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Rollicking Rhyme Published April 2013 by Amanda Kennedy (www.glamumous.co.uk) This volume contains media by various authors and artists which has been sourced from the public domain (where the copyright for this material has expired). As such, the publisher has chosen to publish this volume under the CC0 License. This means you can copy, modify, distribute and perform the work, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission. If you would like to distribute this eBook on your own website, it would be much appreciated to link back to the editors own website, www.glamumous.co.uk, however this acknowledgement is not strictly required.
rollicking
/rlikiNG/
Adjective Exuberantly lively and amusing. Good rollicking fun
Table of Contents
Introduction William Blake The Tyger Cradle Song John Keats A Poem About Myself Heinrich Hoffman The Story of Fidgety Phillip The Story of Johnny Head in the Air Emily Dickinson A Light Exists in Spring Edward Lear An Alphabet Charles and Mary Lamb The First Tooth Robert Louis Stevenson Bed in Summer The Land of Counterpane At The Seaside The Land of Nod My Shadow Mary Howitt The Spider and the Fly Hilaire Belloc Introduction to The Bad Childs Book of Beasts The Vulture Jim Rebecca Isaac Watts Love Between Brothers and Sisters Colley Cibber The Blind Boy Lewis Carrol Jabberwocky How Doth the Little Crocodile You Are Old, Father William A Boat, Beneath a Sunny Sky Mary Hunter Austin Rathers
William Brighty Rands Topsy-Turvey World Henry Wadsworth Longfellow The Arrow and the Song There was a little girl Edgar Allen Poe The Raven Christina Rosetti The Rainbow Colour What are heavy Flint Kenneth Grahame A Song of Toad Jane and Ann Taylor The Star My Mother Eugene Field The Sugar Plum Tree Abbie Farwell Brown The Fisherman Friends George Macdonald Baby Ralph Waldo Emerson The Mountain and the Squirrel Rudyard Kipling Playing Robinson Crusoe If Emily Bront Past, Present, Future Clement Clarke Moore A Visit from St. Nicholas Anonymous Authors Old Mother Hubbard Ladybird Ladybird Remember Remember the Fifth of November The Days of the Month Mr. Nobody About this book About the Editor Index of first lines
Introduction
Children find poetry mesmerizing. Poems can make us laugh, make us wonder; it can tell imaginative stories or send powerful messages in a few words. There are many hidden benefits of introducing children to poetry from an early age. Poetry's emphasis on the sound and rhythm of language helps build phonemic awareness (sensitivity to the smallest sounds of speech) which helps to develop the skills required for reading. Colourful use of language exposes children to a wider range of vocabulary and concepts which in turn helps children write more articulately. Poetry celebrates the sound and rhythm of language and words in ways which narratives do not. Being shorter than most stories and books, poems provide morsels of literary goodness which to be enjoyed over and over, encouraging delight in the simple use of language in cases where dredging through pages of text are discouraging. In this anthology, I've selected fifty of my favourite children's poems by many authors. These are verses I read alone and spoke aloud as a child; which I've shared with important people in my life and most importantly which I now share and enjoy with my own children. Since children particularly enjoy poetry which they can relate to, I've chosen a variety of verse to suit many personalities and occasions. I hope you will enjoy sharing these classic poems with your own children to help inspire in them a love of the written word.
William Blake
William Blake (1757-1827) was a poet, artist and printmaker who was largely unrecognised during his lifetime. He is now considered an important figure in the history of the poetic and visual arts of the Romantic Age. First published in 1794, his poem The Tyger has thrilled children and roused discussion among academics for over 200 years. It remains one of his most famous poems, whether considered an allegory for the French Revolution or simply a rhyme to delight. Cradle Song was first published in 1789 in the anthology, Songs of Innocence and Experience; it is often interpreted as a lullaby meant to be sung by a mother to her child.
