Children poems
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The Months have endsthe Yearsa knot
© Emily Dickinson
The Months have endsthe Yearsa knot
No Power can untie
To stretch a little further
A Skein of Misery
The New-Born Infant
© Charles Lamb
Whether beneath sweet beds of roses,
As foolish little Ann supposes,
Bristowe Tragedie: Or The Dethe Of Syr Charles Badwin
© Thomas Chatterton
THE featherd songster chaunticleer
Han wounde hys bugle horne,
No Resurrection
© Robinson Jeffers
Friendship, when a friend meant a helping sword,
Faithfulness, when power and life were its fruits, hatred, when
the hated
Held steel at your throat or had killed your children, were more
than metaphors.
Life and the world were as bright as knives.
Bryants Seventieth Birthday
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
O EVEN-HANDED Nature! we confess
This life that men so honor, love, and bless
Has filled thine olden measure. Not the less.
The Flower-Garden
© Richard Monckton Milnes
O pensive Sister! thy tear--darkened gaze
I understand, whene'er thou look'st upon
The Garden's gilded green and colour'd blaze,
The gay society of flowers and sun.
Savior
© Maya Angelou
Petulant priests, greedy
centurions, and one million
incensed gestures stand
between your love and me.
Chorus of Brids
© Aristophanes
YE Children of Man! whose life is a span,
Protracted with sorrow from day to day,
Older Than You
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
We are younger in years! Yes, that is true;
But in some things we are older than you.
A Vanished Joy
© Edgar Albert Guest
When I was but a little lad of six and seven and eight,
One joy I knew that has been lost in customs up-to-date,
Then Saturday was baking day and Mother used to make,
The while I stood about and watched, the Sunday pies and cake;
And I was there to have fulfilled a small boy's fondest wish,
The glorious privilege of youth--to scrape the frosting dish!
When You Come Home
© Katharine Tynan
All will be right when you come home, dear lad,
But oh, 'tis long of coming that you are!
The Road to Avernus, Scene XI 'Ten Paces Off'
© Adam Lindsay Gordon
I've won the two tosses from Prescot;
Now hear me, and hearken and heed,
And pull that vile flower from your waistcoat,
And throw down that beast of a weed;
Nathan The Wise - Act V
© Gotthold Ephraim Lessing
Here lies the money still, and no one finds
The dervis yet--he's probably got somewhere
Over a chess-board. Play would often make
The man forget himself, and why not, me.
Patience--Ha! what's the matter.
The Last Of The Flock
© William Wordsworth
I
IN distant countries have I been,
And yet I have not often seen
A healthy man, a man full grown,
My Trust
© John Greenleaf Whittier
A picture memory brings to me
I look across the years and see
Myself beside my mother's knee.
The Country Clergyman's Trip To Cambridge -- An Election Ballad
© Thomas Babbington Macaulay
As I sate down to breakfast in state,
At my living of Tithing-cum-Boring,
The Woman
© Harriet Monroe
Go sleep, my sweetierestrest!
Oh soft little hand on mother's breast!
Oh soft little lipsthe din's mos' gone-
Over and done, my dearie one!
