 Maiden Hood, by Henry W. Longfellow, from the Junior Classics, Volume 10, Part 1, Poems Old and New, read for LibriVox.org by Phil Shempf. Maiden, with the meek brown eyes, in whose orbs a shadow lies like the dusk in evening skies. Thou whose locks outshine the sun, golden tresses wreathed in one as the braided stream lets run, standing with reluctant feet, where the brook and river meet, womanhood and childhood fleet, gazing with a timid glance on the brooklet's swift advance, on the river's broad expanse. Deep instill that gliding stream, beautiful to thee must seem as the river of a dream. Then why pause within decision, when bright angels in thy vision beckon thee to the field's elision? Seize thou shadows sailing by, as the dove with startled eye sees the falcon's shadow fly? Hear as thou voices on the shore, that our ears perceive no more, deafened by the cataract's roar. O thou child of many prayers, life hath quicksands, life hath snares, care and age come unawares. Like the swell of some sweet tune, morning rises into noon, may glides onward into June. Childhood is the bow, where slumbered birds and blossoms many numbered, age that bow with snows encumbered. Gather then each flower that grows, when the young heart overflows to embalm that tent of snows. Bare a lily in thy hand, gates of brass cannot withstand the touch of that magic wand. Bare through sorrow, wrong in Ruth, in thy heart that do of youth, on thy lips the smile of truth. O that dew like balm shall steal into wounds that cannot heal, even as sleep our eyes doth seal. And that smile, like sunshine, dart into many a sunless heart, for a smile of God thou art. And a poem, this recording is in the public domain. Telling at the window, crying at the lock, are the winds in their bed for its new ten o'clock. Hey, Willie Winky, are you coming, Ben? The cat's singing gay thrums to the sleeping hen. The dog's spelled it on the floor, and Disney gear cheap, but here's a work-life laddie that winner far sleep. Nothing but sleepier rogue, glaring like the moon, rattling in an n-jug with an n-spoon, rumbling tumbling rune about, crewing like a cock, skilling like a ken-a-wot, walkin' in sleeping folk. Hey, Willie Winky, the wind's in a creel, wumbling off a buddy's knee like a veer-a-year, ruggin' at the cat's lug and ravelling at her thrums. Hey, Willie Winky, see there he comes. Where he is the mither that has a story-ween, a wee stumpy stussy that canna-rin his lean, that has a battler with sleep before he'll close in he, but a kiss free off his rosy lips gives strength anew to me. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. THE GIANT by Charles McKay From THE JUNIOR CLASSICS VOLUME X Poems Old and New Read for LibriVox.org by Dale Grothman There came a giant to my door, a giant fierce and strong. His step was heavy on the floor, his arms were ten yards long. He scowled and frowned, he shook the ground. I trembled through and through. At length I looked him in the face and cried, Who cares for you? The mighty giant as I spoke grew pale and thin and small. And through his body, as to her smoke, I saw the sunshine fall. His blood-red eyes turned blue as skies. Is this, I cried, with growing pride? Is this the mighty foe? He sank before my earnest face. He vanished quite away and left no shadow in his place between me and the day. Such giants come and strike us dumb, but weak in every part. They melt before the strong man's eyes and fly the true of heart. End of The Giant by Charles McKay Marjory's Almanac by Thomas Bailey Aldridge From the junior classics, Volume 10, Part 1, Poems Old and New Read for LibriVox.org Robins in the treetop, blossoms in the grass, Green things aglowin' everywhere you pass, Sudden little breezes, showers of silver dew, Black bow and bent twig, budding out anew, Pine tree and willow tree, fringid elm and larch, Don't you think that maytimes pleasanter than March? Apples in the orchard, mellowing one by one, Strawberries upturning, soft cheeks to the sun, Roses faint with sweetness, lilies fair of face, Drowsy suns and murmurs haunting every place, Links of golden sunshine, moonlight bright as day, Don't you think that summer's pleasanter than May? Roger in the corn patch whistling negro songs, Pussy by the hearth side romping with the tongs, Chestnuts in the ashes bursting through the rind, Red leaf and gold leaf rustling down the wind, They're doing peaches all the afternoon. Don't you think that autumn's pleasanter than June? Little fairy snowflakes dancing in the flu, Old Mr. Santa Claus, what is keeping you? Twilight and firelight, shadows come and go, Merry chime of sleigh bells tinkling through the snow, Mother knitting stockings, Pussy's got the ball. Don't you think that winter's pleasanter than all? Into poem this recording is in the public domain. Who Stole the Bird's Nest by L. Maria Child from the Junior Classics, Volume 10, Part 1, Poems Old and New, read for LibriVox.org by Anita Sloma Martinez. To wit, to wit, to we, will you listen to me? Who stole four eggs I laid, and the nice nest I made? Not I, said the cow, moo, such a thing I'd never do. I gave you a wisp of hay, but didn't take your nest away. Not I, said the cow, moo, such a thing I'd never do. To wit, to wit, to we, will you listen to me? Who stole four eggs I laid, and the nice nest I made? Bobbling, bubbling, now what do you think? Who stole a nest away from the plum tree to-day? Not I, said the dog, bow, wow, I wouldn't be so mean anyhow. I gave hairs the nest to make, but the nest I did not take. Not I, said the dog, bow, wow, I'm not so mean anyhow. To wit, to wit, to we, will you listen to me? Who stole four eggs I laid, and the nice nest I made? Bobbling, bubbling, now what do you think? Who stole a nest away from the plum tree to-day? Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, let me speak a word, too. Who stole that pretty nest from little yellow breast? Not I, said the sheep, oh, no, I wouldn't treat a poor bird so. I gave wool the nest to line, but the nest was not of mine. Bah, bah, said the sheep, oh, no, I wouldn't treat a poor bird so. To wit, to wit, to we, will you listen to me? Who stole four eggs I laid, and the nice nest I made? Bobbling, bubbling, now what do you think? Who stole a nest away from the plum tree to-day? Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, let me speak a word, too. Who stole that pretty nest from little yellow breast? Ca, ca, cried the crow. I should like to know what thief took away a bird's nest to-day. Cluck, cluck, said the hen. Don't ask me again. Why, I haven't a chick would do such a trick. We all gave her a feather, and she wove them together. I'd scorn to intrude on her and her brood. Cluck, cluck, said the hen. Don't ask me again. Chur, whir, chur, whir, all the birds make a stir. Let us find out his name, and all cry for shame. I would not rob a bird, said little Mary Green. I think I never heard of anything so mean. It is very cruel, too, said little Alice Neal. I wonder if he knew how sad the bird would feel. A little boy hung down his head, and went and hid behind the bed, for he stole that pretty nest from poor little yellow breast, and he felt so full of shame he didn't like to tell his name. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. How the Leaves Came Down by Susan Coolidge, from the junior classics, volume 10, part 1. Poems, Old and New, read for LibriVox.org. I'll tell you how the leaves came down, the great tree to his children said. You're getting sleepy, yellow and brown. Yes, very sleepy, little Red. It is quite time to go to bed. Ah, begged each silly, pouting leaf. Let us a little longer stay. Dear Father Tree, behold our grief. To such a very pleasant day, we do not want to go away. So for just one more merry day, to the great tree the leaflets clung, frolicked and danced and had their way, upon the autumn breezes swung, whispering, all their sports among. Perhaps the great tree will forget, and let us stay until the spring, if we all beg and coax and fret. But the great tree did no such thing. He smiled to hear their whispering. Come, children, all to bed he cried, and ear the leaves could urge their prayer. He shook his head, and far and wide, fluttering and rustling everywhere, down sped the leaflets through the air. I saw them, on the ground they lay, golden and red, a huddled swarm, waiting till one from far away. White bedclothes heaped upon her arm, should come to wrap them, safe and warm. The great bear tree looked down and smiled. Good night, dear little leaves, he said. And from below each sleepy child replied, good night and murmured. It is so nice to go to bed. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. Try again, from the junior classics, volume 10, part 1, poems old and new, read for LibriVox.org. Try again. It is a lesson you should heed. Try, try, try again, if at first you don't succeed. Try, try, try again. Once or twice, though you should fail, try again, if you would at last prevail, try again. If we strive, it's no disgrace, though we may not win the race. What should you do in that case? Try again. If you find your task is hard, try again, time will bring you your reward. Try again. All that other folks can do, with your patience should not you, only keep this rule in you. Try again. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. Recording by Kalpana. Blowing Bubbles by William Allingham, from the junior classics, volume 10, part 1, poems old and new, read for LibriVox.org by Dale Grothman. See the pretty planet, floating sphere, faintest breeze will fan it far or near, world as light as feather, moonshine rays, rainbow tints together as it plays. Grouping, sinking, failing, nigh to earth, mounting, whirling, sailing, full of mirth. Life there, welling, flowing, waving round, pictures coming, going, without sound. Quick now, be this airy globe repelled, never can the fairy star be held. Touched, it in a twinkle disappears, leaving but a sprinkle as of tears. