Rain

The rain is raining everywhere,
    Kittens to shelter fly -
But Human Folk wear overshoes,
    To keep their hind paws dry.

Oliver Herford

Oliver Herford was born in England on December 2, 1860. He was a British-born American writer, artist, and illustrator, often referred to as 'The American Oscar Wilde' for his sharp wit and humorous works. Herford authored and illustrated many books for children and adults, contributing to magazines such as "The Criterion", "Life", and "Punch". He died on July 5, 1935, in France.

Oliver Herford

Pegasus

Oliver Herford, Simple Poetry

The Dove Of Peace

Oliver Herford, Simple Poetry

The Mermaid

Oliver Herford, Simple Poetry

To Liberty

Oliver Herford, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

The Golden Cat

Great is the Golden Cat who treads
    The Blue Roof Garden o'er our heads,
The never tired smiling One
    That Human People call the Sun.

He stretches forth his paw at dawn
    And though the blinds are closely drawn
His claws peep through like Rays of Light,
    To catch the fluttering Bird of Night.

He smiles into the Hayloft dim
    And the brown Hay smiles back at him,
And when he strokes the Earth's green fur
    He makes the Fields and Meadows purr.

His face is one big Golden smile,
    It measures round, at least a mile--
How dull our World would be, and flat,
    Without the Golden Pussy Cat.

Oliver Herford

Facilis Ascensus

Up into the Cherry Tree,
    Who should climb but little me,
With both my Paws I hold on tight,
    And look upon a pleasant sight.

There are the Gardens far away,
    Where little Foreign Kittens play,
And those queer specks of black and brown
    Are naughty cats that live in Town.

And there among the tulips red,
    Where I may never lay my head,
I see the Cruel Gardener hoe
    The baby weeds that may not grow.

Now I climb down--"Oh dear,"--I mew,
    "Which end goes first--what shall I do?
Oh, good Kind Gardener, big and brown,
    Please come and help this Kitten down."

Oliver Herford

Foreign Kittens

Kittens large and Kittens small,
Prowling on the Back Yard Wall,
Though your fur be rough and few,
I should like to play with you.
Though you roam the dangerous street,
And have curious things to eat,
Though you sleep in barn or loft,
With no cushions warm and soft,
Though you have to stay out-doors
When it's cold or when it pours,
Though your fur is all askew--
How I'd like to play with you!

Oliver Herford

An Autumn Rain-Scene

There trudges one to a merry-making
With a sturdy swing,
On whom the rain comes down.

To fetch the saving medicament
Is another bent,
On whom the rain comes down.

One slowly drives his herd to the stall
Ere ill befall,
On whom the rain comes down.

This bears his missives of life and death
With quickening breath,
On whom the rain comes down.

One watches for signals of wreck or war
From the hill afar,
On whom the rain comes down.

No care if he gain a shelter or none,
Unhired moves one,
On whom the rain comes down.

And another knows nought of its chilling fall
Upon him at all,
On whom the rain comes down.

October 1904.

Thomas Hardy

A Kitten's Fancy

The Kitten mews outside the Door,
    The Cat-bird in the Tree,
The Sea-mew mews upon the Shore,
    The Catfish in the Sea.

The Emu with his feathers queer
    Is mewing in the Zoo.
Why is it that I never hear
    A Pussy-willow mew?

Oliver Herford

In Darkest Africa

At evening when the lamp is lit,
    The tired Human People sit
And doze, or turn with solemn looks
    The speckled pages of their books.

Then I, the Dangerous Kitten, prowl
    And in the Shadows softly growl,
And roam about the farthest floor
    Where Kitten never trod before.

And, crouching in the jungle damp,
    I watch the Human Hunter's camp,
Ready to spring with fearful roar
    As soon as I shall hear them snore.

And then with stealthy tread I crawl
    Into the dark and trackless hall,
Where 'neath the Hat-tree's shadows deep
    Umbrellas fold their wings and sleep.

A cuckoo calls--and to their dens
    The People climb like frightened hens,
And I'm alone--and no one cares
    In Darkest Africa--down stairs.

Oliver Herford