Ambleside Online Year 1 Poetry Anthology April

Expanded and Re-organized

Compiled and arranged by Leslie Noelani Laurio, April, 2005
All of these poems are believed to be in the public domain. If this is in error and you own the copyright to any of these poems, please let me know and I will remove it from this page.

01 Spring, by William Blake, 1757-1827
02 April, by Sara Teasdale, 1884-1933
03 The First Bluebird, by James Whitcombe Riley, 1849-1916
04 Tumbling, anonymous
05 If You See a Tiny Fairy, by William Shakespeare, 1564-1616
06 Rain, by Robert Louis Stevenson, 1850-1894
07 Daffadowndilley, by Christina Rossetti, 1830-1894
08 Little, by Doris Aldis, 1897-1966
09 My Shadow, by Robert Louis Stevenson, 1850-1894
10 Child's Song in Spring, by Edith Nesbit, 1858-1924
11 The Rainy Day, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 1807-1882
12 Over in the Meadow, by Olive Wordsworth, 1800's
13 The Prayer Perfect, by James Whitcombe Riley, 1849-1916
14 The Fairies, by Rose Fyleman, 1877-1957
15 Calico Pie, by Edward Lear, 1812-1888
16 Weather, anonymous
17 Try Again, by William Hickson, 1803-1870
18 The Blind Men and the Elephant--A Hindu fable, by John Godfrey Saxe, 1816-1887
19 Before the Rain, by Thomas Bailey Aldrich, 1836-1907
20  After the Rain, by Thomas Bailey Aldrich, 1836-1907

01 Spring, by William Blake, 1757-1827

Sound the flute!
Now it's mute!
Birds delight,
Day and night,
Nightingale,
In the dale,
Lark in sky,--
Merrily,
Merrily, merrily to welcome in the year.

Little boy,
Full of joy;
Little girl,
Sweet and small;
Cock does crow,
So do you;
Merry voice,
Infant noise;
Merrily, merrily to welcome in the year.

Little lamb,
Here I am;
Come and lick
My white neck;
Let me pull
Your soft wool;
Let me kiss
Your soft face;
Merrily, merrily we welcome in the year.

02 April, by Sara Teasdale, 1884-1933

The roofs are shining from the rain,
The sparrows twitter as they fly,
And with a windy April grace
The little clouds go by.

Yet the back yards are bare and brown
With only one unchanging tree--
I could not be so sure of Spring
Save that it sings in me.

03 The First Bluebird, by James Whitcombe Riley, 1849-1916

Jest rain and snow! and rain again!
And dribble! drip! and blow!
Then snow! and thaw! and slush! and then
Some more rain and snow!

This morning I was 'most afeard
To wake up when, I jing!
I seen the sun shine out and heerd
The first bluebird of Spring!

Mother she'd raised the winder some;
And in acrost the orchurd come,
Soft as a angel's wing,
A breezy, treesy, beesy hum,
Too sweet fer anything!

The winter's shroud was rent a-part
The sun bust forth in glee,
And when that bluebird sung, my hart
Hopped out o' bed with me!

04 Tumbling, anonymous

In jumping and tumbling
We spend the whole day,
Till night by arriving
Has finished our play.

What then? One and all,
There's no more to be said,
As we tumbled all day,
So we tumble to bed.

05 If You See a Tiny Fairy, by William Shakespeare, 1564-1616

If you see a tiny faery,
Lying fast asleep
Shut your eyes
And run away,
Do not stay to peek!
Do not tell
Or you'll break a faery spell.

06 Rain, by Robert Louis Stevenson, 1850-1894

The rain is raining all around,
It falls on field and tree,
It rains on the umbrellas here,
And on the ships at sea.

07 Daffadowndilly, by Christina Rossetti, 1830-1894

Growing in the vale
By the uplands hilly,
Growing straight and frail,
Lady Daffadowndilly.

In a golden crown,
And a scant green gown
While the spring blows chilly,
Lady Daffadown,
Sweet Daffadowndilly.

08 Little, by Doris Aldis, 1897-1966
      from Everything and Anything, 1925
     
I am the sister of him
And he is my brother.
He is too little for us
To talk to each other.

So every morning I show him
My doll and my book,
But every morning he still is
Too little to look.

