THE BROOK

THE BROOK

 Lucy diamond

I like to watch the merry  brook

                  Go rippiling on  it’s  way ;

It sings me such a happy song

                 All though the summer  day.

It tells me tales of many things’

                As  on the  grass I lie ‘

 About the hills from which it  came

                And where it goes and why .

And if I had a  tiny boat’

       A-    sailing I would go’

 And  hasten with the brook to join

        The river deep and slow

PATRIOTISM

 PATRIOTISM

 Sir  Walter  Scott

Breathes  there the ma, with  soul so dead ,

Who  never to himself hath said ,

“This is  my own  native land  !”

Whose  heart hath never within  him buries ?

As home  his foot steps he hath turn’d .

From  wandering on a foreign strand !

If  such there breath , go mark him well;

For him no minstrel raptures swell , 

High  though his title ,proud his name ,

Boundless his wealth as wish can claim ,

Despite those  , power  and pelf ,

The  wretch concentrated   all n self ,

Living , shall forfeit  fair  renown ,

And  doubly  dying shall go down ,

To the   vile dust  from  where he  sprung,

Unwept , unhonour’d  and unsung.

NURSE’S SONGS

NURSE’S SONGS

William  blake .

When the  voices’ of  children  are heard on the   green ,

            And  laughing   is  heard on the hill ,

My heart is at  rest within my  breast ,

And   everything   else it still.

Then come leave  home my children  , the sun is  gone down ,

                        And   the dews of night arise ;

 Come  , come  leave   off   play , and  let us away ,

                   Till the morning  appears I the skies.

ON   no , let us play , for it is   yet  day  ,

And  we cannot  go to  sleep ;

Besides , in the sky the little  birds  fly ,

And  the  hills are all covered  with  sheep.

‘Well ,well , go and  play  till the light  fades  away,

 And then  go home to bed ,

 The  little ones  leaped and  shouted and laughed ,

And  all the hills  echoed

My Raggy – Shaggy Dog

My  Raggy – Shaggy Dog

E.     Lewis

Have  you seen a little  dog

                   Any where  about ?

 A   Raggy dog  , a shaggy dog , 

                Who’s  always  looking out 

For  some fresh  mischief  which he 

                 Thinks he really  ought to do .

He’s   very likely at this minute ,

                Biting  someone’s shoe.

  If  you see  little dog ,

                 His   tail up in the air ,

A  whirly  tail, a curly  tail,

                A   dog who doesn’t  care

For  any  other dog he meets ,

             Not  even for himself ,

Then  hide your mats  ,

                             and put your  meat

              Upon the  topmost  shelf.

If  you see a little  dog ,

             Barking at the cars ,

A Raggy  dog , a shaggy dog ,

                    With  eyes like twinkling  stars ,

Just  let me know  ,for though  he’s bad ,

                                        AS  bad as   bad can be  ,

I would not  change that dog  for all

                                       The treasures of the sea !

IN THE DARK NIGHT

IN THE DARK NIGHT

Walter De  la mare

Someone  came knocking

At my we, small door ;

Someone came knocking ‘

I’m sure – sure  -sure

I listened, I opened ;

I looked to left  and right

But  bought there was a – stirring ,

 In the still all, dark night ;

Only the  busy  beetle ;

Tap- tapping in the wall

Only from the  forest ‘

The screech –owl’s call’

Only the cricket whistling

While the dewdrops  fall’

So I know  not who came knocking ‘

At  all ‘ at all. ‘at all.

GOD MADE THEM ALL

C.F.  Alexander

 GOD MADE THEM ALL

 

All things  bright  and beautiful ,

All  creatures great  and small ,

All ‘things  wise and wonderful,

The good  god made  them all.

Each little flower that opens ,

Each  little bird that sings,

He made their  glowing  colours ,

He made their tiny wings .

The   purple – headed  mountain ,

The  river  running  by ,

The  morning  ad the sunset

That   brighten  up the sky;

The  tall trees  in the greenwood

The  pleasant summer  sun ,

The  ripe  fruit  in the garden ,

He  made them  ever one

He  gave us eyes to see them ,

And  lips that we might  tell

How  great  is god  Almighty

Who has made all things well .

