart one instead. We obviously have the same taste in poetry!

I hope this thread keeps going, as there are so many poems to be shared. I think its interesting how few forumites seem to visit this section of the forums though...shows that Blyton poems aren't half so popular as her books, which is a shame.

[Anita Bensoussane]

We obviously have the same taste in poetry!

I like this poem about a dog because it's so sweet and simple and seems to come from the heart of a child:

Billy the Dog

When I've fallen down and hurt my knee
Billy the dog comes up to me.
He sits close by and licks my hand,
He always seems to understand.

When Daddy's scolded me and said,
"I'm cross with you, go up to bed!"
Billy the dog comes with me, too,
And that's a friendly thing to do.

And if I'm frightened in the night
Because I haven't any light,
Billy the dog is sure to creep
Beside my bed till I'm asleep.