The Tyger
Tyger Tyger, burning bright, In the forests of the night; What immortal hand or eye, Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies. Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand, dare seize the fire? And what shoulder, & what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? & what dread feet? What the hammer? what the chain, In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp, Dare its deadly terrors clasp! When the stars threw down their spears And water'd heaven with their tears: Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee? Tyger Tyger burning bright, In the forests of the night: What immortal hand or eye, Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
Cradle Song
Sweet dreams form a shade, O'er my lovely infants head. Sweet dreams of pleasant streams, By happy silent moony beams Sweet sleep with soft down. Weave thy brows an infant crown. Sweet sleep Angel mild, Hover o'er my happy child. Sweet smiles in the night, Hover over my delight. Sweet smiles Mothers smiles, All the livelong night beguiles. Sweet moans, dovelike sighs, Chase not slumber from thy eyes, Sweet moans, sweeter smiles, All the dovelike moans beguiles. Sleep sleep happy child, All creation slept and smil'd. Sleep sleep, happy sleep. While o'er thee thy mother weep Sweet babe in thy face, Holy image I can trace. Sweet babe once like thee. Thy maker lay and wept for me Wept for me for thee for all, When he was an infant small. Thou his image ever see. Heavenly face that smiles on thee, Smiles on thee on me on all, Who became an infant small, Infant smiles are His own smiles, Heaven & earth to peace beguiles.
John Keats
John Keats (1795-1821) was born in London, and from being a teenager was raised by a merchant after his parents died. Before his untimely death at the young age of 25, he had already established his reputation as a prominent Romantic poet. Keats poem, A Song About Myself, was written for the pleasure of his 15 year old sister, Fanny. It is full of whimsical rhymes and jolly rhythms as the poet teases himself through playful language.
And fountains And ghostes And postes And witches And ditches And wrote In his coat When the weather Was cool, Fear of gout, And without When the weather Was warmOch the charm When we choose To follow one's nose To the north, To the north, To follow one's nose To the north! III. There was a naughty boy And a naughty boy was he, He kept little fishes In washing tubs three In spite Of the might Of the maid Nor afraid Of his Granny-goodHe often would Hurly burly Get up early And go By hook or crook To the brook And bring home Miller's thumb, Tittlebat Not over fat, Minnows small As the stall Of a glove, Not above The size
Of a nice Little baby's Little fingersO he made 'Twas his trade Of fish a pretty kettle A kettleA kettle Of fish a pretty kettle A kettle! IV. There was a naughty boy, And a naughty boy was he, He ran away to Scotland The people for to seeThere he found That the ground Was as hard, That a yard Was as long, That a song Was as merry, That a cherry Was as red, That lead Was as weighty, That fourscore Was as eighty, That a door Was as wooden As in EnglandSo he stood in his shoes And he wonder'd, He wonder'd, He stood in his Shoes and he wonder'd.
Heinrich Hoffman
Heinrich Hoffmann (June 13, 1809 - September 20, 1894) was a German psychiatrist who authored a few short works, including Der Strewwelpeter: the anthology from which these two poems were translated. The Story of the Fidgety Philip is about a boy who won't sit still at dinner; he accidentally knocks all of the food onto the floor, much to his parents' great displeasure. The Story of Johnny Head-in-Air concerns a boy who habitually fails to watch where he's walking. One day he walks into a river, and while he is soon rescued, his writing-book drifts away. The anthology from which they are derived is a book of cautionary tales aimed at three to six year olds, and are incredibly tame compared to some of the more gruesome poems (such as The Story of Bad Frederick and The Dreadful Story of the Matches!).
There lay Johnny on his face, With his nice red writing-case; But, as they were passing by, Two strong men had heard him cry; And, with sticks, these two strong men Hooked poor Johnny out again. Oh! you should have seen him shiver When they pulled him from the river. He was in a sorry plight, Dripping wet, and such a fright! Wet all over, everywhere, Clothes, and arms, and face, and hair: Johnny never will forget What it is to be so wet. And the fishes, one, two, three, Are come back again, you see; Up they came the moment after, To enjoy the fun and laughter. Each popped out his little head, And, to tease poor Johnny, said "Silly little Johnny, look, You have lost your writing-book!"
Emily Dickinson
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson (December 10, 1830 May 15, 1886) was an American poet. Born in Amherst, Massachusetts. Her family were successful with strong community ties, though she spent most of her life introverted and reclusive. She was considered an eccentric among the locals, and was an unconventional poet for her time since her poems contained short lines and strange capitalisation. Dickinsons poem, A Light Exists in Spring tells us of the urgency and vitality presented by the seasonal light when it falls upon the landscape.
Edward Lear
Edward Lear (12 May 1812 29 January 1888) was an English artist, illustrator, author and poet. He is most well known for his nonsense works, which use both real and inverted English words. In An Alphabet, Lear celebrates the glorious fun of wordplay while introducing children to the sounds of the letters we use each day. The Owl and the Pussycat is probably Lears most famous nonsense work. It tells the story of a sea voyage complete with bong trees, the Piggy-Wig and his ring, the Turkey Vicar and the wedding feast eaten with a runcible spoon.
