G. K. Chesterton wrote this poem in the front of a Caldecott picture book he presented to a young friend:
This is the sort of book we like
(For you and I are very small),
With pictures stuck in anyhow,
And hardly any words at all.
You will not understand a word
Of all the words, including mine;
Never you trouble, you can see,
And all directness is divine—
Stand up and keep your childishness:
Read all the pedant’s screeds and strictures;
But don’t believe in anything
That can’t be told in colored pictures.
The first Caldecott Medal winner (1937). I’m guessing this is probably not the book Chesterton gave, as the illustrations are all black and white.