Poetry for beginners: a selection of short and easy poemsJames Cornwell 1870 |
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Page 10
... play . The lark's singing gaily ; it loves the bright sun , And rejoices that now the gay spring has begun ; For the spring is so cheerful , I think ' twould be wrong If we did not feel happy to hear the lark's song . Get up , for when ...
... play . The lark's singing gaily ; it loves the bright sun , And rejoices that now the gay spring has begun ; For the spring is so cheerful , I think ' twould be wrong If we did not feel happy to hear the lark's song . Get up , for when ...
Page 11
... play with me , do ; The sparrow won't come and stay with me an hour , But say , pretty bee , will not you ? " " Oh no , little lady , for do not you see , Those must work who would prosper and thrive ? If I play , they will call me a ...
... play with me , do ; The sparrow won't come and stay with me an hour , But say , pretty bee , will not you ? " " Oh no , little lady , for do not you see , Those must work who would prosper and thrive ? If I play , they will call me a ...
Page 12
... played . And he sung , " Little Willie , beware ! oh , beware ! Your father has gone , but your Maker is there ! How sad you would feel if you heard the Lord say , ' This dear little boy stole an apple to - day ! ' " Then Willie turned ...
... played . And he sung , " Little Willie , beware ! oh , beware ! Your father has gone , but your Maker is there ! How sad you would feel if you heard the Lord say , ' This dear little boy stole an apple to - day ! ' " Then Willie turned ...
Page 14
... play . Poor Robin on the pear tree sings Beside the cottage door ; The heath flower fills the air with sweets Upon the pathless moor . There are as many lovely things , As many pleasant tones , For those who sit by cottage hearths , As ...
... play . Poor Robin on the pear tree sings Beside the cottage door ; The heath flower fills the air with sweets Upon the pathless moor . There are as many lovely things , As many pleasant tones , For those who sit by cottage hearths , As ...
Page 17
... Playing there with hoop and ball . Now they frolic hand in hand , Making many a merry chain ; Then they form a warlike band , Marching o'er the level plain . Now ascends the worsted ball , High it rises in the air , Or against the ...
... Playing there with hoop and ball . Now they frolic hand in hand , Making many a merry chain ; Then they form a warlike band , Marching o'er the level plain . Now ascends the worsted ball , High it rises in the air , Or against the ...
Common terms and phrases
apple beautiful beneath birds blessed bloom blue boat brave breath breeze bright bucket CHARLES MACKAY cheerful child clouds cried dark dead dear dewdrops door ELIZA COOK eyes fair Father William FELICIA HEMANS flowers gleam grace green HARE AND TORTOISE hath hear heard heart heaven holiday holly tree hour Inchcape Rock JANE TAYLOR kiss kittens ladies gay lamb Learn to labour leaves light look Lucy Gray merry merry heart morn mother mountain Mousikin nest never night o'er old arm-chair old oaken bucket play prayer pretty puss quoth rain ROBERT POLLOK rose round shining shore sigh sing sleep smile snow Somebody's Darling song sound Speak gently spring stars storm sweet tear tell thee There's thing thou thought thrush Tis green TOM HOOD Twas voice waves wild WILLIAM ALLINGHAM woods young youth
Popular passages
Page 122 - THE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
Page 135 - It blesseth him that gives and him that takes: 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown; His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; But mercy is above this scepter'd sway; It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, It is an attribute to God himself: And earthly power doth then show likest God's When mercy seasons justice.
Page 130 - O God! methinks it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain ; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run, How many make the hour full complete, How many hours bring about the day, How many days will finish up the year, How many years a mortal man may live.
Page 124 - Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me, Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. Let's dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, Cromwell; And, when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me more must be heard of, say, I taught thee...
Page 122 - And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, But through it there roll'd not the breath of his pride : And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail ; And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
Page 60 - THE mountain and the squirrel Had a quarrel; And the former called the latter ' Little Prig.' Bun replied, ' You are doubtless very big ; But all sorts of things and weather Must be taken in together, To make up a year And a sphere. And I think it no disgrace To occupy my place. If I'm not so large as you, You are not so small as I, And not half so spry. I'll not deny you make A very pretty squirrel track ; Talents differ; all is well and wisely put; If I cannot carry forests on my back, Neither...
Page 134 - TELL me not, in mournful numbers, " Life is but an empty dream ! " For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real ! Life is earnest ! And the grave is not its goal ; " Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Page 24 - BREATHES there the man with soul so dead Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land ? Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, As home his footsteps he hath turned, From wandering on a foreign strand ? If such there breathe, go mark him well...
Page 25 - Not blither is the mountain roe: With many a wanton stroke Her feet disperse the powdery snow, That rises up like smoke. The storm came on before its time: She wandered up and down; And many a hill did Lucy climb: But never reached the town. The wretched parents all that night Went shouting far and wide; But there was neither sound nor sight To serve them for a guide. At day-break on a hill they stood That overlooked the moor; And thence they saw the bridge of wood, A furlong from their door. They...
Page 45 - Each evening sees it close; Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose.