A Merchant in the Nutmeg Grove

Maybe I love children’s verse and rhymes because I taught preschool music for twenty years or maybe I taught preschool music for twenty years because I love children’s rhymes and verse. Looking back I think it’s the second half of the previous definite maybe that’s true. My dad and I had very heated arguments when I lived home because I would take his poetry book, The Oxford Book of English Verse, and not return it to his bedside table. Even if I had been out with friends and stumbled home after midnight I needed to read some ancient English verse or from Alice in Wonderland or the Arabian Nights before sleep. Archaic language and poetry were mind expanding even if I was reading through remnants of the nights purple haze. Last week I heard on wfuv radio that Natalie Merchant had taken children’s verse and put it to song. The next day I was the happy listener to her beautiful renditions of classic poetry. I am so pleased that from happy one can get happier because her songs have created happier in me. For now I will just mention “The King of China’s Daughter”. I love the orchestration, the imagery, the idea of being in a fragrant nutmeg grove. I love how the words tell their story of love with admiration and spirit awakening stories in me beyond knowing. It is just that effect in humanity that makes poetry invaluable. Thank you Natalie Merchant for reaching around the world and bringing timelessness and beauty into mine. And thank you Daddy for last spring when I found the Oxford Book of English verse in an old box of books, you remembered and gave it me. It’s been on my bedside since…

The King Of China's Daughter

The King Of China's Daughter,

She never would love me,

Though I hung my cap and bells upon,

Her nutmeg tree.

For oranges and lemons,

The stars in bright blue air

(I stole them long ago, my dear)

Were dangling there.

The Moon did give me silver pence,

The Sun did give me gold,

And both together softly blew

And made my porridge cold;

But the King of China's daughter

So beautiful to see

With her face like yellow water,left

Her nutmeg tree.

Her little rope skipping

She kissed and gave it me -

Made of painted notes of singing-birds

Among the fields of tee.

I skipped across the sea;

But neither sun nor moon, my dear,

Has yet caught me