Graded Poetry: Third Year.

by Various.

INTRODUCTION

POETRY is the chosen language of childhood and youth. The baby repeats words again and again for the mere joy of their sound: the melody of nursery rhymes gives a delight which is quite independent of the meaning of the words. Not until youth approaches maturity is there an equal pleasure in the rounded periods of elegant prose. It is in childhood therefore that the young mind should be stored with poems whose rhythm will be a present delight and whose beautiful thoughts will not lose their charm in later years.

The selections for the lowest grades are addressed primarily to the feeling for verbal beauty, the recognition of which in the mind of the child is fundamental to the plan of this work. The editors have felt that the inclusion of critical notes in these little books intended for elementary school children would be not only superfluous, but, in the degree in which critical comment drew the child's attention from the text, subversive of the desired result. Nor are there any notes on methods. The best way to teach children to love a poem is to read it inspiringly to them. The French say: "The ear is the pathway to the heart." A poem should be so read that it will sing itself in the hearts of the listening children.

In the brief biographies appended to the later books the human element has been brought out. An effort has been made to call attention to the education of the poet and his equipment for his life work rather than to the literary qualities of his style.

THIRD YEAR--FIRST HALF

EDWARD LEAR

ENGLAND, 1812-1888

The Owl and the p.u.s.s.y-Cat

The Owl and the p.u.s.s.y-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 p.u.s.s.y! O p.u.s.s.y, my love!

What a beautiful p.u.s.s.y you are,-- You are; What a beautiful p.u.s.s.y you are!" 10

p.u.s.s.y 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.

"Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling Your ring?" Said the piggy, "I will." 10 So they took it away, and were married next day By the turkey who lives on the hill.

They dined upon mince and slices of quince, Which they ate with a runcible spoon, And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, 15 They danced by the light of the moon,-- The moon; They danced by the light of the moon.

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.