Children poems

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Dulce Et Decorum Est Pro Patria Mori

© Wilfred Owen

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,

Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,

The Power And Triumph Of Faith

© John Newton

Supported by the word,
Though in himself a worm,
The servant of the Lord
Can wondrous acts perform:
Without dismay he boldly treads
Where'er the path of duty leads.

The Warner

© Charles Baudelaire

Every man worth the name
has a yellow snake in his soul,
seated as on a throne, saying
if he cries: I want to!: No!

The Deserted Pasture

© Bliss William Carman

I love the stony pasture
That no one else will have.
The old gray rocks so friendly seem,
So durable and brave.

Les enfants pauvres (Poor Little Children)

© Victor Marie Hugo

Prenez garde à ce petit être ;
Il est bien grand, il contient Dieu.
Les enfants sont, avant de naître,
Des lumières dans le ciel bleu.

The Borough. Letter XIV: Inhabitants Of The Alms-House. Life Of Blaney

© George Crabbe

ground:
He gave employ that might for bread suffice,
Correct his habits and restrain his vice.
Here Blaney tried (what such man's miseries

The Killing

© Edwin Muir

I was a stranger, could not read these people
Or this outlandish deity. Did a God
Indeed in dying cross my life that day
By chance, he on his road and I on mine?

A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet XVII

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

For lo! the nations, the imperial nations
Of Europe, all imagine a vain thing,
Sitting thus blindly in their generations,
Serving an idol for their God and King.

Idyll XVII. The Praise of Ptolemy

© Theocritus

"Wake, babe, to bliss: prize me, as Phoebus doth
His azure-sphered Delos: grace the hill
Of Triops, and the Dorians' sister shores,
As king Apollo his Rhenaea's isle."

To My Readers

© Oliver Wendell Holmes

NAY, blame me not; I might have spared
Your patience many a trivial verse,
Yet these my earlier welcome shared,
So, let the better shield the worse.

For Whittiers Seventieth Birthday

© Oliver Wendell Holmes

I BELIEVE that the copies of verses I've spun,
Like Scheherezade's tales, are a thousand and one;
You remember the story,--those mornings in bed,--
'T was the turn of a copper,--a tale or a head.

To the memory of my dear Daughter in Law, Mrs. Mercy Bradstreet, who deceased Sept. 6. 1669. in the

© Anne Bradstreet

And live I still to see Relations gone,

And yet survive to sound this wailing tone;

Bitter Strawberries

© Sylvia Plath

All morning in the strawberry field
They talked about the Russians.
Squatted down between the rows
We listened.
We heard the head woman say,
'Bomb them off the map.'

A Pauper

© Allen Tate

I see him old, trapped in a burly house
Cold in the angry spitting of a rain
Come down these sixty years.

The Golden Legend: V. A Covered Bridge At Lucerne

_Prince Henry_ The grim musician
Leads all men through the mazes of that dance,
To different sounds in different measures moving;
Sometimes he plays a lute, sometimes a drum,
To tempt or terrify.

The Innocents

TO make perfect the heaven of mothers
The little children die,
For what care they for the praise of God
Who have sung a lullaby?

Ah God! when Beauty passes by the door,
Although she ne'er came in, the house grows bare.
Shut, shut the door; there's nothing in the house.
Why seems it always that it should be ours?
A secret lies behind which Thou dost know,
And I can partly guess.

The Beggars Castle

Those ruins took my thoughts away
To a far eastern land;
Like camels, in a herd they lay
Upon the dull red sand;
I know not that I ever sate
Within a place so desolate.

The Four Seasons : Summer

From brightening fields of ether fair disclosed,
Child of the Sun, refulgent Summer comes,
In pride of youth, and felt through Nature's depth:
He comes attended by the sultry Hours,

O Navio Negreiro Part 4. (With English Translation)

Era um sonho dantesco… o tombadilho
Que das luzernas avermelha o brilho.
Em sangue a se banhar.
Tinir de ferros… estalar de açoite…
Legiões de homens negros como a noite,
Horrendos a dançar…