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Where Go the Boats?
DARK brown is the river.
Golden is the sand.
It flows along for ever,
With trees open on either hand.
Green leaves a-floating,
Castles of the foam,
Boats of mine a-boating--
Where will all come home?
On goes the river
And out past the mill,
Away down the valley,
Away down the hill.
Away down the river,
A hundred miles or more,
Other little children
Shall bring my boats ashore.
Robert Louis Stevenson
Did you know that poetry can slow you down, stretch your imagination, get you in a good mood, and more. Here's our collection of poems that we'd like to share with you. Enjoy reading!
The Wind
Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you.
But when the leaves hang trembling.
The wind is passing through.
Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I.
But when the trees bow down their heads,
The wind is passing by.
Christina Rossetti
The Violet
Down in a green and shady bed,
A modest violet grew;
Its stalk was bent, it hung its head
As if to hide from view.
And yet it was a lovely flower,
Its colour bright and fair;
It might have graced a rosy bower,
Instead of hiding there.
Yet thus it was content to bloom,
In modest tints arrayed;
And there diffused a sweet perfume,
Within the silent shade.
Then let me to the valley go
This pretty flower to see;
That I may also learn to grow
In sweet humility.
Jane Taylor
An Autumn Riddle
They are seen on the trees,
They are seen on the ground.
They are seen in the air,
Whirling softly around;
They sing rustling songs
As our footsteps they hear,
And their name is well known,
For they come every year.
Anonymous
The Goops
The Goops they lick their fingers,
And the Goops they lick their knives;
They spill their broth on the tablecloth--
Oh, the lead disgusting lives!
The Goops they walk while eating,
And loud and fast they chew;
And that is why I'm glad that I
Am not a Goop--are you?
Gelett Burgess
Lucy Locket
Lucy Locket lost her pocket,
Kitty Fischer found it;
There was not a penny in it,
But a ribbon around it.
Mother Goose
Hope
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
Emily Dickenson
We Have A Little Garden
We have a little garden,
A garden of our own,
And every day we water there
The seeds that we have sown.
We love our little garden,
And tend it with such care,
You will not find a faded leaf
Or blighted blossom there.
Helen Beatrix Potter
Fireflies In the Garden
Here come real stars to fill the
upper skies,
And here on earth come
emulating flies,
That though they never equal stars in size,
(And they were never really stars at heart)
Achieve at times a very star-
like start.
Only, of course, they can't
sustain the part.
Robert Frost