An Alphabet
A was once an apple pie, Pidy Widy Tidy Pidy Nice insidy Apple Pie! B was once a little bear, Beary! Wary! Hairy! Beary! Taky cary! Little Bear! C was once a little cake, Caky Baky Maky Caky Taky Caky, Little Cake! D was once a little doll, Dolly Molly Polly Nolly Nursy Dolly Little Doll! E was once a little eel, Eely, Weely Peely Eely Twirly, Tweedy Little Eel! F was once a little fish, Fishy
Wishy Squishy Fishy In a Dishy Little Fish! G was once a little goose, Goosy Moosy Boosy Goosey Waddly-woosy Little Goose! H was once a little hen, Henny Chenny Tenny Henny Eggsy-any Little Hen? I was once a bottle of ink, Inky Dinky Thinky Inky Black Minky Bottle of Ink! J was once a jar of jam, Jammy Mammy Clammy Jammy Sweety-Swammy Jar of Jam! K was once a little kite, Kity Whity Flighty Kity Out of sightyLittle Kite!
L was once a little lark, Larky! Marky! Harky! Larky! In the Parky, Little Lark! M was once a little mouse, Mousey Bousey Sousy Mousy In the Housy Little Mouse! N was once a little needle, Needly Tweedly Threedly Needly Wisky-wheedly Little Needle! O was once a little owl, Owly Prowly Howly Owly Browny fowly Little Owl! P was once a little pump, Pumpy Slumpy Flumpy Pumpy Dumpy, Thumpy Little Pump! Q was once a little quail, Quaily Faily Daily Quaily Stumpy-taily
Little Quail! R was once a little rose, Rosy Posy Nosy Rosy Bows-y - grows-y Little Rose! S was once a little shrimp, Shrimpy Nimpy Flimpy Shrimpy Jumpy-jimpy Little Shrimp! T was once a little thrush, Thrushy! Hushy! Bushy! Thrushy! Flitty-Flushy Little Thrush! U was once a little urn, Urny Burny Turny Urny Bubbly-burny Little Urn! V was once a little vine, Viny Winy Twiny Viny Twisty-twiny Little Vine! W was once a whale, Whaly Scaly Shaly
Whaly Tumbly-taily Mighty Whale! X was once a great king Xerxes, Xerxy Perxy Turxy Xerxy Linxy Lurxy Great King Xerxes! Y was once a little yew, Yewdy Fewdy Crudy Yewdy Growdy, grewdy, Little Yew! Z was once a piece of zinc, Tinky Winky Blinky Tinky Tinkly Minky Piece of Zinc!
Mary Ann Lamb (3 December 1764 20 May 1847) and her brother, Charles (10 February 1775 27 December 1834) were part of London's famous literary network in the early 19th century. Their poem, The First Tooth explains the interaction between a jealous sister and her mature brother regarding their infant sibling.
Robert Louis Balfour Stevenson (13 November 1850 3 December 1894) was a Scottish novelist, poet, essayist, and travel writer. He is most famed for his fictional Treasure Island and The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. His childrens poetry published in A Childs Garden of Verses is thought to express happy memories of his sickly childhood. Bed in Summer expresses a childs frustration about having to go to bed while the sun still shines. The Land of Counterpane expresses Stevensons pleasant recollection of his nurse telling stories of the Covenanters while he lay sick in bed. At The Seaside is a simple poem using rhyme and similes to delight, while we are transported to the imaginary realm where sleepers go In The Land of Nod. Finally in My Shadow, we are treated to the whimsical imaginings of a boy who personifies and ridicules his shadow.
Bed in Summer
In winter I get up at night And dress by yellow candle-light. In summer, quite the other way, I have to go to bed by day. I have to go to bed and see The birds still hopping on the tree, Or hear the grown-up people's feet Still going past me in the street. And does it not seem hard to you, When all the sky is clear and blue, And I should like so much to play, To have to go to bed by day?
At The Seaside
When I was down beside the sea A wooden spade they gave to me To dig the sandy shore. My holes were empty like a cup. In every hole the sea came up Till it could come no more.
My Shadow
I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me, And what can be the use of him is more than I can see. He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head; And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed. The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow; For he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber ball, And he sometimes gets so little that there's none of him at all. He hasn't got a notion of how children ought to play, And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way. He stays so close beside me, he's a coward you can see; I'd think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me! One morning, very early, before the sun was up, I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup; But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head, Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.