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. Baby Bye by Theodore Tilton, from the junior classics, volume 10, part 1, poems old and new, read for LibriVox.org. Baby Bye, here's a fly. Let us watch him, you and I. How he crawls up the walls, yet he never falls. I believe with six such legs, you and I could walk on eggs. There he goes, on his toes, tickling baby's nose. Spots of bread dot his head, rainbows on his back are spread. That small speck is his neck. See him nod and beck. I can show you, if you choose, where to look to find his shoes. Three small pairs made of hairs. These he always wears. Black and brown is his gown. He can wear it upside down. It is laced round his waist. I admire his taste. Yet though tight his clothes are made, he will lose them, I'm afraid. If tonight he sets sight of the candlelight. In the sun, webs are spun, what if he gets into one? When it rains, he complains on the window panes. Tongue to talk, have you and I. God has given the little fly. No such things so he sings with his buzzing wings. He can eat bread and meat. There's his mouth between his feet. On his back is a pack like a peddler's sack. Does the baby understand? Then the fly shall kiss her hand. Put a crumb on her thumb. Maybe he will come. Catch him, no, let him go. Never heard an insect so. But no doubt he flies out, just too gad about. Now you see his wings of silk, drabbled in the baby's milk. Five, oh five, foolish fly. How will he get dry? All wet flies twist their thighs. Thus they wipe their heads and eyes. Catch you, no, wash just so. Then their whiskers grow. Flies have hairs too short to comb, so they fly bareheaded home. But the nat wears a hat. Do you believe that? Flies can see more than we. So how bright their eyes must be? Little fly, open your eye. Spiders are nearby. For a secret eye can tell. Spiders never use flies well. Then away, do not stay. Little fly, good day. Into poem, this recording is in the public domain. Baby's Feet by Algernon Charles Swineburn. From the junior classics, volume 10, part one. Poems Old and New, read for leverbox.org. A baby's feet like seashells pink might tempt should heavens see meat. An angel's lips to kiss we think. A baby's feet like rose-hued sea flowers toward the heat. They stretch and spread and wink. They're tin soft buds that part and meet. No flower bells that expand and shrink, gleam half so heavenly sweet, as shine on life's untrodden brink. A baby's feet. Into poem, this recording is in the public domain. The Fairy Folk by William Allingham. From the junior classics, volume 10, part one. Poems Old and New, read for leverbox.org. Up the area mountain, down the rushing glen, we dare not go hunting for fear of little men. We folk, good folk, trooping all together, green jacket, red cap, and white elves' feather. Down along the rocky shore, some make their home. They live on crispy pancakes of yellow-tide foam. Summon the reeds of the Black Mountain Lake with frogs for their watchdogs all night awake. High on the hilltop, the old king sits. He is now so old and gray, he's now lost his wits. With a bridge of white mist, column kill he crosses, on his stately journeys from Sleeva League to Rosses. Or going up with music on cold, starry nights, diss up with the queen of the gay northern lights. They stole Little Bridget for seven years long. When she came down again, her friends were all gone. They took her lightly back between the night and morrow. They thought that she was fast asleep, but she was dead with sorrow. They have kept her ever since, deep within the lakes, on a bed of flag leaves, watching till she wakes. By the craggy hillside, through the mosses bare, they have planted thorn trees for pleasure here and there. Is any man so daring as dig one up in spite, he shall find the thorny set in his bed at night. Up the area mountain, down the rushing glen, we dare not go hunting for fear of little men. We folk, good folk, trooping all together, green jacket, red cap, and white owl's feather. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Vowels and Enigma by Jonathan Swift from the Junior Classics, Volume 10, Part 1, Poems, Old and New, read for LibriVox.org by Dale Grossman. We are little airy creatures, all of different voice and features. One of us in glass is set. One of us you'll find in jet. To other you may see in tin, and the fourth a box within. If the fifth you should pursue, it can never fly from you. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Children's Hour by Henry W. Longfellow. From the Junior Classics, Volume 10, Part 1, Poems, Old and New, read for LibriVox.org by Linda Cantoning. Between the dark and the daylight, when night is beginning to lower, comes a pause in the day's occupations that is known as the Children's Hour. I hear in the chamber above me the patter of little feet, the sound of a door that is opened, and voices soft and sweet. From my study I see in the lamp light, descending the broad hall stair, grave Alice, and laughing Allegra, and Edith with golden hair. A whisper, and then a silence. Yet I know by their merry eyes, they are plotting and planning together to take me by surprise. A sudden rush from the stairway, a sudden raid from the hall. By three doors left unguarded, they enter my castle wall. They climb up into my turret, or the arms in back of my chair. If I try to escape, they surround me. They seem to be everywhere. They almost devour me with kisses. Their arms about me entwine, till I think of the Bishop of Bingen in his mouse tower on the Rhine. Do you think, oh blue-eyed Banditie, because you have scaled the wall, such an old moustache as I am, is not a match for you all? I have you fast in my fortress, and will not let you depart, but put you into the dungeon in the round tower of my heart. And there will I keep you forever, yes, forever and a day, till the walls shall crumble to ruin, and molder in dust away. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Recording by Linda Cantony. Small and Early by Tudor Jinx. From the Junior Classics, Volume 10, Part 1, Poems Old and New, read for LibriVox.org by Rick Clemens. When Dorothy and I took tea, we sat upon the floor, no matter how much tea I drank, she always gave me more. Our table was the scarlet box in which her tea set came. Our guests, an armless one-eyed doll, a wooden horse gone lame. She poured out nothing very fast, the teapot tipped on high, and in the bowl found sugar lumps unseen by my dull eye. She added rich, pretended cream. It seemed a willful taste, for though she overflowed the cup, it did not change the taste. She asked, take milk or sugar? And though I answered no, she put them in and told me that I must take it so. She'd say, another cup, papa? And I, no thank you, ma'am. But then I had to take it. Her courtesy was sham. Still, being neither green nor black, nor English breakfast tea, it did not give her guests the nerves, whatever those may be. Though often I upset my cup, she only minded when I would mistake the empty cups for those she filled again. She tasted my cup gingerly for fear I'd burn my tongue. Indeed, she really hurt my pride. She made me feel so young. I must have drunk some two score cups, and Dorothy, 16, allowing only needful time to pour them in between. We stirred with massive pewter spoons and sipped in courtly ease with all the ceremony of the stately Japanese. At length she put the cups away. Good night, papa, she said. And I went to a realty, and Dorothy, to bed. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Advice from the junior classics, volume 10, part one, poems old and new. Read for LibriVox.org by Rick Clemens. There once was a pretty chicken, but his friends were very few, for he thought that there was nothing in the world but what he knew. So he always in the farmyard had a very forward way, telling all the hens and turkeys what they ought to do and say. Mrs. Goose, he said, I wonder that your gozzlings you should let go out paddling in the water. It will kill them to get wet. And I wish my old aunt dorking he began to her one day that you wouldn't sit all summer in your nest upon the hay. Won't you come out to the meadow where the grass with seeds is filled? If I should, said Mrs. Dorking, then my eggs would get all chilled. No, they won't reply the chicken, and no matter if they do, eggs are really good for nothing. What's an egg to me or you? What's an egg, said Mrs. Dorking? Can it be you do not know? You yourself were in an eggshell just a little month ago. And if kind wings had not warmed you, you would not be out today telling hens and geese and turkeys what they ought to do or say. To be very wise and show it is a pleasant thing, no doubt. But when young folks talk to old folks, they should know what they're about. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Robin Goodfellow from the junior classics, volume 10, part one. From Oberon and Fairyland, the king of ghosts and shadows there, mad Robin I at his command am sent to view the night sports here. What revel routes is kept about in every corner where I go? I will lower C and marry B and make good sport with ho, ho, ho. More swift and lightning can I fly about this airy welcome soon and in a minute's space to scry each thing that's done below the moon. There's not a hag or ghost shall wag and cry where goblins where I go. But Robin I, their feats will spy and send them home with ho, ho, ho. When there's such wanderers I meet as from their night sports they trudge home with counter-fitting voice I greet and call them on with me to roam. Through woods, through lakes, through bogs, through breaks or else unseen with them I go. All in the nick to play some trick and frolic it with ho, ho, ho. Sometimes I meet them like a man, sometimes an ox, sometimes a hound and to a horse I turn me can to trip and trot about them round. But if to ride my back they stride more swift than wind away I go or hedge and lance through pools and ponds I hurry laughing ho, ho, ho. By wells and reels and meadows green we nightly dance our heyday guys and to our fairy, king and queen we chant our moonlight minstrel seas. When lark skin sing away we fling and babes newborn steal as we go and elf in bed we leave instead and when does laughing ho, ho, ho. From hagbred Merlin's time have I thus nightly reveled to and fro and for my pranks men call me by the name of Robin Goodfellow. Fiends, ghosts and sprites who haunt the knights the hags and goblins do me know and bell-dames old my feats have told so valet, valet, ho, ho, ho. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Suppose by Phoebe Carey from the Junior Classics, Volume 10, Part 1 Poems Old and New Read for LibriVox.org by Rick Clemens. Suppose, my little lady, your doll should break her head. Could you make it whole by crying till your eyes and nose were red? And wouldn't it be pleasanter to treat it as a joke and say your glad twist dollies and not your own that broke? Suppose you're dressed for walking and the rain comes pouring down. Will it clear off any sooner because you scold and frown? And wouldn't it be nicer for you to smile than pout? And so make sunshine in the house when there is none without. Suppose your task, my little man, is very hard to get. Will it make it any easier for you to sit and fret? And wouldn't it be wiser than waiting like a dunce to go to work and earnest and learn the thing at once? Suppose that some boys have a horse and some a coach and pair. Will it tire you less while walking to say it isn't fair? And wouldn't it be nobler to keep your temper sweet and in your heart be thankful you can walk upon your feet? Suppose the world don't please you nor the way some people do. Do you think the whole creation will be altered just for you? And isn't it, my boy or girl, the wisest, bravest plan, whatever comes or doesn't come to do the best you can? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Today by Thomas Carlisle. From the Junior Classics, volume 10, part one. Poems Old and New. Read for LibriVox.org by Rick Clemens. So here hath been dawning another blue day. Think wilt thou let it slip useless away. Out of eternity this new day is born. Into eternity at night will return. Behold it a foretime, no eye ever did. So soon it forever from all eyes is hid. Here hath been dawning another blue day. Think wilt thou let it slip useless away. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. My Shadow by Robert L. Stevenson. From the Junior Classics, volume 10, part one. Poems Old and New. Read for LibriVox.org by Brooke Favorite. www.alongsidemom.com. My Shadow by Robert L. Stevenson. I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me, and what can be the use of him is more than I can see. He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head, and I see him jump before me when I jump into my bed. The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow, not at all like proper children, which is always very slow, for he sometimes shoots up taller like an India rubber ball, and he sometimes gets so little that there's none of him at all. He hasn't got a notion of how children ought to play and can only make a fool of me in every sort of way. He stays so close beside me, he's a coward you can see. I'd think shame to stick to mercy as that shadow sticks to me. One morning very early before the sun was up, I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup. But my lazy little shadow, like an errant sleepyhead, had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Lost Doll by Charles Kingsley. From the junior classics volume 10, part one, poems old and new. Read for LibriVox.org by Brooke Favorite, www.alongsidemom.com. The Lost Doll by Charles Kingsley. I once had a sweet little doll, the prettiest doll in the world. Her cheeks were so red and white, and her hair was so charmingly curled. But I lost my poor little doll, as I played on the heath one day, and I cried for her more than a week, but I never could find where she lay. I found my poor little doll, as I played on the heath one day. Folks say she has terribly changed, for her paint is all washed away, and her arms trodden off by the cow's, and her hair not the least bit curled. Yet for old's sake's sake, she is still, dears, the prettiest doll in the world. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Time to Rise by Robert L. Stevenson. From the junior classics volume 10, part one, poems old and new. Read for LibriVox.org by Brooke Favorite, www.alongsidemom.com. Time to Rise by Robert Louis Stevenson. A birdie with a yellow hill hopped upon the windowsill, cocked his shining eye and said, Ain't you shamed, you sleepyhead? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Swing by Robert L. Stevenson. From the junior classics volume 10, part one, poems old and new. Read for LibriVox.org by Brooke Favorite, www.alongsidemom.com. The Swing by Robert Louis Stevenson. How do you like to go up in a swing, up in the air so blue? Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing ever a child can do. Up in the air and over the wall, till I can see so wide, rivers and trees and cattle and all over the countryside, till I look down on the garden green, down on the roof so brown. Up in the air I go flying again, up in the air and down. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Happy Thought by Robert L. Stevenson. From the junior classics volume 10, part one, poems old and new. Read for LibriVox.org by Brooke Favorite, www.alongsidemom.com. Happy Thought by Robert Louis Stevenson. The world is so full of a number of things, I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Lamp Lider by Robert L. Stevenson. From the junior classics volume 10, part one, poems old and new. Read for LibriVox.org by Brooke Favorite, www.alongsidemom.com. The Lamp Lider by Robert Louis Stevenson. My tea is nearly ready and the sun has left the sky. It's time to take the window to see Liri going by. For every night at tea time and before you take your seat, with lantern and with ladder, he comes posting up the street. Now Tom would be a driver and Maria go to sea and my papa's a banker and as rich as he can be. But I, when I am stronger and can choose what I'm to do, oh Liri, I'll go round at night and light the lamps with you. For we are very lucky with a lamp before the door and Liri stops to light it as he lights so many more. And oh, before you hurry by with ladder and with light, oh Liri, see a little child and nod to him tonight. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. A Little Town of Bethlehem by Phillips Brooks. From the junior classics volume 10, part one, poems old and new. Read for LibriVox.org by Larry Wilson. A Little Town of Bethlehem. How still we see thee lie. Above thy deep and dreamless sleep the silent stars go by. Yet in thy dark street shaneth the everlasting light, the hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight. For Christ is born of Mary and gathered all above, while mortal sleep the angels keep their watch of wandering love. Oh, morning stars together proclaim the holy birth and praises sing to God the King and peace to men on earth. How silently, how silently the wondrous gift is given. So God imparts to human hearts the blessings of his heaven. No ear may hear his coming, but in this world of sin where meek souls will receive him still, the dear Christ enters in. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Picture Books in Winter. By Robert Louis Stevenson. From the Junior Classics, volume 10, part one. Poems, old and new. Read for LibriVox.org by Dale Groothman. Summer fading, winter comes, frosty mornings tingling thumbs. Window robins, winter rooks. And the picture storybooks. Water now is turned to stone. Nurse and I can walk upon. Still we find the flowing brooks in the picture storybooks. All the pretty things put by waiting for the child's eye, sheep and shepherds, trees and crooks in the picture storybooks. We may see how all things are seas and cities near and far and the flying fairies looks in the picture storybooks. How am I to sing your praise? Happy chimney corner days. Sitting safe in nursery nooks. Reading picture storybooks. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Land of Storybooks by Robert Louis Stevenson. From the Junior Classics, volume 10, part one. Poems, old and new. Red for LibriVox.org by Dale Groothman. At evening when the lamp is lit, around the fire my parents sit. They sit at home and talk and sing and do not play at anything. Now with my little gun I crawl all in the dark along the wall and follow round the forest track away behind the sofa-back. There in the night where none can spy, all in my hunter's camp I lie and play at books that I have read till it is time to go to bed. These are the hills, these are the woods, these are my starry solitudes. And there the river by whose brink the roaring lions come to drink. I see the others far away as if in fire-lit camp they lay, and I, like an Indian scout, around their party prowl about. So when my nurse comes in for me, home I return across the sea and go to bed with backward looks at my dear Land of Storybooks. