Children poems
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Seven Laments For The War-Dead
© Yehuda Amichai
1
Mr. Beringer, whose son
fell at the Canal that strangers dug
so ships could cross the desert,
crosses my path at Jaffa Gate.
Lament of the Frontier Guard (Translated by Ezra Pound)
© Li Po
By the North Gate, the wind blows full of sand,
Freedom
© Archibald Lampman
Out of the heart of the city begotten
Of the labour of men and their manifold hands,
Whose souls, that were sprung from the earth in her morning,
No longer regard or remember her warning,
Whose hearts in the furnace of care have forgotten
Forever the scent and the hue of her lands;
"Not Known"
© Denis Florence MacCarthy
On receiving through the Post-Office a Returned Letter from an old
residence, marked on the envelope, "Not Known."
Quatrains Of Life
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
What has my youth been that I love it thus,
Sad youth, to all but one grown tedious,
Stale as the news which last week wearied us,
Or a tired actor's tale told to an empty house?
The Blessed Day
© Louisa May Alcott
"What shall little children bring
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day?
The Verdicts [Jutland]
© Rudyard Kipling
Not in the thick of the fight,
Not in the press of the odds,
Do the heroes come to their height,
Or we know the demi-gods.
Italy : 46. Sorrento
© Samuel Rogers
He who sets sail from Naples, when the wind
Blows fragrance from Posilipo, may soon,
Crossing from side to side that beautiful lake,
Land underneath the cliff, where once among
The Hares, A Fable.
© James Beattie
Mild was the morn, the sky serene,
The jolly hunting band convene,
The beagle's breast with ardour burns,
The bounding steed the champaign spurns,
And Fancy oft the game descries
Through the hound's nose, and huntsman's eyes.
I cried at Pitynot at Pain
© Emily Dickinson
I cried at Pitynot at Pain
I heard a Woman say
"Poor Child"and something in her voice
Convicted meof me
I See Around Me Tombstones Grey
© Emily Jane Brontë
I see around me tombstones grey
Stretching their shadows far away.
Don Juan: Canto The Fifth
© George Gordon Byron
When amatory poets sing their loves
In liquid lines mellifluously bland,
The Hunchback In The Park
© Dylan Thomas
The hunchback in the park
A solitary mister
Propped between trees and water
From the opening of the garden lock
That lets the trees and water enter
Until the Sunday sombre bell at dark
A Ballad Of Nursery Rhyme
© Robert Graves
Strawberries that in gardens grow
Are plump and juicy fine,
But sweeter far as wise men know
Spring from the woodland vine.
The Lord of the Isles: Canto IV.
© Sir Walter Scott
I.
Stranger! if e'er thine ardent step hath traced
The Things
© Conrad Aiken
The house in Broad Street, red brick, with nine rooms
the weedgrown graveyard with its rows of tombs
the jail from which imprisoned faces grinned
at stiff palmettos flashing in the wind
