Here is a collection of poems rhymes I've collected from
old school books:
A GOBLINADE
(A goblinade is just "a story about a goblin."
A green hobgoblin,
Small but quick,
Went out walking
With a black thorn stick.
He was full of mischief,
Full of glee.
He frightened all
That he could see.
He saw a little maiden
In a wood.
He looked as fierce as
A goblin should.
He crept by the hedge row,
He said, "Boo!"
"Boo!" laughed the little girl,
"How are you?"
"What!" said the goblin,
"Aren't you afraid?"
"I think you're funny,"
Said the little maid.
"Ha!" said the goblin,
Sitting down flat
"You think I'm funny,
I don't like that.
I'm very frightening.
You should flee!"
"You're cunning," she said,
"As you can be!"
Then she laughed again, and
Went away.
But the goblin stood there
All that day.
A beetle came by, and
"Well?" it said.
But the goblin only
shook his head.
"For I am funny,"
He said to it.
"I thought I was alarming,
But I'm not a bit.
"If I'm amusing,"
He said to himself,
"I won't be a goblin,
I'll be an elf!
For a goblin must be goblin
All the day,
But an elf need only
Dance and play."
So the little green goblin
Became an elf.
He dances all day, and
He likes himself.
-Florence Page Jacques.
THE LITTLE ELF-MAN
I met a little Elf-man once,
Down where the lilies blow.
I asked him why he was so small
And why he didn't grow.
He slightly frowned, and with his eye
He looked me through and through,
"I'm quite as big for me," said he,
"As you are big for you."
-John Kendrick Bangs.
THE MAGIC VINE
A Fairy seed I planted,
So dry and white and old;
There sprang a vine enchanted,
With magic flowers of gold.
I watched it, I tended it,
And truly, by and by,
It bore a Jack-O'-Lantern,
And a big Thanksgiving pie.
-Author Unknown.
AFTERGLOW
The afterglow is the lingering light in the west
after the sun has set. It is a farewell to day, and
calls up memories of the hours that have fled.
After the clangor of battle
There comes a moment of rest,
And the simple hopes and the simple joys
And the simple thoughts are best.
After the victor's paean,
After the thunder of gun,
There comes a lull that must come to all
Before the set of the sun.
Then what is the happiest memory?
Is it the foe's defeat?
Is it the splended praise of a world
That thunders by at your feet?
Nay,nay, to the life-worn spirit
The happiest thoughts are those
That carry us back to the simple joys
And the sweetest of life's repose.
A simple love and a simple trust
And a simple duty done,
Are truer torches to light to death
Than the whole world's victories won.
-Wilfred Campbell
(Canadian)
DEAR LAND OF ALL MY LOVE
Long as thine art shall love true love,
Long as thy science truth shall know,
Long as thine eagle harms no dove,
Long as thy law by law shall grow,
Long as thy God is God above,
Thy brother every man below,
So long dear land of all my love,
Thy name shall shine, thy fame shall glow!
-Sidney Lamier.
(Canadian)
THE RAIN
I hear leaves drinking Rain;
I hear rich leaves on top
Giving the poor beneath
Drop after drop;
'Tis a sweet noise to hear
These green leaves drinking near.
And when the Sun comes out,
After the Rain shall stop,
A wonderous Light will fill
Each dark, round drop;
I hope the Sun shines bright;
'Twill be a lovely sight.
-William H. Davies.
GRASSHOPPER GREEN
Grasshopper Green is a comical chap;
He lives on the best of fare.
Bright little trousers, jacket, and cap,
These are his summer wear.
Out in the meadow he loves to go,
Playing away in the sun;
It's hoppery, skipperty, high and low,
Summer's the time for fun.
Grasshopper Green has a quaint little house;
It's under the hedge so gay.
Grandmother Spider, as still as a mouse,
Watches him over the way.
Gladly he's calling the children, I know,
Out in the beautiful sun;
It's hopperty, skipperty, high and low,
Summer's the time for fun.
CHIMES
Brief, on a flying night,
From the shaken tower,
A flock of bells take flight,
And go with the hour.
Like birds from the cote to the gales,
Abrupt-O hark!
A fleet of bells set sails
And go to the dark.
Sudden the cold airs swing.
Alone, aloud,
A verse of bells takes wing
And flies with the cloud.
-Alice Meynell.
MOON SONG
Zoon, zoon, cuddle and croon--
Over the crinkling sea,
The moon man flings him a silvered net
Fashioned of moonbeams three.
And some folk say, when the net lies long
And the midnight hour is ripe,
The moon man fishes for some old song
That fell from a sailor's pipe.
And some folk say that he fishes for bars
Down where the dead ships lie,
Looking for lost little baby stars
That slid form the slippery sky.
And the waves roll out, and the waves roll in,
And the nodding night wind blows,
But why the moon man fishes the sea
Only the moon man knows.
Zoon, zoon, net of the moon
Rides on the wrinkling sea;
Bright is the fret and shining wet,
Fashioned of moonbeams three.
And some folk say, when the great net gleams
And the waves are dusky blue,
The moon man fishes for two little dreams
He lost when the world was new.
And some folk say, in the late night hours
While the long fin-shadows slide,
The moon man fishes for cold sea flowers
Under the tumbling tide.
And the waves roll out, and the waves roll in,
And the grey gulls dip and doze,
But why the moon man fishes the sea
Only the moon man knows.
Zoon, zoon, cuddle and croon--
Over the crinkling sea,
The moon man flings him a silvered net
Fashioned of moon beams three.
And some folk say that he follows the flecks
Down where the last light flows,
Fishing for two round gold-rimmed "specs"
That blew from his button-like nose.
And some folk say, while the salt sea foams
And the silver net lines snare,
The moon man fishes for cavern combs
That float from the mermaids' hair
And the waves roll out, and the waves roll in,
And the nodding night wind blows,
But why the moon man fishes the sea
Only the moon man knows.
-Mildred Plew Merryman
THE PROCESSION
When the snow has gone away
Maypinks blossom where it lay,
And before the Maypink's gone
Dancing windflowers hurry on:
All the violet-buds are made
Long before the windflowers fade.
Then before the violets go
Yellow dandelions grow:
And before they ever die
Buttercups are growing high,
Then the daisies hurry up,
Each beside a buttercup:
Little pink wild roses follow,
And in every sunny hollow
Black-eyed Susans grow up tall
Long before the roses fall.
Clovers blossom pink and steady
Till the goldenrod is ready:
Purple asters last of all
Wait until the late, late fall,
Till the snow comes flying down
Once again on field and town.
-Margaret Widdemer.
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Treesqueaks and Other Tales: -From New Brunswick |