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Christmas by Alfred Tennyson from the Junior Classics Volume 10, Part 1, poems Old and New. Read for LibriVox.org by Larry Wilson. Ring out wild bells to the wild sky, the flying cloud, the frosty light, the year is dying in the night. Ring out wild bells and let him die. Ring out the old ring in the new, ring happy bells across the snow, the year is going, let him go. Ring out the faults, ring in the true. Ring out the grief that saps the mind, for those that here we see no more. Ring out the feud of rich and poor, ring in redress for all mankind. Ring out a slowly dying cause, an ancient forms of party strife. Ring in the nobler modes of life, with sweeter manners, pure laws. Ring out the want, the care, the sin, the faithless coldness of the times. Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes, but ring the fuller minstrel in. Ring out false pride in place of blood, the civics lander in the spite. Ring in the love of truth and right, ring in the common love of good. Ring out old shapes of foul disease. Ring out the nearing lust of gold. Ring out the thousand wars of old. Ring in the thousand years of peace. Ring in the valiant men and free, the larger heart, the kindlier hand. Ring out the darkness of the land. Ring in the Christ that is to be. In the poem, this recording is in the public domain. The Land of Counterpain by Robert Louis Stevenson. From The Junior Classics, volume 10. Poems, old and new. Read for LibriVox.org by Dale Grossman. When I was sick and lay a bed, I had two pillows at my head, and all my toys beside me lay to keep me happy all the day. And sometimes, for an hour or so, I watched my leaden soldiers go with different uniforms and drills among the bedclothes through the hills. And sometimes I sent my ships in fleets all up and down among the sheets or brought my trees and houses out and planted cities all about. I was the giant great and still that sits upon the pillow hill and sees before him, pale and plain, the pleasant land of counterpain. The End of The Land of Counterpain by Robert Louis Stevenson. This recording is in the public domain. Block City by Robert Louis Stevenson. From The Junior Classics, volume 10, part one. Poems, old and new. Read for LibriVox.org by Dale Grossman. What are you able to build with your blocks? Castles and palaces, temples and docks? Rain may keep raining and others go roam, but I can be happy and building at home. Let the sofa be mountains, the carpet be sea. There I'll establish a city for me, a kirk and a mill and a palace beside, and a harbor as well where my vessels may ride. Great is the palace with pillar and wall, a sort of a tower on top of it all. The steps coming down in an orderly way to where my toy vessels lie safe in the bay. This one is sailing and that one is moored. Hark to the song of the sailors on board and see on the steps of my palace the kings coming and going with presents and things. Now I have done it, done let it go. All in a moment the town is laid low. Block upon block lying scattered and free. What is there left of my town but the sea? Yet as I saw it I see it again, the kirk and the palace and the ships and the men. And as long as I live and where ere I may be, I'll always remember my town by the sea. End of Poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Dancers by Michael Field from the Junior Classics Volume 10, Part 1, Poems Old and New, Read for LibriVox.org by Anita Sloma Martinez. I dance and dance. Another fawn, a black one, dances on the lawn. He moves with me and when I lift my heels, his feet directly shift. I can't out-dance him though I try. He dances nimbler than I. I toss my head and so does he. What tricks he dares to play on me. I touch the ivy in my hair. The ivy he has and finger there. The spiteful thing to mock me so. I will out-dance him ho, ho, ho. End of Poem. This recording is in the public domain. Marching Song by Robert Louis Stevenson from the Junior Classics Volume 10, Poems Old and New. Read for LibriVox.org by Dale Grossman. Bring the comb and play upon it. Marching, here we come. Willie Cox's Highland Bonnet. Johnny beats the drum. Mary Jane commands the party. Peter leads the rear. Feet in time, alert and hearty. Each a grenadier. All in the most martial manner. Marching double quick. While the napkin, like a banner, waves upon the stick. Here's enough of fame and pillage, great Commander Jane. Now that we've been round the village, let's go home again. The End of Marching Song by Robert Louis Stevenson. This recording is in the public domain. Winter Time by Robert Louis Stevenson from the Junior Classics Volume 10, Part One, Poems Old and New. Read for LibriVox.org by Phil Shempf. Late Lies the Wintery Son of Ed. A frosty, fiery, sleepy head. Blinks but an hour or two, and then a blood-red orange sets again. Before the stars have left the skies, at morning in the dark I rise, and shivering in my nakedness by the cold candle bathed in dress. Close by the jolly fire I sit to warm my frozen bones a bit. Or, with a reindeer sled, explore the colder countries round the door. When to go out, my nurse doth wrap me in my comforter and cap. The cold wind burns my face, and blows its frosty pepper up my nose. Black are my steps on silver sod, thick blows my frosty breath abroad, and tree and house and hill and lake are frosted like a wedding cake. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. Foreign Lands by Robert Louis Stevenson. From the Junior Classics, volume 10, part one. Poems Old and New. Read for LibriVox.org by Dale Grossman. Up into the cherry tree, who should climb but little me? I held the trunk with both my hands and looked abroad in foreign lands. I saw the next-door garden lie adorned with flowers before my eye, and many pleasant places more that I had never seen before. I saw the dimpling river pass and be the sky's blue-looking glass. The dusty roads go up and down with people cramping into town. If I could find a higher tree, further and further should I see, to where the grown-up river slips into the sea among the ships, to where the road on either hand lead onward into fairyland, where all the children dine at five, and all the playthings come alive. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. The Owl and the Pussycat by Edward Lear. From Junior Classics, Volume 10, Part 1. Poems Old and New. Redfelliberivants.org by Craig Franklin. The Owl and the Pussycat 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 and sang to a small guitar. Oh, lovely pussy, oh pussy, my love, what a beautiful pussy you are. You are, you are. What a beautiful pussy you are. Pussy said to the Owl, you elegant fowl, how charmingly 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 with a ring at the end of his nose, his nose, his nose, with a ring at the end of his nose. Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling? Your ring, said the piggy, I will. 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 they danced by the light of the moon, the moon, the moon, they danced by the light of the moon. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Foreign Children by Robert Louis Stevenson. From the Junior Classics, volume 10. Poems, Old and New. Read for LibriVox.org by Dale Grothman. Little Indian, Sue or Crow. Little Frosty Eskimo. Little Turk or Japanese. Oh, don't you wish that you were me? You have seen the scarlet trees and the lions overseas. You have eaten ostrich eggs and turned the turtles off their legs. Such a life is very fine, but it's not so nice as mine. You must often, as you trod, have wearied not to be abroad. You have curious things to eat. I am fed on proper meat. You must well be on the foam, but I am safe and live at home. Little Indian, Sue or Crow. Little Frosty Eskimo. Little Turk or Japanese. Oh, don't you wish that you were me? And of Foreign Children by Robert Louis Stevenson. This recording is in the public domain. A Visit from St. Nicholas by Clement C. Moore. From the Junior Classics, volume 10, part 1. Poems, Old and New. Read for LibriVox.org by Larry Wilson. Toast the night before Christmas went all through the house. Not a creature was stirring. Not even a mouse. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there. The children were nestled all snug in their beds while visions of sugar plums danced in their heads. And Mama and her kerchief and I in my cap had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap. Went out on the lawn there arose such a clatter I sprang for my bed to see what was the matter. Away to the wind while I flew like a flash I opened the shutters and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow gave a luster of midday to objects below. When what to my wondering eyes should appear but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer. With a little old driver so lively and quick I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. More rapid than eagles his coarsers they came and he whistled and he shouted and called them by name. Here now Dancer, now Prancer and Vixen. On Comet, on Cupid, on Donder and Blitzen. To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall. Now dash away, dash away, dash away all. As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly when they meet with an obstacle mount to the sky so up to the house top the coarsers they flew with a sleigh full of toys and St. Nicholas too. And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof the prancing impine of each little hoof. As I drew in my head and was turning around down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot and his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot. A bundle of toys he had flung on his back and he looked like a peddler just opening his pack. His eyes, how they twinkled, his dimples, how merry. His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry his droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow and the beard on his chin was as white as the snow the stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth and the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath he had a broad face and a little round belly that shook when he left like a bowl full of jelly he was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf and I laughed when I saw him in spite of myself. In the poem this recording is in the public domain Three Kings of Orient by George Hopkins from Junior Classics Volume 10 Poems Older New read for LibriVox.org We Three Kings of Orient are bearing gifts we traverse far field and fountain, moor and mountain following yonder star born a babe on Bethlehem Plain gold we bring to crown him again king forever, ceasing never over us all to reign frankincense to offer have I incense owns a deity in I prayer and praising all men raising worship him God on high end of poem this recording is in the public domain the reader was Desmond Bed in Summer by Robert Louis Stevenson from the Junior Classics Volume 10 Poems Old and New read for LibriVox.org by Dale Grossman in the winter I get up at night and dress by yellow candlelight in summer quite the other way I have to go to bed by day I have to go to bed and see the birds still hopping on the tree or hear the grown-up people's feet still going past me in the street and does it not seem hard to you when all the sky is clear and blue and I should like so much to play to have to go to bed by day end of Bed in Summer by Robert Louis Stevenson this recording is in the public domain my bed is a boat by Robert Louis Stevenson from the Junior Classics Volume 10 poems Old and New read for LibriVox.org by Dale Grossman my bed is like a little boat nurse helps me when I embark she girds me in my sailor's coat and starts me in the dark at night I go on board and say good night to all my friends on shore I shut my eyes and sail away and see and hear no more and sometimes things to bed I take as prudent sailors have to do perhaps a slice of wedding cake perhaps a toy or two all night across the dark, we steer but when the day returns at last safe in my room beside the pier I find my vessel fast end of My Bed is a Boat by Robert Louis Stevenson this recording is in the public domain The Wall Resend the Carpenter by Louis Carroll the Junior Classics Volume 10 Part 1 poems Old and New read for LibriVox.org the sun was shining on the sea shining with all his might he did his very best to make the billows smooth and bright and this was odd because it was the middle of the night the moon was shining suckly because she thought the sun had got no business to be there after the day was done it's very rude of him, she said to come and spoil the fun the sea was wet as wet could be the sands were dry as dry you could not see a cloud because no cloud was in the sky no birds were flying overhead there were no birds to fly the Wall Resend the Carpenter were walking close at hand they wept like anything to see such quantities of sand if this were only cleared away they said it would be grand if seven maids with seven mobs swept it up for half a year do you suppose the Wall Resend that they could get it clear? I doubt it said the carpenter and shed a bitter tear oh oysters, come and walk with us the Wall Res did beseech a pleasant walk, a pleasant talk along the briny beach we cannot do with more than four to give a hand to each the eldest oyster looked at him but never a word he said the eldest oyster winked his eye and shook his heavy head meaning to say he did not choose to leave the oyster bed but four young oysters hurried up all eager for the treat their coats were brushed, their faces washed their shoes were clean and neat and this was odd because, you know, they hadn't any feet four other oysters followed them and yet another four and thick and fast they came at last and more and more and more all hopping through the frothy waves and scrambling to the shore the Wall Resend the carpenter walked on a mile or so and then they rested on a rock conveniently low and all the little oysters stood and waited in a row the time has come, the Wall Res said to talk of many things of shoes and ships and sealing wax of cabbages and kings and why the sea is boiling hot and whether pigs have wings but wait a bit, the oysters cried before we have our chat for some of us are out of breath and all of us are fat no hurry, said the carpenter they thanked him much for that a loaf of bread the Wall Res said is what we chiefly need pepper and vinegar besides are very good indeed now if you are ready oysters dear we can begin to feed but not on us the oysters cried turning a little blue after such kindness that would be a dismal thing to do the night is fine the Wall Res said do you admire the view? it was so kind of you to come and you were very nice the carpenter said nothing but cut us another slice I wish you were not quite so deaf I've had to ask you twice it seems a shame the Wall Res said to play them such a trick after we've brought them out so far and made them trot so quick the carpenter said nothing but the butters spread too thick I weep for you the Wall Res said he sympathized with sobs and tears he sorted out those of the largest size holding his pocket handkerchief before his streaming eyes oh oysters said the carpenter you've had a pleasant run shall we be trotting home again but answer came there none and this was scarcely odd because they'd eaten every one end of poem this recording is in the public domain The Table and the Chair by Edward Lear from the Junior Classics Volume 10 Poems Old and New Read for LibriVox.org by Dale Grossman The Table and the Chair by Edward Lear said the table to the chair you can hardly be aware how I suffer from the heat and from chill-blanes on my feet if we took a little walk we might have a little talk pray let us take the air said the table to the chair said the chair unto the table now you know we are not able how foolishly you talk when you know we cannot walk said the table with a sigh it can do no harm to try I have as many legs as you why can't we walk on two so they both went slowly down and walked about the town with a cheerful bumpy sound as they toddled round and round and everybody cried as they hastened to their side see the table and the chair to take the air but in going down an alley to the castle in the valley they completely lost their way and wandered all the day till to see them safely back they paid a ducky quack and a beetle and a mouse who took them to their house then they whispered to each other oh delightful little brother what a lovely walk we've taken let us dine on beans and bacon so the ducky and the lethal brownie mousey and the beetle dined and danced upon their heads till they toddled to their beds end of the table and the chair by Edward Lear this recording is in the public domain a good play by Robert Louis Stevenson from the junior classics volume 10 poems old and new read for LibriVox.org by Dale Grothman we built a ship upon the stairs all made from the back bedroom chairs and filled it full of sofa pillows to go a sailing on the billows we took a saw and several nails and water in the nursery pales and Tom said let us also take an apple and a slice of cake which was enough for Tom and me to go a sailing on till tea we sailed along for days and days and had the very best of plays but Tom fell out and hurt his knee so there was no one left but me the end of a good play by Robert Louis Stevenson this recording is in the public domain was born on Christmas Day God rest ye little children let nothing you affright for Jesus Christ you saviour was born this happy night along the hills of Galilee the white flocks sleeping lay when Christ the child of Nazareth was born on Christmas Day God rest ye all good Christians upon this blessed morn the Lord of all good Christians was of a woman born now all your sorrows he doth heal as he takes away where Jesus Christ our saviour was born on Christmas Day in the poem this recording is in the public domain you can really have no notion how delightful it will be when they take us up and throw us with the lobsters out to sea but the snail replied too far too far and gave a look a scan of the lobsters and the turtles all advanced they are waiting on the shingle will you come and join the dance will you won't you will you join the dance will you won't you too far and gave a look a scans said he thanked the whiting kindly but he would not join the dance would not could not would not could not would not join the dance would not could not would not could not could not join the dance what matters at how far we go his scaly friend replied there is another shore you know upon the other side the further off from England the nearer is to France then turn not pale beloved snail but come and join the dance will you won't you will you won't you will you join the dance will you won't you won't you join the dance end of poem this recording is in the public domain young dandelion on a hedge side said young dandelion who will be my bride I'm a bold fellow as ever was seen with my shield of yellow in the grass green you may uproot me from field and from lane trample me cut me I spring up again I never flinch sir wherever I dwell