Mary Howitt
Mary Howitt (1799-1888) was an English poet; together with her husband she wrote over 180 books. Howitt is famed as the author of The Spider and the Fly: a cautionary tale of a cunning Spider who ensnares a naive Fly through the use of seduction and flattery.
Up jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast. He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den Within his little parlor - but she ne'er came out again! And now, dear little children, who may this story read, To idle, silly, flattering words, I pray you ne'er heed; Unto an evil counsellor close heart, and ear, and eye, And take a lesson from this tale of the Spider and the Fly.
Hilaire Belloc
Joseph Hilaire Pierre Ren Belloc (27 July 1870 16 July 1953) was an Anglo-French writer and historian who became a naturalised British subject in 1902. He was a political activist, noted for his Catholic faith who was famed for his cautionary tales. In his Introduction to The Bad Childs Book of Beasts, for example, Belloc cautions children against behaving like animals. We also chose to include other cautionary tales: The Vulture which warns against snacking between meals; Jim tells the tragic tale of a boy who wouldnt hold his nurses hand at the zoo, while Rebecca explains what could happen to little girls who slam doors!
The Vulture
The Vulture eats between his meals, And that's the reason why He very, very, rarely feels As well as you and I. His eye is dull, his head is bald, His neck is growing thinner. Oh! what a lesson for us all To only eat at dinner!
Jim
There was a Boy whose name was Jim; His Friends were very good to him. They gave him Tea, and Cakes, and Jam, And slices of delicious Ham, And Chocolate with pink inside And little Tricycles to ride, And read him Stories through and through, And even took him to the Zoo-But there it was the dreadful Fate Befell him, which I now relate. You know--or at least you ought to know, For I have often told you so-That Children never are allowed To leave their Nurses in a Crowd; Now this was Jim's especial Foible, He ran away when he was able, And on this inauspicious day He slipped his hand and ran away! He hadn't gone a yard when--Bang! With open Jaws, a lion sprang, And hungrily began to eat The Boy: beginning at his feet. Now, just imagine how it feels When first your toes and then your heels, And then by gradual degrees, Your shins and ankles, calves and knees, Are slowly eaten, bit by bit. No wonder Jim detested it! No wonder that he shouted ``Hi!'' The Honest Keeper heard his cry, Though very fat he almost ran To help the little gentleman. ``Ponto!'' he ordered as he came (For Ponto was the Lion's name), ``Ponto!'' he cried, with angry Frown, ``Let go, Sir! Down, Sir! Put it down!'' The Lion made a sudden stop, He let the Dainty Morsel drop, And slunk reluctant to his Cage,
Snarling with Disappointed Rage. But when he bent him over Jim, The Honest Keeper's Eyes were dim. The Lion having reached his Head, The Miserable Boy was dead! When Nurse informed his Parents, they Were more Concerned than I can say:-His Mother, as She dried her eyes, Said, ``Well--it gives me no surprise, He would not do as he was told!'' His Father, who was self-controlled, Bade all the children round attend To James's miserable end, And always keep a-hold of Nurse For fear of finding something worse.
Rebecca
Who Slammed Doors For Fun And Perished Miserably A trick that everyone abhors In little girls is slamming doors. A wealthy banker's little daughter Who lived in Palace Green, Bayswater (By name Rebecca Offendort), Was given to this furious sport. She would deliberately go And slam the door like billy-o! To make her uncle Jacob start. She was not really bad at heart, But only rather rude and wild; She was an aggravating child... It happened that a marble bust Of Abraham was standing just Above the door this little lamb Had carefully prepared to slam, And down it came! It knocked her flat! It laid her out! She looked like that. Her funeral sermon (which was long And followed by a sacred song) Mentioned her virtues, it is true, But dwelt upon her vices too, And showed the deadful end of one Who goes and slams the door for fun. The children who were brought to hear The awful tale from far and near Were much impressed, and inly swore They never more would slam the door, -- As often they had done before.
Isaac Watts
Isaac Watts (17 July 1674 25 November 1748) was an English hymnwriter, theologian and logician. He is credited with writing over 750 hymns, many of which are still sung today. His poem, Love Between Brothers and Sisters is an ode to the ideal conduct of siblings for peace in the family home.
Colley Cibber
Colley Cibber (6 November 1671 11 December 1757) was an English actor-manager, playwright and Poet Laureate. His poem, The Blind Boy is a thought-provoking rhyme explaining that the boy of the title feels he should not be pitied.
