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To Lydia Maria Child
© John Greenleaf Whittier
The sweet spring day is glad with music,
But through it sounds a sadder strain;
The worthiest of our narrowing circle
Sings Loring's dirges o'er again.
Mother's Glasses
© Edgar Albert Guest
I've told about the times that Ma can't find her pocketbook,
And how we have to hustle round for it to help her look,
But there's another care we know that often comes our way,
I guess it happens easily a dozen times a day.
It starts when first the postman through the door a letter passes,
And Ma says: "Goodness gracious me! Wherever are my glasses?"
May Day
© Edith Nesbit
Will you go a-maying, a-maying, a-maying,
Come and be my Queen of May and pluck the may with me?
The fields are full of daisy buds and new lambs playing,
The bird is on the nest, dear, the blossom's on the tree."
A Masque Presented At Ludlow Castle, 1634. (Comus)
© John Milton
The Scene changes to a stately palace, set out with all manner of
deliciousness: soft music, tables spread with all dainties. Comus
appears with his rabble, and the LADY set in an enchanted chair;
to
whom he offers his glass; which she puts by, and goes about to
rise.
The Arid Lands
© Herbert Bashford
THESE lands are clothed in burning weather,
These parched lands pant for Gods cool rain;
I look away where strike together
The burnished sky and barren plain.
The Sophomore's Invitation
© William Herbert Carruth
Come out with me, O maiden mine,
Come out and roam the campus;
I'll wield the fairy bug-net thine,
And flounder through the bindweed vine,
A-puffing like a grampus.
Home And The Office
© Edgar Albert Guest
Home is the place where the laughter should ring,
And man should be found at his best.
The Runaway Boy
© James Whitcomb Riley
Wunst I sassed my Pa, an' he
Won't stand that, an' punished me,--
Nen when he was gone that day,
I slipped out an' runned away.
Bread And Jam
© Edgar Albert Guest
I wish I was a poet like the men that write in books
The poems that we have to learn on valleys, hills an' brooks;
I'd write of things that children like an' know an' understand,
An' when the kids recited them the folks would call them grand.
If I'd been born a Whittier, instead of what I am,
I'd write a poem now about a piece of bread an' jam.
The Spanish Chapel
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
I made a mountain-brook my guide
Thro' a wild Spanish glen,
And wandered, on its grassy side,
Far from the homes of men.
Autumn Winds
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Oh! Autumn winds, what means this plaintive wailing
Around the quiet homestead where we dwell?
The Moat
© Mathilde Blind
The very sunlight hushed within the close,
Sleeps indolently by the Yew's slow shade;
Still as a relic some old Master made
The jewelled peacock's rich enamel glows;
And on yon mossy wall that youthful rose
Blooms like a rose that never means to fade.
Admonition
© William Wordsworth
WELL may'st thou halt-and gaze with brightening eye!
The lovely Cottage in the guardian nook
Old Homes
© Madison Julius Cawein
Old homes among the hills! I love their gardens;
Their old rock fences, that our day inherits;
Their doors, round which the great trees stand like wardens;
Their paths, down which the shadows march like spirits;
Broad doors and paths that reach bird-haunted gardens.
