Poetry for Children

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Houghton, Mifflin, 1879 - 240 pages
Poems with varying degrees of difficulty and a wide range of subject matter, specifically chosen for elementary children.

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Page 231 - My head is twice as big as yours, They therefore needs must fit. ' But let me scrape the dirt away That hangs upon your face ; And stop and eat, for well you may Be in a hungry case.
Page 227 - His long red cloak, well brush'd and neat, He manfully did throw. Now see him mounted once again Upon his nimble steed, Full slowly pacing o'er the stones With caution and good heed ! But, finding soon a smoother road Beneath his well-shod feet, The snorting beast began to trot, Which galled him in his seat. So, Fair and softly...
Page 137 - And he fixed his eye on the darker speck. He felt the cheering power of spring, It made him whistle, it made him sing; His heart was mirthful to excess, But the Rover's mirth was wickedness. His eye was on the Inchcape float; Quoth he, " My men, put out the boat, And row me to the Inchcape Rock, And I'll plague the priest of Aberbrothok.
Page 240 - Under the greenwood tree, Who loves to lie with me, And tune his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither; Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather.
Page 133 - On the whole, it appears, and my argument shows, With a reasoning the court will never condemn, That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose And the Nose was as plainly intended for them.
Page 228 - The wind did blow, the cloak did fly, Like streamer long and gay, Till loop and button failing both At last it flew away.
Page 200 - One midst the forests of the West By a dark stream is laid, The Indian knows his place of rest, Far in the cedar shade. The sea, the blue lone sea hath one, He lies where pearls lie deep, He was the loved of all, yet none O'er his low bed may weep.
Page 227 - He grasped the mane with both his hands, And eke with all his might. His horse, who never in that sort Had handled been before, What thing upon his back had got Did wonder more and more.
Page 170 - More motionless ! and then What joy awaits you, when the breeze Hath found you out among the trees, And calls you forth again ! This plot of Orchard-ground is Ours ; My trees they are, my Sister's flowers ; Here rest your wings when they are weary, Here lodge as in a sanctuary ! Come often to us, fear no wrong ; Sit near us on the bough ! We'll talk of sunshine and of song ; And summer days when we were young ; Sweet childish days, that were as long As twenty days are now.
Page 167 - In works of labour, or of skill, I would be busy too ; For Satan finds some mischief still For idle hands to do.

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