By Jane Euphemia Browne

Bed in Summer

~Robert Louis Stevenson

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?

A Light Exists in Spring

~Emily Dickinson

A Light exists in Spring

Not present on the Year

At any other period --

When March is scarcely here

A Color stands abroad

On Solitary Fields

That Science cannot overtake

But Human Nature feels.

It waits upon the Lawn,

It shows the furthest Tree

Upon the furthest Slope you know

It almost speaks to you.

Then as Horizons step

Or Noons report away

Without the Formula of sound

It passes and we stay --

A quality of loss

Affecting our Content

As Trade had suddenly encroached

Upon a Sacrament.

You Are Old, Father William

~Lewis Carroll

"You are old, Father William," the young man said,

"And your hair has become very white;

And yet you incessantly stand on your head-

Do you think, at your age age, it is right?"

"In my youth," Father William replied to his son,

"I feared it might injure the brain;

But, now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,

Why, I do it again and again."

"You are old," said the youth, " as I mentioned before,

And have grown most uncommonly fat;

Yet you turned a back somersault in at the door-

Pray, what is the reason of that?"

"In my youth," said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,

"I kept all my limbs very supple

By the use of this ointment-one shilling the box-

Allow me to sell you a couple?"

"You are old," said the youth, " and your jaws are too weak

For anything tougher than suet;

Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the back-

Pray, how did you manage to do it?"

"In my youth," said his father, "I took to the law,

And argued each case with my wife;

And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw,

Has lasted the rest of my life."

"You are old," said the youth, "one would hardly suppose

That your eye was steady as ever;

Yet, you balanced an eel on the end of your nose-

What made you so awfully clever?"

"I have answered three questions, and that is enough,"

Said his father. "Don't give yourself airs!

Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?

Be off, or I'll kick you downstairs!"

4. What is Pink?

~Christina Rossetti

What is pink? A rose is pink

By the 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 through.

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!

Two Little Kittens

~Anonymous (circa 1880)

Two little kittens, one stormy night,

Began to quarrel, and then to fight;

One had a mouse, the other had none,

And that's the way the quarrel begun.

"I'll have that mouse," sad the biggest cat;

"You'll have that mouse? We'll see about that!"

"I will have that mouse," said the eldest son;

"You shan't have the mouse," said the little one.

I told you before 'twas a stormy night

When these two little kittens began to fight;

The old woman seized her sweeping broom,

And swept the two kittens right out of the room.

The ground was covered with frost and snow,

And the two little kittens had nowhere to go;

So they laid them down on the mat at the door,

While the old woman finished sweeping the floor.

Then they crept in, as quiet as mice,

All wet with the snow, and cold as ice,

For they found it was better, that stormy night,

To lie down and sleep than to quarrel and fight.

The Sheep

~Ann and Jane Taylor

"Lazy sheep, pray tell me why

In the pleasant fields you lie,

Eating grass, and daisies white,

From the morning till the night?

Everything can something do,

But what kind of use are you?"

"Nay, my little master, nay,

Do not serve me so, I pray;

Don't you see the wool that grows

On my back, to make you clothes?

Cold, and very cold, you'd be

If you had not wool from me.

True, it seems a pleasant thing,

To nip the daisies in the spring;

But many chilly nights I pass

On the cold and dewy grass,

Or pick a scanty dinner, where

All the common's brown and bare.

Then the farmer comes at last,

When the merry spring is past,

And cuts my woolly coat away,

To warm you in the winter's day:

Little master, this is why

In the pleasant fields I lie."

My Shadow

~Robert Louis Stevenson

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 things 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.

The Star

~Jane Taylor

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 traveler 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 you eye,

Till the sun is in the sky.

As your bright and tiny spark,

Lights the traveler in the dark-

Though I know not what you are,

Twinkle, twinkle, little star.

The Rooks

By Jane Euphemia Browne

The rooks are building on the trees;

They build there every spring:

"Caw, caw," is all they say,

For none of them can sing.

They're up before the break of day,

And up till late at night;

For they must labour busily

As long as it is light.

And many a crooked stick they bring,

And many a slender twig,

And many a tuft of moss, until

Their nests are round and big.

"Caw, caw." Oh, what a noise

They make in rainy weather!

Good children always speak by turns,

But rooks all talk together.

The Little Doll

~Charles Kingsley

I once had a sweet little doll, dears,

The prettiest doll in the world;

Her cheeks were so red and so white; dears,

And her hair was so charmingly curled.

But I lost my poor little doll, dears,

As I played in the heath one day;

And I cried for her more than a week, dears;

But I never could find where she lay.

I found my poor little doll, dears,

As I played in the heath one day:

Folks say she is terrible changed, dears,

For her paint is all washed away,

And her arm trodden off by the cows, dears,

And her hair not the least bit curled:

Yet for old sakes' sake she is still, dears,

The prettiest doll in the world.

My Mother

~Ann Taylor

Who fed me from her gentle breast,

And hushed me in her arms to rest,

And on my cheek sweet kisses prest?

My Mother.

When sleep forsook my open eye,

Who was it sung sweet hushaby,

And rocked me that I should not cry?

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 dressed my doll in clothes so gay,

And fondly taught me how to play,

And minded all I had to say?

My Mother.

Who ran to help me when I fell,

And would some pretty story tell,

Or kiss the place to make it well?

My Mother.

Who taught my infant lips to pray,

And love God's holy book and day,

And walk in wisdom's pleasant way?

My Mother.

And can I ever cease to be

Affectionate and kind to thee,

Who was 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 thy 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.

And when I see thee hang thy head,

'Twill be my turn to watch thy bed,

And tears of sweet affection shed,

My Mother.

For could our Father in the skies

Look down with pleased or loving eyes,

If ever I could dare despise

My Mother?

The Comic Adventures of

Date: 2015-12-24; view: 1047