Lewis Carrol
Lewis Carrol 27 January 1832 14 January 1898), was the pen name of Charles Lutwidge Dodgson. He was an English writer, mathematician, logician, Anglican deacon and photographer, best known for writing Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass. The poems of Carrol included in this anthology fall into the category of literary nonsense. Jabberwocky is presented in Through the Looking Glass during an early scene in which she encounters the White King and Queen. How Doth the Little Crocodile describes a crafty crocodile who lures fishes into its mouth by means of a welcoming smile, while You are Old, Father William provides whimsical explanations for the antics of an extraordinary man. Both poems appear in Carrols Alice in Wonderland.
Finally, we include A Boat, Beneath a Sunny Sky. This poem does not receive a proper title where it appears in Alices first adventure, so is commonly known by its opening line. It is considered a tribute to Alice Pleasance Liddell, Carrols muse, upon whom Wonderlands main character is based.
Jabberwocky
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe; All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe. "Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun The frumious Bandersnatch!" He took his vorpal sword in hand: Long time the manxome foe he sought So rested he by the Tumtum tree, And stood awhile in thought. And as in uffish thought he stood, The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, Came whiffling through the tulgey wood, And burbled as it came! One, two! One, two! and through and through The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! He left it dead, and with its head He went galumphing back. "And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!" He chortled in his joy. 'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe; All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe.
Mary Hunter Austin (September 9, 1868 August 13, 1934) was an American writer. One of the early nature writers of the American Southwest. She is best known for her literary works, though her poem Rathers is a beautiful rhyme conjuring the imagination of childhood.
Rathers
I know very well what Id rather be If I didnt always have to be me! Id rather be an owl, A downy feathered owl, A wink-ity, blink-ity, yellow-eyed owl In a hole in a hollow tree. Id take my dinner in chipmunk town, And wouldnt I gobble the field mice down, If I were a wink-ity, blink-ity owl, And didnt always have to be me! I know very well what Id like to do If I didnt have to do what I do! Id go and be a woodpecker, A rap-ity, tap-ity, red-headed woodpecker In the top of a tall old tree. And Id never take a look At a lesson or a book, And Id scold like a pirate on the sea, If I only had to do what I like to do, And didnt always have to be me! Or else Id be an antelope, A pronghorned antelope, With lots of other antelope Skimming like a cloud on a wire-grass plian. A bounding, bouncing antelope, Youd never get me back to my desk again! Or I might be a puma, A singe-colored puma, A slinking, sly-foot puma As fierce as fierce could be! And Id wait by the waterholes where antelope drink In the cool of the morning And I do not think That ever any antelope could get away from me. But if I were a hunter, A red Indian hunter
Id like to be a hunter, Id have a bow made of juniper wood From a lightning-blasted tree, And Id creep and Id creep on that puma asleep A flint tipped arrow, An eagle feathered arrow, For a puma kills calves and a puma kills sheep, And hed never eat any more antelope If he once met up with me!
William Brighty Rands (24 December 1823, Chelsea, Middlesex 23 April 1882) was a British writer and one of the major authors of nursery rhymes of Victorian era. Rands worked as a reporter in the House of Commons and published several volumes of childrens literature anonymously, including Topsy-Turvey World which is a fantastic nonsense piece including references to well-known nursery rhymes.
Topsy-Turvey World
IF the butterfly courted the bee, And the owl the porcupine; If churches were built in the sea, And three times one was nine; If the pony rode his master, If the buttercups ate the cows, If the cats had the dire disaster To be worried, sir, by the mouse; If mamma, sir, sold the baby To a gypsy for half a crown; If a gentleman, sir, was a lady, The world would be Upside-down! If any or all of these wonders Should ever come about, I should not consider them blunders, For I should be Inside-out! Chorus Ba-ba, black wool, Have you any sheep? Yes, sir, a packfull, Creep, mouse, creep! Four-and-twenty little maids Hanging out the pie, Out jumpd the honey-pot, Guy Fawkes, Guy! Cross latch, cross latch, Sit and spin the fire; When the pie was opend, The bird was on the brier!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (February 27, 1807 March 24, 1882) was an American poet and educator. He is known for his lyric poetry which has a musical feel, though was criticised for writing for the masses. The Arrow and the Song is a thoughtful poem about the flight of a boys arrow. There was a Little Girl is a cautionary tale for little girls who are naughty. It is often known only for the first verse, though we have presented this poem in its entirety.