09 My Shadow, by Robert Louis Stevenson, 1850-1894

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 goes 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 behind me, he's a coward you can see;
I'd think shame to stick to nursie 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 arrant sleepy-head,
Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.

10 Child's Song in Spring, by Edith Nesbit, 1858-1924

The silver birch is a dainty lady,
 She wears a satin gown;
The elm tree makes the old churchyard shady,
 She will not live in town.

The English oak is a sturdy fellow,
 He gets his green coat late;
The willow is smart in a suit of yellow,
 While brown the beech trees wait.

Such a gay green gown God gives the larches--
 As green as He is good!
The hazels hold up their arms for arches
 When Spring rides through the wood.

The chestnut's proud, and the lilac's pretty,
 The poplar's gentle and tall,
But the plane tree's kind to the poor dull city--
  I love him best of all!

11 The Rainy Day, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 1807-1882

The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.

Be still, sad heart, and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.

12 Over in the Meadow, by Olive Wordsworth, 1800's

Over in the meadow,
In the sand in the sun
Lived an old mother toadie
And her little toadie one.
"Wink!" said the mother;
"I wink!" said the one,
So they winked and they blinked
In the sand in the sun.

Over in the meadow,
Where the stream runs blue
Lived an old mother fish
And her little fishes two.
"Swim!" said the mother;
"We swim!" said the two,
So they swam and they leaped
Where the stream runs blue.

Over in the meadow,
In a hole in a tree
Lived an old mother bluebird
And her little birdies three.
"Sing!" said the mother;
"We sing!" said the three
So they sang and were glad
In a hole in the tree.

Over in the meadow,
In the reeds on the shore
Lived an old mother muskrat
And her little ratties four.
"Dive!" said the mother;
"We dive!" said the four
So they dived and they burrowed
In the reeds on the shore.

Over in the meadow,
In a snug beehive
Lived a mother honey bee
And her little bees five.
"Buzz!" said the mother;
"We buzz!" said the five
So they buzzed and they hummed
In the snug beehive.

Over in the meadow,
In a nest built of sticks
Lived a black mother crow
And her little crows six.
"Caw!" said the mother;
"We caw!" said the six
So they cawed and they called
In their nest built of sticks.

Over in the meadow,
Where the grass is so even
Lived a gay mother cricket
And her little crickets seven.
"Chirp!" said the mother;
"We chirp!" said the seven
So they chirped cheery notes
In the grass soft and even.

Over in the meadow,
By the old mossy gate
Lived a brown mother lizard
And her little lizards eight.
"Bask!" said the mother;
"We bask!" said the eight
So they basked in the sun
On the old mossy gate.

Over in the meadow,
Where the quiet pools shine
Lived a green mother frog
And her little froggies nine.
"Croak!" said the mother;
"We croak!" said the nine
So they croaked and they splashed
Where the quiet pools shine.

Over in the meadow,
In a sly little den
Lived a gray mother spider
And her little spiders ten.
"Spin!" said the mother;
"We spin!" said the ten
So they spun lacy webs
In their sly little den.

13 The Prayer Perfect, by James Whitcombe Riley, 1849-1916

Dear Lord! kind Lord!
Gracious Lord! I pray
Thou wilt look on all I love,
Tenderly to-day!
Weed their hearts of weariness;
Scatter every care
Down a wake of angel-wings
Winnowing the air.

Bring unto the sorrowing
All release from pain;
Let the lips of laughter
Overflow again;
And with all the needy
O divide, I pray,
This vast treasure of content
That is mine to-day!

14 The Fairies, by Rose Fyleman, 1877-1957
      from The Rose Fyleman Fairy Book, 1923

The fairies have never a penny to spend,
They haven't a thing put by,
But theirs is the dower of bird and flower
And theirs is the earth and sky.
And though you should live in a palace of gold
Or sleep in a dried up ditch,
You could never be as poor as the fairies are,
And never as rich.

Since ever and ever the world began
They danced like a ribbon of flame,
They have sung thier song through the centuries long,
And yet it is never the same.
And though you be foolish or though you be wise,
With hair of silver or gold,
You can never be as young as the fairies are,
And never as old.

