Children poems

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Do Not!

© Stevie Smith

Do not despair of man, and do not scold him,

Who are you that you should so lightly hold him?

Machinist Talking

© Lesbia Harford

I sit at my machine,
Hour long beside me Vera aged nineteen,
Babbles her sweet and innocent tale of sex.

The Child Of The Islands - Summer

© Caroline Norton

I.
FOR Summer followeth with its store of joy;
That, too, can bring thee only new delight;
Its sultry hours can work thee no annoy,

The Scamps

© Henry Lawson

Of home, name and wealth and ambition bereft

We are children of fortune and luck:

Billet-Doux

© Georg Trakl

For S. S.
She reads by the light of a guttering candle
and likes the feel of each page's gilt edge
as she lifts it slightly at the corner, readying

The Candidate

© Charles Churchill

This poem was written in , on occasion of the contest between the

Earls of Hardwicke and Sandwich for the High-stewardship of the

First turn to me. . . .

© Bernadette Mayer

First turn to me after a shower,

you come inside me sideways as always

How still through the sweet summer sun, through the soft summer rain,
They have stood there awaiting the summons should bid them attain
The freedom of knowledge, the last touch of truth to explain
The great golden gist of their brooding, the marvellous train
Of thought they have followed so far, been so strong to sustain,
The white gospel of sun and the long revelations of rain!

On Mother’s Day

© Grace Paley

Look! more trees on the block
forget-me-nots all around them
ivy lantana shining
and geraniums in the window

The Common Touch

© Edgar Albert Guest

I would not be too wiseso very wise

That I must sneer at simple songs and creeds,

Lancelot And Elaine

© Alfred Tennyson

How came the lily maid by that good shield
Of Lancelot, she that knew not even his name?
He left it with her, when he rode to tilt
For the great diamond in the diamond jousts,
Which Arthur had ordained, and by that name
Had named them, since a diamond was the prize.

The Victory

© Anna Akhmatova

Over a pier, the first beacon inflamed --
The vanguard of other sea-rangers;
The mariner cried and bared his head;
He sailed with death beside and ahead
In seas, packed with furious dangers.

The Exiles Secret

Why tell each idle guess, each whisper vain?
Enough: the scorched and cindered beams remain.
He came, a silent pilgrim to the West,
Some old-world mystery throbbing in his breast;
Close to the thronging mart he dwelt alone;
He lived; he died. The rest is all unknown.

The Two Elizabeths

AMIDST Thuringia's wooded hills she dwelt,
A high-born princess, servant of the poor,
Sweetening with gracious words the food she dealt
To starving throngs at Wartburg's blazoned door.