give me an inch sir I'll soon take an L drive me from garden in anger and pride I'll thrive and harden by the roadside not a bit fearful showing my face always so cheerful in every place said young dandelion with a sweet air I have my eye on Miss Daisy fair though we may tarry air I grow old I will protect her from all kinds of harm feed her with nectar shelter her warm whatever the weather let it go by we'll hold together Daisy and I I'll never give in no nothing I fear all that I win oh I'll keep for my dear said young dandelion on his hedge side who'll me rely on who'll be my bride and upon this recording is in the public domain John Gilpin by William Cooper from the junior classics volume 10 part 1 poems old and new read for LibriVonx.org by Craig Franklin John Gilpin was a citizen of credit and renown a train-band captain of famous London town John Gilpin Spice said to her dear though where did we have been these twice ten tedious years yet we no holiday have seen tomorrow is our wedding day and we will then repair unto the bell at Edmonton all inner chase and pair my sister and my sister's child myself and children three will fill the chase so you must ride horseback after we he soon replied I do admire of woman kind but one and you are she my dearest dear therefore it shall be done I am a linen draper bold as all the world doth know and my good friend the calendar will lend his horse to go Quoth Mistress Gilpin that's well said and for that wine is dear we will finish with our own which is both bright and clear John Gilpin kissed his loving wife her joy was he to find that though on pleasure she was bent she had a frugal mind the morning came the chase was brought but yet was not allowed to drive up to the door lest all should say that she was proud so three doors off the chase was stayed where they did all get in six precious souls and all a to dash through thick and thin smack went the whip round went the wheels were never folks so glad the stones did rattle underneath us if cheap side were mad John Gilpin at his horse's side seized fast the flowing main and up he got in haste to ride but soon came down again for saddle tree skis reached at he his journey to begin round his head he saw three customers coming so down he came for loss of time though it grieved him so yet loss of pence for well he knew would trouble him much more it was long before the customers were suited to their mind when Betty Screaming came downstairs the wine is left behind good luck quote he yet bring it me my leaven belt likewise in which I bear my trusty sword when I do exercise now mistress Gilpin careful soul had two stone bottles found to hold the liquor that she loved and keep it safe and sound each bottle had a curling ear through which the belt he drew and hung a bottle on each side to make his balance true then overall that he might be equipped from top to toe his long red cloak well brushed and neat he manfully throw now see him mounted once again upon his nimble steed full slowly pacing all the stones with caution and good heed but finding soon a smoother road beneath his well short feet the snorting beast began to trot which gored him in his seat so fear and softly John he cried but John he cried in vein that trot became a soon in spite of curb and rain so stooping down as needs he must who cannot sit upright he grasped the mane with both his hands and eek with all his might his horse who never in that sort had handled been before what thing upon his back had got did wonder more and more away went Gilpin neck or not away went hat and wig he little dreamt when he set out running such a rig the wind did blow the cloak did fly like steam along and gay to loop button failing both at last it flew away then might all people well discern the bottles he had slung a bottle swinging at each side has hath been said or sung the dogs did bark the children screamed up flew the windows all and every soul cried out well done as loud as he could ball away went Gilpin who but he his fame soon spread around he carries weight he rides erased his for a thousand pound and still as fast as he drew near it was wonderful to view how inner trice the turnpike men their gates wide open through and now as he went bowing down his reeking head full low the bottles twain behind his back was shattered at a blow down ran the wine into the road most piteous to be seen which made his horses flanks to smoke as they had basted beam but still he seemed to carry weight with leaven girdle braced for all might see the bottle next still dangling at his waist that's all through Mary Islington these gambles he did play until he came and to Edmonton so gay and there he threw the wash about on both sides of the way just like and to a trundling mop or a wild goose at play at Edmonton his loving wife from the balcony spied her tender husband wondering much to see how he did ride stop stop John Gilpin here's the house they all at once did cry the dinner tired said Gilpin so am I but yet his horse was not a wit inclined to tarry there for why his owner had a house full ten miles off at where so like an arrow swift he flew shot by an archer strong so did he fly which brings me to the middle of my song away went Gilpin out of breath and soar against his will to let his friend that his horse at last stood still the calendar amazed to see his neighbour in such trim laid down his pipe flew to the gate and thus accosted him what news what news your tidings tell tell me you must and shall say why bareheaded you are come or why you come at all now Gilpin had a pleasant wit and loved a timely joke and thus unto the calendar the merry guys he spoke I came because your horse would come and if I were forebode my hat and wig will soon be here they are upon the road the calendar right glad to find his friend in merry pin returned him not a single word but to the house went in when straight he came with hat and wig a wig that flowed behind the hat not much the worst for where each cumbly he pulled them up and in his turn thus showed his ready wit my head is twice as big as yours they therefore needs must fit but let me scrape the dirt away that hangs upon your face and stop and eat for well you may be in a hungry case said John it is my wedding day and all the world would stare if wife should dine at Edmonton I should dine at where so turning to his horse he said I am in haste to dine it was for your pleasure you came here you shall go back for mine a luckless speech and bootless boast for which he paid full dear for while he spake a braying ass did sing most loud and clear where at his horse did snort as he had heard a lion roar and galloped off with all his might as he had done before away went Gilpin and away went Gilpin's hat and wig he lost them sooner than at first for why they were too big now Mistress Gilpin when she saw her husband posting down into the country far away she pulled out half a crown and thus until the youth she said that drove them to the bell this shall be yours when you bring back my husband say from well the youth did ride and soon did meet John coming back in a trice he tried to stop by catching at his reign but not performing what he meant and gladly would have done the frightened steed he frightened more and made him faster run away went Gilpin and away went post boy at his heels the post boys horse right glad to miss the lumbering of the wheels six gentlemen upon the road thus seeing Gilpin fly with post boys scampering in the rear raised the hue and cry stop thief stop thief a highwayman not one of them was mute and all and each that passed that way did join in the pursuit and now the turn pike gates again flew open in short space the tolmen thinking as before that Gilpin rode a race and so he did and won it too for he got first to town nor stopped to where he had got up he did again get down now let us sing long live the king and Gilpin long live he and when he next to ride abroad may I be there to see end of poem this recording is in the public domain all the names I know from nurse gardeners garters shepherds purse bachelor's buttons ladies smock and the lady hollyhock fairy places fairy things fairy woods where the wild bee wings tiny trees for tiny dames these must all be fairy names tiny woods below these bows shady fairies weave a house tiny tree tops rose or time where the braver fairies climb fair are grown up people's trees but the fairest woods are these where if I were not so tall I should live for good and all end of poem this recording is in the public domain the dual by Eugene Field from the junior classics volume 10 part 1 poems old and new read for LibriVox.org by Dale growthman the gingham dog and the calico cat side by side on the table sat twas half past 12 and what do you think nor one nor other had slept a wink the old Dutch clock and the Chinese plate appeared to know as sure as fate there was going to be a terrible spat I wasn't there I simply state what was told to me by the Chinese plate the gingham dog went bow wow wow and the calico cat replied meow the air was littered an hour or so with bits of gingham and calico while the old Dutch clock in the chimney place up with its hands before its face for it always dreaded a family row now mind I'm only telling you what the old Dutch clock declares is true the Chinese plate looked very blue and wailed oh dear what shall we do but the gingham dog and the calico cat wallowed this way and tumbled that employing every tooth and claw in the awfulest way you ever saw and oh how the gingham and calico flew don't fancy I exaggerate I got my news from the Chinese plate the next morning where the two had sat they found no trace of dog