Edgar Allan Poe (born Edgar Poe; January 19, 1809 October 7, 1849) was an American author, poet, editor and literary critic. He is best known for his stories of the mysterious and macabre. The Raven is one of Poes best known poems. It tells the spooky story of a lonely mans encounter with a raven, and is an ideal prose to share with children on Halloween.
The Raven
ONCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. "'Tis some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door Only this, and nothing more." Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow;vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrowsorrow for the lost Lenore For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore Nameless here for evermore. And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled mefilled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating "'Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door; This it is, and nothing more." Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you"here I opened wide the door; Darkness there, and nothing more. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!" This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!" Merely this, and nothing more. Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon I heard again a tapping somewhat louder than before. "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; 'Tis the wind and nothing more!"
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore; Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door Perched, and sat, and nothing more. Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!" Quoth the raven, "Nevermore." Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaninglittle relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as "Nevermore."
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing farther then he utterednot a feather then he fluttered Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before." Then the bird said "Nevermore." Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore Of 'Nevernevermore.'" But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking "Nevermore." This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er, She shall press, ah, nevermore! Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by angels whose faint foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. "Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent theeby these angels he hath sent thee Respiterespite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore! Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!" Quoth the raven, "Nevermore." "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!prophet still, if bird or devil! Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted On this home by Horror hauntedtell me truly, I implore Is thereis there balm in Gilead?tell metell me, I implore!" Quoth the raven, "Nevermore." "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evilprophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above usby that God we both adore Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore." Quoth the raven, "Nevermore." "Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting "Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken!quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!" Quoth the raven, "Nevermore." And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be liftednevermore!
Christina Rosetti
Christina Georgina Rossetti (5 December 1830 29 December 1894) was an English poet who wrote a variety of romantic, devotional, and children's poems. She is well known for writing the Christmas carol, In the Bleak Midwinter. The Rainbow is a poem of innocence reflecting on the beauty of a rainbow. Colour is useful in drawing attention to the myriad of colours which exist in nature. The short poem, What are Heavy? encourages philosophical thought, while Flint helps us realise that even dull items have hidden usefulness.
The Rainbow
Boats sail on the rivers, And ships sail on the seas; But clouds that sail across the sky Are prettier than these. There are bridges on the rivers, As pretty as you please; But the bow that bridges heaven, And overtops the trees, And builds a road from earth to sky, Is prettier far than these.
Colour
What is pink? a rose is pink By a fountain's brink. What is red? a poppy's red In its barley bed. What is blue? the sky is blue Where the clouds float thro'. What is white? a swan is white Sailing in the light. What is yellow? pears are yellow, Rich and ripe and mellow. What is green? the grass is green, With small flowers between. What is violet? clouds are violet In the summer twilight. What is orange? Why, an orange, Just an orange!
Flint
An emerald is as green as grass, A ruby red as blood; A sapphire shines as blue as heaven; A flint lies in the mud. A diamond is a brillant stone, To catch the world's desire; An opal holds a fiery spark; But a flint holds fire.
Kenneth Grahame
Kenneth Grahame (8 March 1859 6 July 1932) was a Scottish writer, most famous for The Wind in the Willows (1908), one of the classics of children's literature. His poem, A Song of Toad features the character of Toad from this classic book and suggests his feeling of self-importance.
A Song of Toad
The world has held great Heroes, As history-books have showed; But never a name to go down to fame Compared to that of Toad! The clever men at Oxford Know all there is to be knowed. But they none of them know one half as much As intelligent Mr Toad! The animals sat in the ark and cried, Their tears in torrents flowed. Who was it said, Theres land ahead? Encouraging Mr Toad! The Army all saluted As they marched along the road. Was it the King? Or Kitchener? No. It was Mr Toad. The Queen and her ladies-in-waiting Sat at the window and sewed. She cried, Look! Whos that handsome man? They answered, Mr Toad. The motor-car went Poop-poop-poop As it raced along the road. Who was it steered it into a pond? Ingenious Mr Toad!
Jane Taylor (23 September 1783 13 April 1824) and her sister, Ann (30 January 1782 - 20 December 1866) were sisters and poets who together wrote a collection of poetry named Rhymes for the Nursery. Jane is credited for writing the poem The Star, which is now better known as the lullaby, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. My Mother was written by Ann, and is a beautiful tribute for any mother to hear aloud.