15 Calico Pie, by Edward Lear, 1812-1888

Calico Pie,
The little Birds fly
Down to the calico tree,
Their wings were blue,
And they sang 'Tilly-loo!'
Till away they flew,--
And they never came back to me!
They never came back!
They never came back!
They never came back to me!

Calico Jam,
The little Fish swam,
Over the syllabub sea,
He took off his hat,
To the Sole and the Sprat,
And the Willeby-Wat,--
But he never came back to me!
He never came back!
He never came back!
He never came back to me!

Calico Ban,
The little Mice ran,
To be ready in time for tea,
Flippity flup,
They drank it all up,
And danced in the cup,--
But they never came back to me!
They never came back!
They never came back!
They never came back to me!

Calico Drum,
The Grasshoppers come,
The Butterfly, Beetle, and Bee,
Over the ground,
Around and around,
With a hop and a bound,--
But they never came back to me!
They never came back!
They never came back!
They never came back to me!

16 Weather, anonymous

Whether the weather be fine
Or whether the weather be not,
Whether the weather be cold
Or whether the weather be hot,
We'll weather the weather
Whatever the weather,
Whether we like it or not.

17 Try Again, by William Hickson, 1803-1870

Tis a lesson you should heed,
Try Again;
If at first you don't succeed,
Try again.
Then your courage should appear,
For if you will persevere,
You will conquer, never fear,
Try again.
If you would at last prevail,
Try again.
If we strive, 'tis no disgrace
Though we did not win the race;
What should we do in that case?
Try again.
If you find your task is hard.
Try again;
All that other folk can do,
Why with patience, may not you?
Only keep this rule in view,
Try again.

18 The Blind Men and the Elephant--A Hindu fable, by John Godfrey Saxe, 1816-1887

It was six men of Indostan
To learning much inclined,
Who went to see the Elephant
(Though all of them were blind),
That each by observation
Might satisfy his mind.

The First approached the Elephant,
And happening to fall
Against his broad and sturdy side,
At once began to bawl:
'God bless me! but the Elephant
Is very like a wall!'

The Second, feeling of the tusk,
Cried, 'Ho! what have we here
So very round and smooth and sharp?
To me 'tis mighty clear
This wonder of an Elephant
Is very like a spear!'

The Third approached the animal,
And happening to take
The squirming trunk within his hands,
Thus boldly up and spake:
'I see,' quoth he, '`the Elephant
Is very like a snake.'

The Fourth reached out his eager hand,
And felt about the knee.
'What most this wondrous beast is like
Is mighty plain,' quoth he;
'Tis clear enough the Elephant
Is very like a tree!'

The Fifth who chanced to touch the ear,
Said: 'E'en the blindest man
Can tell what this resembles most:
Deny the fact who can,
This marvel of an Elephant
Is very like a fan!'

The Sixth no sooner had begun
About the beast to grope,
Than, seizing on the swinging tail
That fell within his scope,
'I see,' quoth he, 'the Elephant
Is very like a rope!'

And so these men of Indostan
Disputed loud and long,
Each in his own opinion
Exceeding stiff and strong,
Though each was partly in the right,
And all were in the wrong!

So, oft in theologic wars,
The disputants, I ween,
Rail on in utter ignorance
Of what each other mean,
And prate about an Elephant
Not one of them has seen!

19 Before the Rain, by Thomas Bailey Aldrich, 1836-1907

   We knew it would rain, for all the morn
      A spirit on slender ropes of mist
   Was lowering its golden buckets down
      Into the vapory amethyst.

   Of marshes and swamps and dismal fens--
      Scooping the dew that lay in the flowers,
   Dipping the jewels out of the sea,
      To sprinkle them over the land in showers.

   We knew it would rain, for the poplars showed
      The white of their leaves, the amber grain
   Shrunk in the wind--and the lightning now
      Is tangled in tremulous skeins of rain!

20 After the Rain, by Thomas Bailey Aldrich, 1836-1907

   The rain has ceased, and in my room
      The sunshine pours an airy flood;
   And on the church's dizzy vane
      The ancient cross is bathed in blood.

   From out the dripping ivy leaves,
      Antiquely carven, gray and high,
   A dormer, facing westward, looks
      Upon the village like an eye.

   And now it glimmers in the sun,
      A globe of gold, a disk, a speck;
   And in the belfry sits a dove
      With purple ripples on her neck.