By Ada M. Skinner, Frances Gillespy Wickes, Maud Petersham, Miska Petersham
Moment quantity of A kid's personal e-book of Verse, a three-volume set deliberate to be used through the 4 fundamental years. This strangely effective selection of poetry used to be chosen with the kid's pursuits in brain. contains sound rhymes and jingles to entice the ear, descriptive poems to create pictures within the imagination, lullabies and lyrics to hot the guts, and story-telling poems to stir the mind's eye. Attractively illustrated by means of Maud and Miska Petersham.
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Extra resources for A Child's Own Book of Verse, Book Two
I lived next in a little nest, Nor needed any other; I thought the world was made of straw, And brooded by my mother. " At last I flew beyond the nest Quite fit for grown-up labors; I don't know how the world is made, And neither do my neighbors. A Boy's Song Where the pools are bright and deep, Where the gray trout lies asleep, Up the river and over the lea, That's the way for Billy and me. Where the blackbird sings the latest, Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest, Where the nestlings chirp and flee, That's the way for Billy and me.
The great bare Tree looked down, and smiled. "Good-night, dear little leaves," he said. " —SUSAN COOLIDGE HE SMILES TO SEE THE EYELIDS CLOSE, ABOVE THE HAPPY EYES The Sandman The rosy clouds float overhead, The sun is going down; And now the sandman's gentle tread, Comes stealing through the town. "White sand, white sand, sand," he softly cries, And, as he shakes his hand, Straightway there lies in babies' eyes His gift of shining sand. Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes and brown, As shuts the rose, they softly close, When he goes through the town.
They have kept her ever since Deep within the lake, On a bed of flag leaves, Watching till she wake. 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 them up in spite, He shall find their sharpest thorns In his bed at night. Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We dare n't go a-hunting For fear of little men; Wee folk, good folk, Trooping all together; Green jacket, red cap, And white owl's feather! —WILLIAM ALLINGHAM Prince Tatters Little Prince Tatters has lost his cap!