Children poems

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Euterpe: A Cantanta

© Henry Kendall


No. 6 Choral Recitative
(Men’s voices only)

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The Passengers Of A Retarded Submersible

© William Dean Howells

THE GHOSTS OF THE LUSITANIA WOMEN AND CHILDREN
Oh, kind kin of our murderers, take us back when you sail away;
Our own kin have forgotten us. O Captain, do not stay!
But hasten, Captain, hasten: The wreck that lies under the sea
Shall be ever the home for us this land can never be.

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The Moon

© Charlotte Turner Smith

Queen of the silver bow, by thy pale beam

Alone and pensive I delight to stray,

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Song Of A Tribe Of The Ancient Egyptians

© Rupert Brooke

(The Priests within the Temple)
She was wrinkled and huge and hideous?  She was our Mother.
She was lustful and lewd?—but a God; we had none other.
In the day She was hidden and dumb, but at nightfall moaned in the shade;
We shuddered and gave Her Her will in the darkness; we were afraid.

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Brothers

© James Weldon Johnson

See! There he stands; not brave, but with an air
Of sullen stupor. Mark him well! Is he
Not more like brute than man? Look in his eye!
No light is there; none, save the glint that shines
In the now glaring, and now shifting orbs
Of some wild animal caught in the hunter's trap.

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The Battle Of Moncontour

© Thomas Babbington Macaulay

Oh, weep for Moncontour! Oh! weep for the hour,
When the children of darkness and evil had power,
When the horsemen of Valois triumphantly trod
On the bosoms that bled for their rights and their God.

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Solomon on the Vanity of the World, A Poem. In Three Books. - Power. Book III.

© Matthew Prior

Come then, my soul: I call thee by that name,
Thou busy thing, from whence I know I am;
For, knowing that I am, I know thou art,
Since that must needs exist which can impart:
But how thou camest to be, or whence thy spring,
For various of thee priests and poets sing.

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Alaric In Italy

© Felicia Dorothea Hemans

Heard ye the Gothic trumpet's blast?

The march of hosts as Alaric passed?

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Song Against Children

© Aline Murray Kilmer

THE barberry bright, the barberry bright!
It stood on the mantelpiece because of the height.
Its stems were slender and thorny and tall
And it looked most beautiful against the grey wall.
But Michael climbed up there in spite of the height
And he ate all the berries off the barberry bright.

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Hymn For The Fair At Chicago

© Oliver Wendell Holmes

O GOD! in danger's darkest hour,
In battle's deadliest field,
Thy name has been our Nation's tower,
Thy truth her help and shield.

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Prayer Before Birth

© Louis MacNeice

I am not yet born; O hear me.
Let not the bloodsucking bat or the rat or the stoat or the
club-footed ghoul come near me.

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Beppo, A Venetian Story

© George Gordon Byron

I.

'Tis known, at least it should be, that throughout

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The Oak And The Broom

© William Wordsworth

A Pastoral 
  I
HIS simple truths did Andrew glean
Beside the babbling rills;

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The Monitions of the Unseen

© Jean Ingelow

Now, in an ancient town, that had sunk low,-
Trade having drifted from it, while there stayed
Too many, that it erst had fed, behind,-
There walked a curate once, at early day.

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Memory

© Arthur Rimbaud

I.

Clear water; [stinging] like the salt of a child's tears,

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The Singer In The Prison

© Walt Whitman


O sight of pity, gloom, and dole!
O pardon me, a hapless Soul!

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The Gardener

© Arthur Symons

The gardener in his old brown hands
Turns over the brown earth,
As if he loves and understands
The flowers before their birth,
The fragile childish little strands
He buries in the earth.

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Moss by Bruce Guernsey: American Life in Poetry #78 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006

© Ted Kooser

greening in the dark,
longing for north,
the silence
of birds gone south.

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Houses—so the Wise Men tell me—

© Emily Dickinson

"Houses"—so the Wise Men tell me—
"Mansions"! Mansions must be warm!
Mansions cannot let the tears in,
Mansions must exclude the storm!

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Frost Magic

© Duncan Campbell Scott

With eerie power he piles his atomies,
Incrusted gems, star-glances overborne
With lids of sleep pulled from the moth's bright eyes,
And forests of frail ferns, blanched and forlorn,
Where Oberon of unimagined size
Might in the silver silence wind his horn.