Year 1 Poetry Anthology: February

Heart free, hand free,
      Blue above, brown under,
All the world to me
      Is a place of wonder.
Sun shine, moon shine,
      Stars, and winds a-blowing,
All into this heart of mine
      Flowing, flowing, flowing!

Mind free, step free,
      Days to follow after,
Joys of life sold to me
      For the price of laughter.
Girl's love, man's love,
      Love of work and duty,
Just a will of God's to prove
      Beauty, beauty, beauty!

10 Animal Crackers, by Christopher Morley, 1890-1957 from Songs for a Little House, 1917

Animal crackers, and cocoa to drink,
That is the finest of suppers, I think;
When I'm grown up and can have what I please
I think I shall always insist upon these.

What do you choose when you're offered a treat?
When Mother says, "What would you like best to eat?"
Is it waffles and syrup, or cinnamon toast?
It's cocoa and animals that I love the most!

The kitchen's the coziest place that I know:
The kettle is singing, the stove is aglow,
And there in the twilight, how jolly to see
The cocoa and animals waiting for me.

Daddy and Mother dine later in state,
With Mary to cook for them, Susan to wait;
But they don't have nearly as much fun as I
Who eat in the kitchen with Nurse standing by;
And Daddy once said he would like to be me
Having cocoa and animals once more for tea!

11 The Spider and the Fly, by Mary Howitt, 1799-1888

"Will you walk into my parlour?" said the Spider to the Fly,
"'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy;
The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,
And I have many curious things to shew when you are there."
"Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "to ask me is in vain,
For who goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again."

"I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;
Will you rest upon my little bed?" said the Spider to the Fly.
"There are pretty curtains drawn around; the sheets are fine and thin,
And if you like to rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in!"
"Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "for I've often heard it said,
They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!"

Said the cunning Spider to the Fly, "Dear friend what can I do,
To prove the warm affection I've always felt for you?
I have within my pantry, good store of all that's nice;
I'm sure you're very welcome--will you please to take a slice?"
"Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "kind Sir, that cannot be,
I've heard what's in your pantry, and I do not wish to see!"

"Sweet creature!" said the Spider, "you're witty and you're wise,
How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!
I've a little looking-glass upon my parlour shelf,
If you'll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself."
"I thank you, gentle sir," she said, "for what you're pleased to say,
And bidding you good morning now, I'll call another day."

The Spider turned him round about, and went into his den,
For well he knew the silly Fly would soon come back again:
So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner sly,
And set his table ready, to dine upon the Fly.
Then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing,
"Come hither, hither, pretty Fly, with the pearl and silver wing;
Your robes are green and purple--there's a crest upon your head;
Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead!"

Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little Fly,
Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by;
With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew,
Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue--
Thinking only of her crested head--poor foolish thing! At last,
Up jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast.
He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den,
Within his little parlour--but she ne'er came out again!

And now dear little children, who may this story read,
To idle, silly flattering words, I pray you ne'er give heed:
Unto an evil counsellor, close heart and ear and eye,
And take a lesson from this tale, of the Spider and the Fly.

12 Mr. Nobody, author unknown

I know a funny little man
As quiet as a mouse
He does the mischief that is done
In everybody's house.
Though no one ever sees his face
Yet one and all agree
That every plate we break was cracked
      By Mr. Nobody.

'Tis he who always tears our books,
Who leaves the door ajar.
He picks the buttons from our shirts
And scatters pins afar.
That squeaking door will always squeak--
For prithee, don't you see?
We leave the oiling to be done
      By Mr. Nobody.

He puts damp wood upon the fire
That kettles will not boil:
His are the feet that bring in mud
And all the carpets soil.
The papers that so oft are lost--
Who had them last but he?
There's no one tosses them about
      But Mr. Nobody.

The fingermarks upon the door
By none of us were made.
We never leave the blinds unclosed
To let the curtains fade.
The ink we never spill! The boots
That lying round you see
Are not our boots--they all belong
      To Mr. Nobody.

