Children poems
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The Bas Bleu: Or, Conversation. Addressed To Mrs. Vesey
© Hannah More
VESEY, of Verse the judge and friend,
Awhile my idle strain attend:
Childrens Children
© William Barnes
Oh! if my ling'rèn life should run,
Drough years a-reckoned ten by ten,
Summer Toils
© Kristijonas Donelaitis
"Of course, it is not nice for a gray-headed man,
To be shamed by the work of a young nincompoop,
When he intends to get more dollars for his pay,
And e'en is not ashamed to pry out more seed grain.
O what became of the bewhiskered Prussian days,
When hired help was so cheep and so obedient?
The Ring And The Book - Chapter XI - Guido
© Robert Browning
YOU ARE the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichitwo good Tuscan names:
The Candle
© Katherine Mansfield
By my bed, on a little round table
The Grandmother placed a candle.
She gave me three kisses telling me they were three
dreams
From Faust - Second Part - Scene The Last
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
ANGELS.
[Hovering in the higher regions of air, and hearing the immortal
part of Faust.]
The African Chief
© William Cullen Bryant
Chained in the market-place he stood,
A man of giant frame,
Mrs. Judge Jenkins
© Francis Bret Harte
(BEING THE ONLY GENUINE SEQUEL TO "MAUD MULLER"
Maud Muller all that summer day
Last before America
© Louis MacNeice
A spiral of green hay on the end of a rake:
The moment is sweat and sun-prick---children and old women
Big in a tiny field, midgets against the mountain,
So toy-like yet so purposed you could take
This for the Middle Ages.
A Shadow
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I said unto myself, if I were dead,
What would befall these children? What would be
The Wanderer Looking Into Other Homes
© Caroline Norton
A LONE, wayfaring wretch I saw, who stood
Wearily pausing by the wicket gate;
And from his eyes there streamed a bitter flood,
Contrasting his with many a happier fate.
A Sicilian Idyll
© Thomas Sturge Moore
Cydilla
Thanks, Damon; now, by Zeus, thou art so brisk,
It shames me that to stoop should try my bones.
Those Born In Obscure Times
© Alexander Blok
Those born in obscure times
Do not remember their way.
We, children of Russia's frightful years
Cannot forget a thing.
A child said, What is the grass?
© Walt Whitman
A child said, What is the grass? fetching it to me with full
hands;
How could I answer the child?. . . .I do not know what it
is any more than he.
Spring
© Celia Thaxter
The alder by the river
Shakes out her powdery curls;
The willow buds in silver
For little boys and girls.
Dan Paine
© James Whitcomb Riley
Old friend of mine, whose chiming name
Has been the burthen of a rhyme
Western Wagons
© Stephen Vincent Benet
They went with axe and rifle, when the trail was still to blaze,
They went with wife and children, in the prairie-schooner days,
With banjo and with frying panSusanna, don't you cry!
For I'm off to California to get rich out there or die!
For The Fallen
© Robert Laurence Binyon
With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.
