Children poems

/ page 56 of 244 /

Order by :

1
. . .
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
. . .
244

Gospel

© Patrick Kavanagh

We are the children of light,
Wise, not companioned
By goats
In a condemned graveyard.

Custer: Book Second

© Wilcox Ella Wheeler

I

Oh, for the power to call to aid, of mine

A True Tale

© Mary Barber

Of Scripture--Heroes she would tell,
Whose Names they lisp'd, ere they could spell:
The Mother then, delighted, smiles;
And shews the Story on the Tiles.

A Faith On Trial

© George Meredith

On the morning of May,

Ere the children had entered my gate

Sympathy

© George MacDonald

Grief held me silent in my seat;
I neither moved nor smiled:
Joy held her silent at my feet,
My shining lily-child.

A Song For Freedom

© Anonymous

Come all ye bondmen far and near,
Let's put a song in massa's ear,
It is a song for our poor race,
Who're whipped and trampled with disgrace.

The Library

© George Crabbe

When the sad soul, by care and grief oppress'd,

Looks round the world, but looks in vain for rest;

From 'The Cupboard' (Le buffet)

© Arthur Rimbaud

A large carved cupboard of white oak
emanates that relaxed gentle air
Old people have; open, it's kindly
shadows give off fragrances like fine

Thou art become, oh Echo! a voice, an inanimate image;
Where is the palest of maids, dark--tressed, darkwreathèd with ivy,
Who with her lips half--opened, and gazes of beautiful wonder,
Quickly repeated the words that burst on her lonely recesses,
Low in a love--lorn tone, too deep--distracted to answer?

Under The Roof Where The Laughter Rings

© Edgar Albert Guest

Under the roof where the laughter rings,
That's where I long to be;
There are all of the glorious things,
Meaning so much to me.
There is where striving and toiling ends;
There is where always the rainbow bends.

The Door Of Humility

© Alfred Austin

ENGLAND
We lead the blind by voice and hand,
And not by light they cannot see;
We are not framed to understand
The How and Why of such as He;

Summer Days Are Over

© Louisa May Alcott

"Summer days are over,

Summer work is done;

In A Garden

THE world is resting without sound or motion,
Behind the apple tree the sun goes down
Painting with fire the spires and the windows
In the elm-shaded town.

When The Rain Is On The Roof

Lord, I am poor, and know not how to speak,
But since Thou art so great,
Thou needest not that I should speak to Thee well.
All angels speak unto Thee well.