Required Poems for Reading and Memorizing Part 12

Go then," said the ant, "and sing winter away."

Thus ending, he hastily lifted the wicket And out of the door turned the poor little cricket.

Though this is a fable, the moral is good-- If you live without work, you must live without food.

_Anonymous._

WISHING

Ring-Ting! I wish I were a Primrose, A bright yellow Primrose, blowing in the spring!

The stooping boughs above me, The wandering bee to love me, The fern and moss to creep across, And the Elm tree for our king!

Nay--stay! I wish I were an Elm tree, A great, lofty Elm tree, with green leaves gay!

The winds would set them dancing, The sun and moonshine glance in, The birds would house among the boughs, And sweetly sing.

Oh no! I wish I were a Robin, A Robin or a little Wren, everywhere to go; Through forest, field, or garden, And ask no leave or pardon, Till winter comes with icy thumbs To ruffle up our wing!

Well--tell! Where should I fly to, Where go to sleep in the dark wood or dell?

Before a day was over, Home comes the rover, For mother's kiss--sweeter this Than any other thing.

_William Allingham._

ROBIN REDBREAST

Good-bye, good-bye to Summer!

For Summer's nearly done; The garden smiling faintly, Cool breezes in the sun!

Our thrushes now are silent,-- Our swallows flown away,-- But Robin's here in coat of brown, And scarlet breast-knot gay.

Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear!

Robin sings so sweetly In the falling of the year.

Bright yellow, red, and orange, The leaves come down in hosts; The trees are Indian princes, But soon they'll turn to ghosts; The scanty pears and apples Hang russet on the bough; It's autumn, autumn, autumn late, 'Twill soon be winter now.

Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear!

And what will this poor Robin do?

For pinching days are near.

The fireside for the cricket, The wheat-stack for the mouse, When trembling night-winds whistle And moan all round the house.

The frosty ways like iron, The branches plumed with snow,-- Alas! in winter dead and dark, Where can poor Robin go?

Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear!

And a crumb of bread for Robin, His little heart to cheer.

_William Allingham._

THE CHESTNUT BURR

A wee little nut lay deep in its nest Of satin and brown, the softest and best, And slept and grew while its cradle rocked-- As it hung in the boughs that interlocked.

Now, the house was small where the cradle lay, As it swung in the winds by night and day; For a thicket of underbrush fenced it round, This lone little cot by the great sun browned.

This little nut grew, and ere long it found There was work outside on the soft, green ground; It must do its part, so the world might know It had tried one little seed to sow.

And soon the house that had kept it warm Was tossed about by the autumn storm; The stem was cracked, the old house fell, And the chestnut burr was an empty sh.e.l.l.

But the little nut, as it waiting lay, Dreamed a wonderful dream one day, Of how it should break its coat of brown, And live as a tree, to grow up and down.

_Anonymous._

MARJORIE'S ALMANAC

Robins in the tree-top, Blossoms in the gra.s.s, Green things a-growing Everywhere you pa.s.s; Sudden little breezes, Showers of silver dew, Black bough and bent twig Budding out anew; Pine-tree and willow-tree, Fringed elm and larch,-- Don't you think that May-time's Pleasanter than March?

Apples in the orchard Mellowing one by one; Strawberries upturning Soft cheeks to the sun;

Roses faint with sweetness, Lilies fair of face, Drowsy scents and murmurs Haunting every place; Lengths of golden sunshine, Moonlight bright as day,-- Don't you think that summer's Pleasanter than May?

Roger in the corn-patch Whistling negro songs; p.u.s.s.y by the hearth-side Romping with the tongs; Chestnuts in the ashes Bursting through the rind; Red leaf and gold leaf Rustling down the wind; Mother "doin' peaches"

All the afternoon,-- Don't you think that autumn's Pleasanter than June?

Little fairy snow-flakes Dancing in the flue; Old Mr. Santa Claus, What is keeping you?

Twilight and firelight Shadows come and go;

Merry chime of sleigh-bells Tinkling through the snow; Mother knitting stockings (p.u.s.s.y's got the ball),-- Don't you think that winter's Pleasanter than all?

_Thomas Bailey Aldrich._

KRISS KRINGLE

Just as the moon was fading Amid her misty rings, And every stocking was stuffed With childhood's precious things,

Old Kriss Kringle looked around, And saw on the elm-tree bough, High hung, an oriole's nest, Lonely and empty now.

"Quite a stocking," he laughed, "Hung up there on a tree!

I didn't suppose the birds Expected a present from me!"

Then old Kriss Kringle, who loves A joke as well as the best, Dropped a handful of snowflakes Into the oriole's empty nest.

_Thomas Bailey Aldrich._

LITTLE BY LITTLE

"Little by little," an acorn said, As it slowly sank in its mossy bed, "I am improving every day, Hidden deep in the earth away."

Little by little, each day it grew; Little by little, it sipped the dew; Downward it sent out a thread-like root; Up in the air sprung a tiny shoot.

Day after day, and year after year, Little by little the leaves appear; And the slender branches spread far and wide, Till the mighty oak is the forest's pride.

Far down in the depths of the dark blue sea, An insect train work ceaselessly.

Grain by grain, they are building well, Each one alone in its little cell.

Moment by moment, and day by day, Never stopping to rest or to play, Rocks upon rocks, they are rearing high, Till the top looks out on the sunny sky.