or cat and some folks think unto this day that burglars stole that pair away but the truth about the cat and pup is this they ate each other up now what do you really think of that the old Dutch clock it told me so and that is how I came to know end of poem this recording is in the public domain Little Arphant Annie by James Whitcomb Riley from the junior classics volume 10 poems old and new read for LibriVox.org by Dale Grossman Little Arphant Annie's come to our house to stay and wash the cups and saucers up and brush the crumbs away and chew the chickens off the porch and dust the hearth and sweep and make the fire and bake the bread and earn her board and keep and all us other children when supper things is done we set around the kitchen fire and has the mostest fun a listening to the which tales that Annie tells about and the goblins will get you if you don't watch out once there was a little boy who wouldn't say his prayers so when he went to bed at night away up the stairs his mammy heard him holler and his daddy heard him bawl and when they turned the timbers down he wasn't there at all and they seeked him in the after-room and cubby-hole and press and seeked him up the chimbley-flu and everywhere's I guess but all they ever found was this his pants and roundabout and the goblins will get you if you don't watch out and one time a little girl and all us laugh and grin and make fun of everyone and all her blood and kin and once when they was company and old folks was there she mocked him and shocked him and said she didn't care and this as she kicked her heels and turned to run and hide there was two great big black things astounded by her side and they snatched her through the ceiling for she know'd what she's about and the goblins will get you if you don't watch out and little orphan Annie says when the blaze is blue and the lamp wicks butters and the wind goes woo woo and you hear the crickets quit and the moon is gray and the lightning bugs in dew is all squinched away you'd better mind your parents and your teachers fond and dear and cherish them at love's ya and dry the orphans' tear and help the poor and needy ones that clusters all about ere the goblins will get ya if you don't watch out end of poem this recording is in the public domain ready for duty by Anna B. Warner from the junior classics volume 10 part 1 poems old and new read for LibriVox.org Daffy Down Dilly came up in the cold through the brown mold although the March breezes blew keen on her face although the white snow lay on many a place Daffy Down Dilly had heard underground the sweet rushing sound of the streams as they burst off their white winter chains of the whistling spring winds and the patchering rains now then thought Daffy deep down in her heart it's time I should start so she pushed her soft leaves through the hard frozen ground quite up to the surface and then she looked round there was snow all about her gray clouds overhead the trees all looked dead then how do you think Daffy Down Dilly felt when the sun would not shine and the ice would not melt cold weather thought Daffy still working away the earth's hard to day there's but a half inch of my leaves to be seen and two thirds of that is more yellow than green I can't do much yet but I'll do what I can it's well I began for unless I can manage to lift up my head the people will think that spring herself's dead so little by little she brought her leaves out all clustered about and then her bright flowers began to unfold till Daffy stood robed in her spring green and gold oh Daffy Down Dilly so brave and so true I wish all were like you so ready for duty and showing forth courage and beauty together end of poem this recording is in the public domain Thanatopsis by William Cullen Bryant from the junior classics volume 10 part 1 poems old and new read for LibriVox.org by Phil Shampf to him who in the love of nature holds communion with her visible forms she speaks in various language for his gayer hours she has a voice of gladness and a smile and eloquence of beauty and she glides into his darker musings with a mild and gentle sympathy that steals away their sharpness ere he is aware when thoughts of the last bitter hour come like a blight over thy spirit and sad images of the stern agony and shroud and paw and breathless darkness make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart go forth under the open sky and list to nature's teachings while from all around earth and her waters and the depths of air comes a still voice yet a few days and thee the all beholding sun shall see no more in all his course nor yet in the cold ground where thy pale form was laid with many tears nor in the embrace of ocean by image earth that nourish thee shall claim thy growth to be resolved to earth again and lost each human trace surrendering up mine individual being shall thou go to mix forever with the elements to be a brother to the insensible rock and to the sluggish clawd which the rude swain turns with his share and treads upon the oak shall send his roots abroad and pierce thy mold yet not to thine eternal resting place shall thou retire alone nor couldst thou wish couch more magnificent thou shalt lie down with patriarchs of the infant world with kings the powerful of the earth the wise the good fair forms and hoary seers of ages past all in one mighty sepulcher the hills rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun the veils stretching in pensive quietness between the venerable woods rivers that move in majesty and the complaining brooks that make the meadows green and poured round all gold oceans grey and melancholy waste are but the solemn decorations all of the great tomb of man the golden sun the planets all the infinite host of heaven are shining on the sad abodes of death through the still lapse of ages all that tread the globe are but a handful to the tribes that slumber in its bosom take the wings of mourning traverse Barca's desert sands or lose thyself in the continuous woods where rolls the organ and hears no sound save his own dashings yet the dead are there and millions in those solitudes since first the flight of years began have laid them down in their last sleep the dead reign there alone so shall thou rest and what if thou withdraw in silence from the living and no friend take note of thy departure all that breathe will share thy destiny the gay will laugh when thou art gone the solemn brood of care plod on and each one as before will chase his favorite phantom yet all these shall leave their mirth and their employments and shall come and make their bed with thee as the long train of ages glide away the sons of men the youth in life's green spring and he who goes in the full strength of years matron and maid and the sweet babe and the gray-headed man shall one by one be gathered to thy side by those who in their turn shall follow them and shall live that when thy summon comes to join the innumerable caravan that moves to the pale realms of shade where each shall take his chamber in the silent halls of death thou go not like the quarry slave at night scourged to his dungeon but sustained and soothed by an unfaltering trust approach thy grave like one who wraps the drapery of his couch about him and lies down to pleasant dreams End of poem, this recording is in the public domain Heaving Up the Lead by Charles Dipton From the Junior Classics, Volume 10, Part 1 Poems Old and New, read for Liberbox.org For England win with favoring Gale our gallant ship up channel steered and scutting under easy sail the high blue western land appeared to heave the lead the seamen sprung and to the pilot cheerly sung by the deep nine and bearing up to gain the port some well-known object kept in view an abbey tower, a harbor fort or beacon to the vessel true while off the lead the seamen flung and to the pilot cheerly sung by the mark seven and as the much-loved shore we near with transport we behold the roof where dwelt a friend or partner dear a faith and love a matchless proof the lead once more the seamen flung and to the watchful pilot sung quarter less five now to her birth the ship draws nigh we shorten sail she feels the tide stand clear the cable is the cry the anchor's gone we safely ride the watch is set and through the night we hear the seamen with delight proclaim all's well Ended poem this recording is in the public domain Morning by James Beatty from the Junior Classics volume ten forms old and new read for LibriVox.org but who the melodies of mourn can tell the wild brook babbling down the mountainside the lowing herd the sheep fold simple bell the pipe of early shepherd dim described in a lone valley echoing far and wide the clamorous horn along the cliffs above the hollow murmur of the ocean tide the hum of bees the limits lay of love in the full choir that wakes the universal grove the cottage curves at early pilgrim bark crowned with her pale the tripping milkmaid sings the whistling plowman stalks a field and heart down the rough slope the ponderous wagon rings through rustling corn the hare astonished springs slow tolls the village clock the drowsy hour the partridge bursts away on warring wings deep moans the turtle in sequestered bower and shrill lark carols clear from her burial tower End of morning by James Beatty this recording is in the public domain The Coral Grove by James G. Percival from the Junior Classics volume ten deep in the wave is a coral grove where the purple mullet and goldfish rove where the sea flower spreads its leaves of blue that never are wet with fallen dew but in bright and changeful beauty shine far down in the green and glassy brine the floor is of sand like