13 Meddlesome Matty, by Ann Taylor, 1782-1866

One ugly trick has often spoil'd
      The sweetest and the best;
Matilda, though a pleasant child,
      One ugly trick possess'd,
Which, like a cloud before the skies,
Hid all her better qualities.

Sometimes she'd lift the tea-pot lid,
      To peep at what was in it,
Or tilt the kettle, if you did
      But turn your back a minute.
In vain you told her not to touch,
Her trick of meddling grew so much.

Her grandmamma went out one day,
      And by mistake she laid
Her spectacles and snuff-box gay
      Too near the little maid;
"Ah! well," thought she, "I'll try them on,
As soon as grandmamma is gone."

Forthwith she placed upon her nose
      The glasses large and wide;
And looking round, as I suppose,
      The snuff-box too she spied:
"Oh! what a pretty box is that;
I'll open it," said little Matt.

"I know that grandmamma would say,
      'Don't meddle with it, dear;'
But then, she's far enough away,
      And no one else is near:
Besides, what can there be amiss
In opening such a box as this?"

So thumb and finger went to work
      To move the stubborn lid,
And presently a mighty jerk
      The mighty mischief did;
For all at once, ah! woeful case,
The snuff came puffing in her face.

Poor eyes, and nose, and mouth, beside
      A dismal sight presented;
In vain, as bitterly she cried,
      Her folly she repented.
In vain she ran about for ease;
She could do nothing now but sneeze.

She dash'd the spectacles away,
      To wipe her tingling eyes,
And as in twenty bits they lay,
      Her grandmamma she spies.
"Heyday! and what's the matter now?"
Says grandmamma, with lifted brow.

Matilda, smarting with the pain,
      And tingling still, and sore,
Made many a promise to refrain
      From meddling evermore.
And 'tis a fact, as I have heard,
She ever since has kept her word.

14 The Tyger, by William Blake, 1757-1827

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart,
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

15 Four Seasons, anonymous

Spring is showery, flowery, bowery.
Summer: hoppy, choppy, poppy.
Autumn: wheezy, sneezy, freezy.
Winter: slippy, drippy, nippy.

16 The Lost Doll, by Charles Kingsley, 1819-1875
from The Water-Babies, 1863

I once had a sweet little doll, dears,
      The prettiest doll in the world;
Her cheeks were so red and white, dears,
      And her hair was so charmingly curled.
But I lost my poor little doll, dears,
      As I played on the heath one day;
And I cried for her more than a week, dears,
      But I never could find where she lay.

I found my poor little doll, dears,
      As I played on the heath one day;
Folks say she is terribly changed, dears,
      For her paint is all washed away,
And her arms trodden off by the cows, dears,
      And her hair not the least bit curled;
Yet for old sake's sake, she is still, dears,
      The prettiest doll in the world.

17 Monday's Child, anonymous

Monday's child is fair of face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace,
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go,
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for a living,
And the child that's born on the Sabbath day
Is blithe and bonny and good and gay.

18 A house of cards, by Christina Rossetti, 1830-1894

A house of cards
      Is neat and small:
Shake the table,
      It must fall.

Find the Court cards
      One by one;
Raise it, roof it,--
      Now it's done:--
Shake the table!
      That's the fun.

19 Hide and Seek, by Walter de la Mare, 1873-1956
      from Peacock Pie, 1913

Hide and seek, says the Wind,
      In the shade of the woods;
Hide and seek, says the Moon,
      To the hazel buds;
Hide and seek, says the Cloud,
      Star on to star;
Hide and seek, says the Wave,
      At the harbour bar;
Hide and seek, say I,
      To myself, and step
Out of the dream of Wake
      Into the dream of Sleep.

20 A Winter Night, by Sara Teasdale, 1884-1933
      from Helen of Troy and Other Poems, 1911

My window-pane is starred with frost,
      The world is bitter cold to-night,
The moon is cruel and the wind
      Is like a two-edged sword to smite.

God pity all the homeless ones,
      The beggars pacing to and fro.
God pity all the poor to-night
      Who walk the lamp-lit streets of snow.