Required Poems for Reading and Memorizing Part 11

POEMS BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

A MORNING SONG

Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes: With everything that pretty bin, My lady sweet, arise: Arise, arise!

UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE

Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me, And tune his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither!

Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather.

Who doth ambition shun, And loves to live i' the sun, Seeking the food he eats, And pleased with what he gets, Come hither, come hither, come hither!

Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather.

LULLABY FOR t.i.tANIA

FIRST FAIRY You spotted snakes with double tongue, Th.o.r.n.y hedgehogs, be not seen; Newts and blind-worms, do no wrong, Come not near our fairy queen.

_Chorus_ Philomel, with melody Sing in our sweet lullaby; Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby!

Never harm, Nor spell, nor charm, Come our lovely lady nigh!

So good-night, with lullaby.

SECOND FAIRY Weaving spiders, come not here; Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence; Beetles black, approach not near; Worm, nor snail, do no offence.

SONG OF THE FAIRY

Over hill, over dale, Thorough bush, thorough brier, Over park, over pale, Thorough flood, thorough fire, I do wander everywhere, Swifter than the moon's sphere; And I serve the fairy queen, To dew her orbs upon the green.

The cowslips tall her pensioners be!

In their gold coats spots you see; Those be rubies, fairy favors, In those freckles live their savors: I must go seek some dewdrops here, And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.

WINTER

When icicles hang by the wall And d.i.c.k the shepherd blows his nail, And Tom bears logs into the hall, And milk comes frozen home in pail, When blood is nipp'd, and ways be foul, Then nightly sings the staring owl, To-who; Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

When all around the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl, To-who; Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

POEMS BY VARIOUS AUTHORS

FRAIDIE-CAT

I shan't tell you what's his name: When we want to play a game, Always thinks that he'll be hurt, Soil his jacket in the dirt, Tear his trousers, spoil his hat,-- Fraidie-Cat! Fraidie-Cat!

Nothing of the boy in him!

"Dasn't" try to learn to swim; Says a cow'll hook; if she Looks at him he'll climb a tree; "Scart" to death at bee or bat,-- Fraidie-Cat! Fraidie-Cat!

Claims there're ghosts all snowy white Wandering around at night In the attic; wouldn't go There for anything, I know; B'lieve he'd run if you said "Scat!"

Fraidie-Cat! Fraidie-Cat!

_Clinton Scollard._

JACK IN THE PULPIT

Jack in the pulpit Preaches to-day, Under the green trees Just over the way.

Squirrel and song-sparrow, High on their perch, Hear the sweet lily-bells Ringing to church.

Come, hear what his reverence Rises to say, In his low painted pulpit This calm Sabbath-day.

Fair is the canopy Over him seen, Penciled by Nature's hand, Black, brown, and green.

Green is his surplice, Green are his bands; In his queer little pulpit The little priest stands.

In black and gold velvet, So gorgeous to see, Comes with his ba.s.s voice The chorister bee.

Green fingers playing Unseen on wind-lyres, Low singing bird voices,-- These are his choirs.

The violets are deacons-- I know by the sign That the cups which they carry Are purple with wine.

And the columbines bravely As sentinels stand On the look-out with all their Red trumpets in hand.

Meek-faced anemones, Drooping and sad; Great yellow violets, Smiling out glad; b.u.t.tercups' faces, Beaming and bright; Clovers, with bonnets,-- Some red and some white; Daisies, their white fingers Half-clasped in prayer; Dandelions, proud of The gold of their hair; Innocents,--children Guileless and frail, Meek little faces Upturned and pale; Wild-wood geraniums, All in their best, Languidly leaning In purple gauze dressed:-- All are a.s.sembled This sweet Sabbath-day To hear what the priest In his pulpit will say.

Look! white Indian pipes On the green mosses lie!

Who has been smoking Profanely so nigh?

Rebuked by the preacher The mischief is stopped, But the sinners, in haste, Have their little pipes dropped.

Let the wind, with the fragrance Of fern and black birch, Blow the smell of the smoking Clean out of the church!

So much for the preacher: The sermon comes next,-- Shall we tell how he preached it, And where was his text?

Alas! like too many Grown-up folks who play At worship in churches Man-builded to-day,-- We heard not the preacher Expound or discuss;

But we looked at the people, And they looked at us.

We saw all their dresses, Their colors and shapes; The trim of their bonnets, The cut of their capes.

We heard the wind-organ, The bee, and the bird, But of Jack in the pulpit We heard not a word!

_Clara Smith._

THE ANT AND THE CRICKET

A silly young cricket, accustomed to sing Through the warm, sunny months of gay summer and spring, Began to complain, when he found that at home His cupboard was empty and winter was come.

Not a crumb to be found On the snow-covered ground; Not a flower could he see, Not a leaf on a tree.

"Oh, what will become," says the cricket, "of me?"

At last by starvation and famine made bold, All dripping with wet and all trembling with cold, Away he set off to a miserly ant To see if, to keep him alive, he would grant Him shelter from rain.

A mouthful of grain He wished only to borrow, He'd repay it to-morrow; If not helped, he must die of starvation and sorrow.

Says the ant to the cricket: "I'm your servant and friend, But we ants never borrow, we ants never lend.

Pray tell me, dear sir, did you lay nothing by When the weather was warm?" Said the cricket, "Not I.

My heart was so light That I sang day and night, For all nature looked gay."

"You sang, sir, you say?