KNOWLEDGE

KNOWLEDGE

Eleanor Farjeon

Your  mind is  a  meadow

To plant for  your needs

Your are the farmer

With knowledge of seeds ,

Don’t leave your meadow

Unplanted and bare ,

Sow it with knowledge

And tend it with care .

Who ‘d be a know – nothing

When he  might  grow

The seeds of know ledge

Of  stars and snow ,

The  science  of numbers ,

The stories of time ,

The magic  of music .

The  secrets of  rhyme ?

Don’t  be a  know- nothing !

Plant in the  spring ,

And see what harvest 

The summer will bring .

   

On the Vanity of Earthly Greatness

The writer:Arthur Guiterman (20 November 1871 – 11 January 1943) was an American writer best known for his humorous poems. Sourced . The Deer don't dine When a Wolf's about,

Arthur Guiterman

poem

 On the Vanity of Earthly Greatness

The tusks which clashed in mighty brawls

Of mastodons, are billiard balls.

The sword of Charlemagne the Just

Is Ferric Oxide, known as rust.

The grizzly bear, whose potent hug,

Was feared by all, is now a rug.

Great Caesar's bust is on the shelf,

And I don't feel so well myself.

Exile

•  The writer :
  
  
   Alicia Ostriker was born in November 11, 1937 (age 78), Brooklyn ,his Nationality American.

Alicia Ostriker

Exile

 The downward turning touch

the cry of time

fire falling without sound

plunge my hand in the wound

  


children marching and dying

all that I do is a crime

because I do not reach

their mouths silently crying

my boychild reaches with his mouth

it is easy, being a mother

his skin is tender and soft

kisses stitch us together

we love as long as we may

then come years without kisses

when he will turn away

not to waste breath

when I too will fall

embracing a pillow at night

touching the stone of exile

reaching my hand to death

Piano

The writer :

David Herbert Richards Lawrence was born in September 11, 1885, Eastwood, Nottinghamshire, England, UK and his died March 2, 1930, Vence, France ,his cause of Death : Tuberculosis , and his Nationality: British

D.H. Lawrence

Piano

Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me;   

Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see   

A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling 

strings   


And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who 

smiles 

as she sings.   
   


In spite of myself, the insidious mastery of song

Betrays me back, till the heart of me weeps to belong   

To the old Sunday evenings at home, with winter outside   

And hymns in the cosy parlour, the tinkling piano our guide.   
   


So now it is vain for the singer to burst into clamour   

With the great black piano appassionato. The glamour 

Of childish days is upon me, my manhood is cast   

Down in the flood of remembrance, I weep like a child for the past. 

Keeping Things Whole

The author:

Mark Strand  was born in April 11, 1934 – died November 29, 2014 a Canadian-born American poet, essayist and translator. He was appointed Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress in 1990 . 

Mark Strand

Keeping Things Whole

 

 In a field

I am the absence

of field.

This is

always the case.

Wherever I am

I am what is missing.

                                                                                                              

When I walk

I part the air

and always

the air moves in   

to fill the spaces

Where my body’s been.

We all have reasons

for moving.

I move

to keep things whole.

Leisure

The writer :
William Henry Davies was born in July 3, 1871, Newport, Monmouthshire, Wales. And he was died September 26, 1940, Nailsworth, Gloucestershire, England.His nationality was Welsh and  Spouse Helen Matilda Payne (m.-1940).

William Henry Davies

Leisure

What is this life if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare.


No time to stand beneath the boughs

And stare as long as sheep or cows.


No time to see, when woods we pass,

Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.


No time to see, in broad daylight,

Streams full of stars, like skies at night.


No time to turn at Beauty's glance,

And watch her feet, how they can dance.


No time to wait till her mouth can

Enrich that smile her eyes began.


A poor life this is if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare. 

William Henry Davies

MY SHADOW

The writer :

Robert Louise Stevenson born Robert Lewis Balfour Stevenson 13 November 1850 Edinburgh, Scotland. Died 3 December 1894 (aged 44) Vailima, Samoan Islands.His occupation was novelist , poet,travel writer and his Nationality Scottish, Citizenship United Kingdom . And his education 1857 Mr. Henderson's School, Edinburgh,1857 Private tutors,1859 Return to Mr. Henderson's School,1861 Edinburgh Academy,1863 Boarding school in Isleworth, Middlesex,1864 Robert Thomson's School, Edinburgh,1867 University of Edinburgh My Shad.