The Star
Twinkle, twinkle, little star, How I wonder what you are. Up above the world so high, Like a diamond in the sky. When the blazing sun is gone, When he nothing shines upon, Then you show your little light, Twinkle, twinkle, all the night. Then the traveller in the dark, Thanks you for your tiny spark, He could not see which way to go, If you did not twinkle so. In the dark blue sky you keep, And often through my curtains peep, For you never shut your eye, 'Till the sun is in the sky. As your bright and tiny spark, Lights the traveller in the dark. Though I know not what you are, Twinkle, twinkle, little star. Twinkle, twinkle, little star. How I wonder what you are. Up above the world so high, Like a diamond in the sky. Twinkle, twinkle, little star. How I wonder what you are. How I wonder what you are.
My Mother
Who sat and watched my infant head When sleeping on my cradle bed, And tears of sweet affection shed? My Mother. When pain and sickness made me cry, Who gazed upon my heavy eye, And wept for fear that I should die? My Mother. Who taught my infant lips to pray And love Gods holy book and day, And walk in wisdoms pleasant way? My Mother. And can I ever cease to be Affectionate and kind to thee, Who wast so very kind to me, My Mother? Ah, no! the thought I cannot bear, And if God please my life to spare I hope I shall reward they care, My Mother. When thou art feeble, old and grey, My healthy arm shall be thy stay, And I will soothe thy pains away, My Mother.
Eugene Field
Eugene Field, Sr. (September 2, 1850 November 4, 1895) was an American writer, best known for his children's poetry and humorous essays. His poem, The Sugar Plum Tree is a whimsical allegory intended to be told at bedtime, involving a tree of delicious fruit which can only be discovered while sleeping.
Abbie Farwell Brown (August 21, 1871 March 5, 1927) was an American author who wrote poetry and childrens literature, among other genres. Weve included two of her better known poems in this anthology: The Fisherman,detailing the encounter of a child with a man of the sea, and Friends, which reminds us of the calmness nature can bring in the absence of company.
The Fisherman
The fisherman goes out at dawn When every ones abed, And from the bottom of the sea Draws up his daily bread. His life is strange ; half on the shore And half upon the sea Not quite a fish, and yet not quite The same as you and me. The fisherman has curious eyes ; They make you feel so queer, As if they had seen many things Of wonder and of fear. Theyre like the sea on foggy days, Not gray, nor yet quite blue ; They re like the wondrous tales he tells Not quite yet maybe true. He knows so much of boats and tides, Of winds and clouds and sky ! But when I tell of city things, He sniffs and shuts one eye !
Friends
How good to lie a little while And look up through the tree! The Sky is like a kind big smile Bent sweetly over me. The Sunshine flickers through the lace Of leaves above my head, And kisses me upon the face Like Mother, before bed. The Wind comes stealing oer the grass To whisper pretty things; And though I cannot see him pass, I feel his careful wings. So many gentle Friends are near Whom one can scarcely see, A child should never feel a fear, Wherever he may be.
George Macdonald
George MacDonald (10 December 1824 18 September 1905) was a Scottish author, poet, and Christian minister who was best known for his fairy tales and fantasy novels. His beautifully simple poem, Baby, is an ideal rhyme to celebrate the birth of a new child. It is extracted from his serialised childrens book, At the Back of the North Wind.
Baby
Where did you come from, baby dear? Out of the everywhere into here. Where did you get those eyes so blue? Out of the sky as I came through. What makes the light in them sparkle and spin? Some of the starry twinkles left in. Where did you get that little tear? I found it waiting when I got here. What makes your forehead so smooth and high? A soft hand stroked it as I went by. What makes your cheek like a warm white rose? I saw something better than any one knows. Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss? Three angels gave me at once a kiss. Where did you get this pearly ear? God spoke, and it came out to hear. Where did you get those arms and hands? Love made itself into bonds and bands. Feet, whence did you come, you darling things? From the same box as the cherubs' wings. How did they all just come to be you? God thought about me, and so I grew. But how did you come to us, you dear? God thought about you, and so I am here.
Ralph Waldo Emerson (May 25, 1803 April 27, 1882) was an American essayist, lecturer, and poet. He was seen as a champion of individualism, and wrote dozens of essays to criticise the pressures of his society. The Mountain and the Squirrel was written to express that no-one is either superior or inferior in this world,and that each of us has our own unique skills which others may not posess.
Rudyard Kipling
Joseph Rudyard Kipling (30 December 1865 18 January 1936) was a short-story writer, poet, and novelist,best remembered for his fictional collection,The Jungle Book. He was born in Bombay,India, and was taken by his family to England when he was five years old. Playing Robinson Crusoe is an imaginative poem about a boy acting out his favourite story with the help of his pet cat and dog. If- is a truly memorable poem about stoicism and self-control, and is often voted Britains favourite poem.
If
If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too: If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or being lied about, dont deal in lies, Or being hated, dont give way to hating, And yet dont look too good, nor talk too wise; If you can dreamand not make dreams your master; If you can thinkand not make thoughts your aim, If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same: If you can bear to hear the truth youve spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build em up with worn-out tools; If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings And never breathe a word about your loss: If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!" If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with Kingsnor lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, If all men count with you, but none too much: If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything thats in it, Andwhich is moreyoull be a Man, my son!
Emily Bront
Emily Jane Bront (30 July 1818 19 December 1848) was an English novelist and poet. She is best remembered for her solitary novel, Wuthering Heights, which is now considered a classic of English literature. Emily was the third eldest of the four surviving Bront siblings, between the youngest Anne and her brother Branwell, and wrote under the pen name Ellis Bell. Her poem, Past, Present, Future presents the innocence of a childs perspective of time using nature as descriptive metaphors.
Clement Clarke Moore (July 15, 1779 July 10, 1863) was a Professor of Oriental and Greek Literature. Moores infamous poem, A Visit From St. Nicholas was initially published anonymously in the New York Sentinel on December 23, 1823 and was frequently reprinted. Eventually he admitted authorship of the poem in 1844 at the insistence of his children (for whom it had been written).
He had a broad face, and a little round belly That shook when he laugh'd, like a bowl full of jelly: He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, And I laugh'd when I saw him in spite of myself; A wink of his eye and a twist of his head Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And fill'd all the stockings; then turn'd with a jerk, And laying his finger aside of his nose And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. He sprung to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew, like the down of a thistle: But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.
Anonymous Authors
We do not know the authors of the poems which appear in this section: they have either been passed down through generations through oral tradition, or were simply published by anonymous authors. Old Mother Hubbard is a classic nursery rhyme often considered to be the work of Sarah Catherine Martin, though she claims to have only illustrated her version and that the poem was based on an earlier work. Ladybird Ladybird is a traditional rhyme with many variants which dates back as far as 1744, where it was discovered in a collection of nursery rhymes. Remember Remember the Fifth of November is a homage to the grim antics of Guy Fawkes who was arrested for treason after a plot to blow up the Houses of Parliament.
The Days of the Month is a mnemonic to help us remember how many days there are in each month of the year. Finally, we present Mr. Nobody: an amusing rhyme to explain who really getsup to no-good at home ,a delight for modern children who would prefer not to admit their own mischief!
She went to the hatter's To buy him a hat; When she came back He was feeding her cat. She went to the barber's To buy him a wig When she came back He was dancing a jig. She went to the cobbler's To buy him some shoes; When she came back He was reading the news. She went to the sempstress To buy him some linen; When she came back The dog was spinning. She went to the hosier's To buy him some hose; When she came back He was dressed in his clothes. The Dame made a curtsy, The dog made a bow; The Dame said, Your servant; The dog said, Bow-wow. This wonderful dog Was Dame Hubbard's delight, He could read, he could dance, He could sing, he could write; She gave him rich dainties Whenever he fed, And erected this monument When he was dead.
Ladybird Ladybird
Ladybird, ladybird fly away home, Your house is on fire and your children are gone, All except one, And her name is Ann, And she hid under the baking pan.
Mr. Nobody
I know a funny little man, As quiet as a mouse, Who does the mischief that is done In everybodys house! Theres no one ever sees his face, And yet we all agree That every plate we break was cracked By Mr. Nobody. Tis he who always tears out books, Who leaves the door ajar, He pulls the buttons from our shirts, And scatters pins afar; That squeaking door will always squeak, For prithee, dont you see, We leave the oiling to be done By Mr. Nobody. The finger marks upon the door By none of us are made; We never leave the blinds unclosed, To let the curtains fade. The ink we never spill;the boots That lying round you see Are not our boots,they all belong To Mr. Nobody.
What are heavy? sea-sand and sorrow What is pink? a rose is pink When I was down beside the sea When I was sick and lay a-bed Where did you come from, baby dear? Who sat and watched my infant head Will you walk into my parlor?" said the Spider to... "You are old, Father William," the young man said...