Do you ever find yourself yearning for the carefree days of childhood?
Here are 10 nostalgic poems that beautifully encapsulate the essence of being a child.
Each poem is a portal to a world where everything feels possible, igniting memories that remind us of the magic in everyday life.
Let’s jump right in!
My favorite poem about childhood
#1 “Baby Cobina” by Gladys May Casely Hayford
Brown Baby Cobina, with his large black velvet eyes,
His little coos of ecstasies, his gurgling of surprise,
With brass bells on his ankles, that laugh where’er he goes;
It’s so rare for bells to tinkle, above brown dimpled toes.
Brown Baby Cobina is so precious that we fear
Something might come and steal him, when we grownups are not near;
So we tied bells on his ankles, and kissed on them this charm—
“Bell, guard our Baby Cobina from all devils and all harm.”
This poem is my favorite because it captures that innocent joy we all cherished as kids.
The way it expresses the protective love we feel for our little ones is something I think every parent or caregiver can relate to.
It’s a reminder of how fragile and precious childhood really is.
9 more poems about childhood
#2 “To A Child Embracing His Mother” by Thomas Hood
Love thy mother, little one!
Kiss and clasp her neck again,—
Hereafter she may have a son
Will kiss and clasp her neck in vain.
Love thy mother, little one!
Gaze upon her living eyes,
And mirror back her love for thee, –
Hereafter thou may’st shudder sighs
To meet them when they cannot see.
Gaze upon her living eyes!
Press her lips the while they glow
With love that they have often told, –
Hereafter thou may’st press in woe,
And kiss them till thine own are cold.
Press her lips the while they glow!
Oh, revere her raven hair!
Although it be not silver-gray
Too early Death, led on by Care,
May snatch save one dear lock away.
Oh, revere her raven hair!
Pray for her at eve and morn,
That Heaven may long the stroke defer
For thou may’st live the hour forlorn
When thou wilt ask to die with her.
Pray for her at eve and morn!
#3 “Learning To Go Alone” by Jane & Ann Taylor
Come, my darling, come away.
Take a pretty walk to-day;
Run along, and never fear,
I’ll take care of baby dear:
Up and down with little feet,
That’s the way to walk, my sweet.
Now it is so very near,
Soon she’ll get to mother dear.
There she comes along at last:
Here’s my finger, hold it fast
Now one pretty little kiss,
After such a walk as this.
#4 “Little Girls Must Not Fret” by Jane & Ann Taylor
What is it that makes little Emily cry?
Come then, let mamma wipe the tear from her eye:
There—lay down your head on my bosom—that’s right,
And now tell mamma what’s the matter to-night.
What! Emmy is sleepy, and tired with play?
Come, Betty, make haste then, and fetch her away;
But do not be fretful, my darling; you know
Mamma cannot love little girls that are so.
She shall soon go to bed and forget it all there—
Ah! here’s her sweet smile come again, I declare:
That’s right, for I thought you quite naughty before.
Good night, my dear child, but don’t fret any more.
#5 “Boyhood” by Washington Allston
Ah, then how sweetly closed those crowded days!
The minutes parting one by one, like rays
That fade upon a summer’s eve.
But O, what charm or magic numbers
Can give me back the gentle slumbers
Those weary, happy days did leave?
When by my bed I saw my mother kneel,
And with her blessing took her nightly kiss;
Whatever time destroys, he cannot this;—
E’en now that nameless kiss I feel.
#6 “Bedtime” by Francis, Earl of Rosslyn
’T is bedtime; say your hymn, and bid “Good-night;
God bless Mamma, Papa, and dear ones all.”
Your half-shut eyes beneath your eyelids fall,
Another minute, you will shut them quite.
Yes, I will carry you, put out the light,
And tuck you up, although you are so tall!
What will you give me, sleepy one, and call
My wages, if I settle you all right?
I laid her golden curls upon my arm,
I drew her little feet within my hand,
Her rosy palms were joined in trustful bliss,
Her heart next mine beat gently, soft and warm
She nestled to me, and, by Love’s command,
Paid me my precious wages—“Baby’s Kiss.”
#7 “Childhood” by Victor-Marie Hugo
The small child sang; the mother, outstretched on the low bed,
With anguish moaned, – fair Form pain should possess not long;
For, ever nigher, Death hovered around her head:
I hearkened there this moan, and heard even there that song.
The child was but five years, and, close to the lattice, aye
Made a sweet noise with games and with his laughter bright;
And the wan mother, aside this being the livelong day
Carolling joyously, coughed hoarsely all the night.
The mother went to sleep ‘mong them that sleep alway;
And the blithe little lad began anew to sing…
Sorrow is like a fruit: God doth not therewith weigh
Earthward the branch strong yet but for the blossoming.
#8 “For A Naughty Little Girl” by Jane & Ann Taylor
My sweet little girl should be cheerful and mild,
She must not be fretful and cry!
Oh! why is this passion? remember, my child,
God sees you, who lives in the sky.
That dear little face, that I like so to kiss,
How alter’d and sad it appears!
Do you think I can love you so naughty as this,
Or kiss you, all wetted with tears?
Remember, though God is in Heaven, my love,
He sees you within and without,
And always looks down, from His glory above,
To notice what you are about.
If I am not with you, or if it be dark,
And nobody is in the way,
His eye is as able your doings to mark,
In the night as it is in the day.
Then dry up your tears and look smiling again,
And never do things that are wrong;
For I’m sure you must feel it a terrible pain,
To be naughty and crying so long.
We’ll pray, then, that God may your passion forgive,
And teach you from evil to fly;
And then you’ll be happy as long as you live,
And happy whenever you die.
#9 “Child And Mother” by Eugene Field
O mother-my-love, if you’ll give me your hand,
And go where I ask you to wander,
I will lead you away to a beautiful land,–
The Dreamland that’s waiting out yonder.
We’ll walk in a sweet posie-garden out there,
Where moonlight and starlight are streaming,
And the flowers and the birds are filling the air
With the fragrance and music of dreaming.
There’ll be no little tired-out boy to undress,
No questions or cares to perplex you,
There’ll be no little bruises or bumps to caress,
Nor patching of stockings to vex you;
For I’ll rock you away on a silver-dew stream
And sing you asleep when you’re weary,
And no one shall know of our beautiful dream
But you and your own little dearie.
And when I am tired I’ll nestle my head
In the bosom that’s soothed me so often,
And the wide-awake stars shall sing, in my stead,
A song which our dreaming shall soften.
So, Mother-my-Love, let me take your dear hand,
And away through the starlight we’ll wander,–
Away through the mist to the beautiful land,–
The Dreamland that’s waiting out yonder.
#10 “Gift” by Hilda Conkling
This is mint and here are three pinks
I have brought you, Mother.
They are wet with rain
And shining with it.
The pinks smell like more of them
In a blue vase:
The mint smells like summer
In many gardens.