the mountain drift and the pearl shell spangled of flinty snow from coral rocks the sea plants lift their bow where the tides and billows flow the water is calm and still below for the winds and waves are absent there and the sands are as bright as the stars that glow in the motionless fields of upper air there with its waving blade of green the sea flag streams through the silent water and the crimson leaf of the dulces seem to blush like a banner bathed in swatter there with a light and easy motion the fan coral sweeps through the clear deep sea and the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean are blending like corn on the upland lee in life and rare and beautiful forms is sporting them in these bowers of stone in a safe when the wrathful spirit of storms has made the top of the wave his own and when the ship from his fury flies where the myriad voices of ocean roar and the crowns in the murky skies and demons are waiting the wreck on shore then far below in the peaceful sea the purple mullet and goldfish rove where the waters murmur tranquilly through the bending twigs of the coral grove end of the coral grove by James G. Percival this recording is in the public domain the jumpleys by Edward Fleer in this volume 10 Holmes Old and New red4librebox.org they went to see in a sieve they did in a sieve they went to see in spite of all their friends could say on a winter's morning on a stormy day in a sieve they went to see when the sieve turned round and round and everyone cried you'll all be drowned they called aloud our sieve ain't big but we don't care a button we don't care a fig in a sieve we'll go to see far and few are the lands where the jumpleys live their heads are green and their hands are blue and they went to see in a sieve they sailed away in a sieve they did in a sieve they sailed so fast with only a beautiful pea green veil tied with a ribbon by way of a sail to a small tobacco pipe mast and everyone sad who saw them go oh won't they soon be upset you know for the sky is so dark and the voyage is long and happen what may it's extremely wrong sieve to sail so fast far and few far and few are the lands where the jumpleys live their heads are green and their hands are blue and they went to see in a sieve the water it soon came in it did the water it soon came in so to keep them dry they wrapped their feet in a pinky paper all folded neat and they fastened it down with a pin and they passed the night in a crockery jar and each of them said how wise we are though the sky be dark and the voyage long yet we never can think we were rash or wrong while round in our sieve we spin far and few far and few are the lands where the jumpleys live their heads are green and their hands are blue and they went to see in a sieve all night long they sailed away and when the sun went down they whistled and warbled a mooney song to the echoing sound of a coppery gong in the shade of the mountains brown oh timbaloo how happy we are when we live in a sieve in a crockery jar and all night long in a moonlight pale we sail away with a pea green sail in the shade of the mountains brown far and few far and few are the lands where the jumpleys live their heads are green and their hands are blue and they went to see in a sieve they sailed to the western sea they did to a land all covered with trees and they bought an owl and a useful cart and a pound of rice and a cranberry tart and a hive of silvery bees and they bought a pig and some green jackdaws and a lovely monkey with lollipop paws and forty bottles of ring-bow-ree and no end of stillton cheese far and few far and few are the lands where the jumpleys live their heads are green and their hands are blue and they went to see in a sieve and in twenty years they all came back in twenty years or more everyone said how tall they've grown for they've been to the lakes in the torrable zone and the hills are the chankley bore and they drank their help they gave them a feast of dumplings made a beautiful yeast and everyone said if we only live we too will go to the sea in a sieve to the hills of the chankley bore far and few far and few are the lands where the jumpleys live their heads are green and their hands are blue and they went to see in a sieve End of the Jumpleys by Edward Blear this recording is in the public domain The Man and the Moon by James W. Riley from the Junior Classics Volume 10 Poems Old and New redfordlibrivox.org said the raggedy man on a hot afternoon my sakes what a lot of mistakes some little folks makes on the man and the moon people that's been to see him like me and he calls on him frequently and intimately might drop a few facts that would interest you cleat through if you want him to some actual facts that might interest you oh the man and the moon has a crick in his back we whim ain't you sorry for him and a mole on his nose that is purple and black and his eyes are so weak that they water and run if he dares to dream even he looks at the sun so he just dreams of stars as the doctor's advise my eyes but isn't he wise to just dream of stars as the doctor's advise and the man and the moon has a boil on his ear we wing what a singular thing I know but these facts are authentic my dear there's a boil on his ear and a corn on his chin he calls it a dimple but dimple stick in yet it might be a dimple turned over you know oh well certainly so it might be a dimple turned over you know and the man and the moon has a rheumatic knee gee whiz what a pity that is and his toes have worked round where his heels ought to be so whenever he wants to go north he goes south and comes back with porridge crumbs all around his mouth and he brushes them off with the Japanese fan wing whan what a marvelous man what a very remarkably marvelous man and the man and the moon saw the raggedy man get so siloed some you know up there by himself since creation began that when I call on him and then come away he grabs me and holds me and begs me to stay till well if it wasn't for Jimmy come Jim dad limb I'd go partners with him just jump my job here and be partners with him end of the man and the moon by James W. Riley this recorder is in public domain the raggedy man by James W. Riley from the junior classics volume 10 part 1 poems old and new red four LibriBox.org oh the raggedy man he works for Pa and he's the goodest man ever you saw comes to our house every day and waters the horses and feeds him hay and opens the shed and we all just laugh when he drives out our little stuff and then if our hired girl says he can he milks the cow for Elizabeth Ann ain't he an awful kind raggedy man raggedy raggedy raggedy man while the raggedy man he is so good he splits the kindling and chops the wood and then he spades in our garden too and does most things that boys can't do he come to clean up in our big tree and shook a apple down for me and another in two for Elizabeth Ann and other in two for the raggedy man ain't he awful kind raggedy man raggedy raggedy raggedy man and the raggedy man he knows most rhymes and tells them if I be good sometimes knows about giants and gruffins and elves and the squid to come squeeze that swallows themselves and wiped by the pump in our pasture lot he showed me the hole that the wonks has got that lives way down deep in the ground and can turn into me or Elizabeth Ann ain't he a funny ol' raggedy man raggedy raggedy raggedy man the raggedy man one time when he was making a little bowling ory for me says when you're big like your pie is there you go to keep a fine store like his and be a rich merchant and wear fine clothes or what air you go to be goodness knows and then he laughed at Elizabeth Ann and I says M go to be a raggedy man I missed go to be a nice raggedy man raggedy raggedy raggedy man and a poem this recording is in the public domain The Dinky Bird by Eugene Field from the junior classics volume 10 part 1 Poems Old and New redfairlibrewbox.org in an ocean way out yonder as all sapient people know there the gumdrops grow like cherries in taffy's thickest peas caramels you pick like berries one and where and how you please big red sugar plums are clinging to the cliffs beside that sea where the dinky bird is singing in an ocean way out yonder as all sapient people know there the gumdrops grow like cherries in taffy's thickest peas caramels you pick like berries one and where and how you please big red sugar plums are clinging to the cliffs beside that sea where the dinky bird is singing in the anfalula tree so when children shout and scamper and make merry all the day when there's not to put a damper to the art of their play when I hear their laughter ringing then I'm sure as sure can be that the dinky bird is singing in the anfalula tree for the dinky bird's bravoras and staccatos are so sweet that the youth of every nation be they near or far away have a special delectation in that gladsome rondele their eyes grow bright and brighter their lungs begin to crow their hearts get lighter and their cheeks are all aglow for an echo cometh bringing the news to all and me that the dinky bird is singing in the anfalula tree end of poem this recording is in the public domain Hollyhawk by Sarah J. Day from the junior classics volume 10 part 1 poems old and new red4librivox.org the stately lady Hollyhawk has graced my garden bed for years sedately stiffened in a frockall frills and ruffles to her ears for at the fashions one may mock when one is born a Hollyhawk her gay companions creep in the summer breeze but she doth hotly decline to join a common sports like these such in decorum needs must shock a well-bred well-starched Hollyhawk end of poem this recording is in the public domain