Required Poems for Reading and Memorizing. Unknown

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      In the other gardens

        And all up the vale,

      From the autumn bonfires

        See the smoke trail!

      Pleasant summer over

        And all the summer flowers;

      The red fire blazes,

        The grey smoke towers.

      Sing a song of seasons!

        Something bright in all!

      Flowers in the summer,

        Fires in the fall!

      When children are playing alone on the green,

      In comes the playmate that never was seen.

      When children are happy and lonely and good,

      The Friend of the Children comes out of the wood.

      Nobody heard him and nobody saw,

      His is a picture you never could draw,

      But he's sure to be present, abroad or at home,

      When children are happy and playing alone.

      He lies in the laurels, he runs on the grass,

      He sings when you tinkle the musical glass;

      Whene'er you are happy and cannot tell why,

      The Friend of the Children is sure to be by!

      He loves to be little, he hates to be big,

      'Tis he that inhabits the caves that you dig;

      'Tis he when you play with your soldiers of tin

      That sides with the Frenchmen and never can win.

      'Tis he, when at night you go off to your bed,

      Bids you go to your sleep and not trouble your head;

      For wherever they're lying, in cupboard or shelf,

      'Tis he will take care of your playthings himself!

      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 firelit camp they lay,

      And I, like to an Indian scout,

      Around their party prowled 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 Story-books.

      I saw you toss the kites on high

      And blow the birds about the sky;

      And all around I heard you pass,

      Like ladies' skirts across the grass—

          O wind, a-blowing all day long,

          O wind, that sings so loud a song!

      I saw the different things you did,

      But always you yourself you hid.

      I felt you push, I heard you call,

      I could not see yourself at all—

          O wind, a-blowing all day long,

          O wind, that sings so loud a song!

      O you that are so strong and cold,

      O blower, are you young or old?

      Are you a beast of field and tree,

      Or just a stronger child than me?

          O wind, a-blowing all day long,

          O wind, that sings so loud a song!

      Late lies the wintry sun a-bed,

      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, bathe and 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.

      Three of us afloat in the meadow by the swing,

        Three of us aboard СКАЧАТЬ