Silver
Pennies
by Blanche
Jennings
Thompson
Some
One
Watched
the Fairies
The
Little Elf
Fairies
Never
a Penny
Child
Next Door
the
Dormouse
North
Wind's
Mockery
the
Griffin Be
Evening
Song
The
Sleepy Song
Baby
Seed Song
Queen
Anne's Lace
The
Hens
Strange
Tree
Water
Noises
The
Rivals
Faithless
Little
Folks
Parliament
Fog
Plaint
of the Camel
Potatoes'
Dance
Animal
Crackers
Bunch
of Roses
Check
Tiny
Thing
Vinegar
Man
Portrait
Saw
a Moor
Song
of Life
Cloths
of Heaven
Grace
for Light
Wandering
Aengus
Lone
Dog
Work
Souls
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The Child
Next Door
Did you ever know a little girl like
'"the child next door"? Don't
you feel very sorry for her? I think that we would rather play with Mary.
Be sure to pronounce the name of the little girl correctly.
Joan is spoken all in one syllable — to
rhyme with "own."
THE child next door has a wreath on her
hat;
Her afternoon frock sticks out like
that,
All soft and frilly;
She doesn't believe in fairies at all
(She told me over the garden wall)
She thinks they're silly.
The child next door has a watch of her
own;
She has shiny hair and her name is Joan;
(Mine's only Mary).
But doesn't it seem very sad to you
To think that she never her whole life
through
Has seen a fairy?
Rose Fyleman
The Elf and the Dormouse
Did you ever wonder who first thought of
making umbrellas?
Well, this is the story.
UNDER a toadstool crept a wee Elf,
Out of the rain to shelter himself.
Under the toadstool, sound asleep,
Sat a big Dormouse all in a heap.
Trembled the wee Elf, frightened,
and yet
Fearing to fly away lest he get wet.
To the next shelter — maybe a mile!
Sudden the wee Elf smiled a wee smile,
Tugged till the toadstool toppled
in two.
Holding it over him, gaily he flew.
Soon he was safe home, dry as could
be.
Soon woke the Dormouse — " Good gracious
me!
"Where is my toadstool?" loud he lamented.
And that's how umbrellas first were
invented.
Oliver Herford
The Moon's the North Wind's Cooky
(What the Little Girl Said)
When does the moon look like a cooky with a big bite out of it?
I wonder who eats the moon-scraps.
THE Moon's the North Wind's cooky.
He bites it, day by day,
Until there's but a rim of scraps
That crumble all away.
The South Wind is a baker.
He kneads clouds in his den,
And bakes a crisp new moon that . . . greedy
North . . . Wind . . . eats . . . again!
Vachel Lindsay
Mockery
Here is a poem that is easy to learn. It sounds just like a song, doesn't
it? Have you ever noticed that the flowers smell sweeter at night? Did
the noon ever play a joke like this on you?
HAPPENED that the moon was up before I went to bed,
Poking through the bramble-trees her round, gold head.
I didn't stop for stocking,
I didn't stop for shoe,
But went running out to meet her
oh, the night was blue!
Barefoot down the hill road, dust beneath my toes;
Barefoot in the pasture smelling sweet of fern and rose!
Oh, night was running with me, Tame folk were all in bed
And the moon was just showing her wild gold head.
But before I reached the hilltop where the bramble-trees are tall,
I looked to see my lady moon — she wasn't there at all! —
Not sitting on the hilltop, Nor slipping through the air,
Nor hanging in the brambles by her bright gold hair!
I walked slowly down the pasture and slowly up the hill,
Wondering and wondering, and very, very still.
I wouldn't look behind me,
I went at once to bed —
And poking through the window was her bold gold head!
Katherine Dixon Riggs
Yet Gentle Will the Griffin Be
(What Grandpa Told the Children)
A Griffin is a strange creature that we read about in fairy tales. Can
you imagine one drinking milk out of the Milky Way?
The moon? It is a griffin's egg,
Hatching to-morrow night.
And how the little boys will watch
With shouting and delight
To see him break the shell and stretch
And creep across the sky.
The boys will laugh. The little girls, I fear, may hide and cry.
Yet gentle will the griffin be,
Most decorous and fat,
And walk up to the Milky Way
And lap it like a cat.
Vachel Lindsay
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