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Read Ebook: Graded Poetry: Third Year by Alexander Georgia Editor Blake Katherine Devereux Editor
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Ebook has 349 lines and 36945 words, and 7 pages
FIRST HALF YEAR
SECOND HALF YEAR
The poems by Longfellow, Whittier, Alice Cary, J. T. Fields, and Frank Dempster Sherman are published by special arrangement with the publishers, Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin, & Company.
THIRD YEAR--FIRST HALF
EDWARD LEAR
ENGLAND, 1812-1888
The Owl and the Pussy-Cat
The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea In a beautiful pea-green boat. They took some honey, and plenty of money Wrapped up in a five-pound note. The Owl looked up to the moon above, 5 And sang to a small guitar, "O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love! What a beautiful Pussy you are,-- You are; What a beautiful Pussy you are!" 10
Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl! How wonderful sweet you sing! Oh let us be married,--too long we have tarried,-- But what shall we do for a ring?" They sailed away for a year and a day To the land where the Bong-tree grows, And there in a wood, a piggy-wig stood 5 With a ring in the end of his nose,-- His nose; With a ring in the end of his nose.
WILLIAM ALLINGHAM
IRELAND, 1828-1889
Wishing
Ring ting! I wish I were a Primrose, A bright yellow Primrose, blowing in the spring! The stooping bough above me, The wandering bee to love me, The fern and moss to creep across, 5 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, 10 And 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, 15 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 sleep in the dark wood or dell? Before the day was over, 5 Home must come the rover, For mother's kiss,--sweeter this Than any other thing.
WILLIAM BLAKE
ENGLAND, 1757-1827
The Piper
Piping down the valleys wild, Piping songs of pleasant glee, 10 On a cloud I saw a child, And he, laughing, said to me:
"Pipe a song about a lamb." So I piped with merry cheer, "Piper, pipe that song again." 15 So I piped; he wept to hear.
"Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe, Sing thy songs of happy cheer." So I sung the same again, While he wept with joy to hear.
"Piper, sit thee down and write 5 In a book that all may read." So he vanish'd from my sight; And I pluck'd a hollow reed,
And I made a rural pen, And I stain'd the water clear, 10 And I wrote my happy songs Every child may joy to hear.
CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI
ENGLAND, 1830-1894
A Year's Windfalls
On the wind of January Down flits the snow, Traveling from the frozen North 15 As cold as it can blow. Poor robin redbreast, Look where he comes; Let him in to feel your fire, And toss him of your crumbs.
On the wind in February 5 Snowflakes float still, Half inclined to turn to rain, Nipping, dripping, chill. Then the thaws swell the streams, And swollen rivers swell the sea:-- 10 If the winter ever ends How pleasant it will be.
In the wind of windy March The catkins drop down, Curly, caterpillar-like, 15 Curious green and brown. With concourse of nest-building birds And leaf-buds by the way, We begin to think of flower And life and nuts some day. 20
With the gusts of April Rich fruit-tree blossoms fall, On the hedged-in orchard-green, From the southern wall. Apple trees and pear trees Shed petals white or pink, Plum trees and peach trees; 5 While sharp showers sink and sink.
Little brings the May breeze Beside pure scent of flowers, While all things wax and nothing wanes In lengthening daylight hours. 10 Across the hyacinth beds The wind lags warm and sweet, Across the hawthorn tops, Across the blades of wheat.
In the wind of sunny June 15 Thrives the red rose crop, Every day fresh blossoms blow While the first leaves drop; White rose and yellow rose And moss rose choice to find, 20 And the cottage cabbage rose Not one whit behind.
On the blast of scorched July Drives the pelting hail, From thunderous lightning-clouds, that blot Blue heaven grown lurid-pale. Weedy waves are tossed ashore, 5 Sea-things strange to sight Gasp upon the barren shore And fade away in light.
In the parching August wind Cornfields bow the head, 10 Sheltered in round valley depths, On low hills outspread. Early leaves drop loitering down Weightless on the breeze, First fruits of the year's decay 15 From the withering trees.
In brisk wind of September The heavy-headed fruits Shake upon their bending boughs And drop from the shoots; 20 Some glow golden in the sun, Some show green and streaked, Some set forth a purple bloom, Some blush rosy-cheeked.
In strong blast of October 5 At the equinox, Stirred up in his hollow bed Broad ocean rocks; Plunge the ships on his bosom, Leaps and plunges the foam, 10 It's oh! for mothers' sons at sea, That they were safe at home.
In slack wind of November The fog forms and shifts; All the world comes out again 15 When the fog lifts. Loosened from their sapless twigs Leaves drop with every gust; Drifting, rustling, out of sight In the damp or dust. 20
Last of all, December, The year's sands nearly run, Speeds on the shortest day Curtails the sun; With its bleak raw wind Lays the last leaves low, Brings back the nightly frosts, 5 Brings back the snow.
MARY HOWITT
ENGLAND, 1804-1888
The Voice of Spring
I am coming, I am coming! Hark! the little bee is humming; See, the lark is soaring high In the blue and sunny sky; 10 And the gnats are on the wing, Wheeling round in airy ring.
See, the yellow catkins cover All the slender willows over! And on the banks of mossy green 15 Starlike primroses are seen; And, their clustering leaves below, White and purple violets blow.
Hark! the new-born lambs are bleating, And the cawing rooks are meeting In the elms,--a noisy crowd; 5 All the birds are singing loud; And the first white butterfly In the sunshine dances by.
Look around thee, look around! Flowers in all the fields abound; 10 Every running stream is bright; All the orchard trees are white; And each small and waving shoot Promises sweet flowers and fruit.
Turn thine eyes to earth and heaven: 15 God for thee the spring has given, Taught the birds their melodies, Clothed the earth, and cleared the skies, For thy pleasure or thy food: Pour thy soul in gratitude.
THOMAS MILLER
ENGLAND, 1807-1874
The Spring Walk
Amid a hedge, where the first leaves Were peeping from their sheathes so sly, We saw four eggs within a nest, And they were blue as a summer sky. 10
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