Robert Louise Stevenson

MY SHADOW  

I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,

And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.

He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head;

And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.


The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow

Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow;

For he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber ball,

And he sometimes gets so little that there's none of him at all.


He hasn't got a notion of how children ought to play,

And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way.

He stays so close beside me, he's a coward you can see;

I'd think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me!


One morning, very early, before the sun was up,

I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup;

But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head,

Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.

THE POPLAR FIELD

THE POPLAR FIELD 

William Cowper 

The author : William Cowper was born in 26 November 1731, in Berkhamsted , Hertfordshire ,England . He died 25 April 1800 ( aged 68) in East Dereham, Norfolk,England .He studied in Westminister School, and his occupation was poet .





The poplars are felled, farewell to the shade

And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade:

The winds play no longer and sing in the leaves,

Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives.

Twelve years have elapsed since I first took a view

Of my favourate field, and the bank where they grew,

And now in the grass behold they are laid,

And the tree is my seat that once lent me a shade.

The blackbird has fled to another retreat

Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat;

And the scene where his melody charmed me before

Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more.

My fugitive years are all hasting away,

And I must ere long lie as lowly as they,

With a turf on my breast and a stone at my head,

Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead.

'Tis a sight to engage me, if anything can,

To muse on the perishing pleasures of man;

Short-lived as we are, our enjoyments, I see,

Have a still shorter date, and die sooner than we. 

INVITATION

 INVITATION 

Sheldon Alan

The author :  sheldon Alan " Shel" SilverStein  (September 25,1930-May 8,1999) was an  American   poet, songwriter , musician , composer  , cartoonist ,screenwriter , and author of children's books  . He  sometimes styled  himself as Uncle Shelby  ,especially  for his early  children's books . Silverstein confirmed he never  studied  the poetry of the  others employing  , developed  his own quirky style : laid - back  and  conversational ,occasionally  employing  profanity .

If  you are  dreamer  , come in .

If  you are   a dreamer , a wisher ,a liar, 

A hope -er ,a pray-er , a magic  bean buyer ...

if you're a pretender,come Sit  by my fire ,

for  we have  some flax golden tales  spin. 

Come in!

Come in!

TO HIS COY MISTRESS

TO HIS COY MISTRESS

The author :Andrew Marvell (31 March  1621  -16 august  1678) was an English metaphysical poet, and the son of a Church  of England  clergyman (also  named Andrew Marvell  ) .As  a metaphysical   pot, he is   associated with John  Donne and George Herbert  .He was a  colleague  and friend of John  Milton .

Andrew Marvell

To his Coy Mistress

          Had we but world enough, and time,

This coyness, lady, were no crime.

We would sit down and think which way

To walk, and pass our long love's day;

Thou by the Indian Ganges' side

Shouldest rubies find; I by the tide

Of Humber would complain. I would

Love you ten years before the Flood;

And you should, if you please, refuse

Till the conversion of the Jews.

My vegetable love should grow

Vaster than empires, and more slow.
An hundred years should go to praise

Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;

Two hundred to adore each breast,

But thirty thousand to the rest;

An age at least to every part,

And the last age should show your heart.

For, lady, you deserve this state,

Nor would I love at lower rate.

      

               But at my back I always hear

Time's winged chariot hurrying near;

And yonder all before us lie

Deserts of vast eternity.

Thy beauty shall no more be found,

Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound

My echoing song; then worms shall try

That long preserv'd virginity,

And your quaint honour turn to dust,

And into ashes all my lust.

The grave's a fine and private place,

But none I think do there embrace.

        

                 Now therefore, while the youthful hue

Sits on thy skin like morning dew,

And while thy willing soul transpires

At every pore with instant fires,

Now let us sport us while we may;

And now, like am'rous birds of prey,

Rather at once our time devour,

Than languish in his slow-chapp'd power.

Let us roll all our strength, and all

Our sweetness, up into one ball;

And tear our pleasures with rough strife

Thorough the iron gates of life.

Thus, though we cannot make our sun

Stand still, yet we will make him run.