Required Poems for Reading and Memorizing Third and Fourth Grades, Prescribed by State Courses of Study

Project Gutenberg's Required Poems for Reading and Memorizing, by Anonymous

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

Title: Required Poems for Reading and Memorizing Third and Fourth Grades, Prescribed by State Courses of Study

Author: Anonymous

Release Date: November 19, 2003 [EBook #10131]

Language: English

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK REQUIRED POEMS ***

Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Cathy Golde and PG Distributed Proofreaders

REQUIRED POEMS FOR READING AND MEMORIZING

THIRD AND FOURTH GRADES Prescribed by State Courses of Study

FOREWORD

Practically every state course of study gives a list of poems from which it is required that selection be made for reading or memorizing. These lists and their grading vary in the different states, although the same poems are used in many of them and there are some which are required in every state.

In the preparation of this book the lists of the third and fourth grade poems prescribed by the syllabi of twelve states have been examined and the contents have been made up from these. The breadth of this method of selection insures the inclusion in this volume of a large proportion of the required poems for every state. Since the grading in different states varies so widely, teachers will find included, also, many poems which in their own particular states are required in other grades. It is hoped that this volume will be of real service to teachers in providing a collection of required poems in a form convenient for school use.

THE PUBLISHERS.

Required Poems for Third and Fourth Grades

POEMS BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

AUTUMN FIRES

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!

THE UNSEEN PLAYMATE

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!

THE LAND OF STORY-BOOKS

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.

THE WIND

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!

WINTER-TIME

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.

PIRATE STORY

Three of us afloat in the meadow by the swing,

  Three of us aboard in the basket on the lea.

Winds are in the air, they are blowing in the spring,

  And waves are on the meadow like the waves there are at sea.

Where shall we adventure, to-day that we're afloat,

  Wary of the weather and steering by a star?

Shall it be to Africa, a-steering of the boat,

  To Providence, or Babylon, or off to Malabar?

Hi! but here's a squadron a-rowing on the sea—

  Cattle on the meadow a-charging with a roar!

Quick, and we'll escape them, they're as mad as they can be,

  The wicket is the harbour and the garden is the shore.

* * * * *

POEMS BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE

Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay,

An' wash the cups an' saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away,

An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep,

An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board an' keep;

An' all us other childern, when the supper-things is done,

We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun

A-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about,

An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you

        Ef you

            Don't

                Watch

                    Out!

Wunst they wuz a little boy wouldn't say his prayers,—

An' when he went to bed at night, away upstairs,

His Mammy heerd him holler, an' his Daddy heerd him bawl,

An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wuzn't there at all!

An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby-hole, an' press,

An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever' wheres, I guess;

But all they ever found wuz thist his pants an' roundabout:—

An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you

        Ef you

            Don't

                Watch

                    Out!

An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh an' grin,

An' make fun of ever' one, an' all her blood-an'-kin;

An' wunst, when they was company, an' ole folks wuz there,

She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care!

An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide,

They wuz two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side,

An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what she's about!

An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you

        Ef you

            Don't

                Watch

                    Out!

An' little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue,

An' the lamp-wick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo!

An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray,

An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away,—

You better mind yer parunts, an' yer teachurs fond an' dear,

An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear,

An' help the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about,

Er the Gobble-uns'll git you

        Ef you

            Don't

                Watch

                    Out!

THE BROOK-SONG

  Little brook! Little brook!

  You have such a happy look—

Such a very merry manner, as you swerve and

     curve and crook—

  And your ripples, one and one,

  Reach each other's hands and run

Like laughing little children in the sun!

  Little brook, sing to me:

  Sing about a bumblebee

That tumbled from a lily-bell and grumbled

     mumblingly,

  Because he wet the film

  Of his wings, and had to swim,

While the water-bugs raced round and laughed

     at him!

  Little brook—sing a song

  Of a leaf that sailed along

Down the golden-braided center of your current

     swift and strong,

  And a dragon-fly that lit

  On the tilting rim of it,

And rode away and wasn't scared a bit.

  And sing—how oft in glee

  Came a truant boy like me,

Who loved to lean and listen to your lilting

     melody,

  Till the gurgle and refrain

  Of your music in his brain

Wrought a happiness as keen to him as pain.

  Little brook—laugh and leap!

  Do not let the dreamer weep;

Sing him all the songs of summer till he sink in

     softest sleep;

  And then sing soft and low

  Through his dreams of long ago—

Sing back to him the rest he used