Rollicking Rhyme: 50 Fabulous Poems to Inspire Little Minds



  Rollicking Rhyme

  Fifty fabulous poems to inspire little minds

  Rollicking Rhyme

  Published April 2013 by Amanda Kennedy (www.glamumous.co.uk)

  This volume contains media by various authors and artists which has been sourced from the public domain (where the copyright for this material has expired).

  As such, the publisher has chosen to publish this volume under the CC0 License. This means you can copy, modify, distribute and perform the work, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.

  If you would like to distribute this eBook on your own website, it would be much appreciated to link back to the editors own website, www.glamumous.co.uk, however this acknowledgement is not strictly required.

  rol·lick·ing

  /ˈrälikiNG/

  Adjective

  Exuberantly lively and amusing. “Good rollicking fun”

  Table of Contents

  Introduction

  William Blake

  The Tyger

  Cradle Song

  John Keats

  A Poem About Myself

  Heinrich Hoffman

  The Story of Fidgety Phillip

  The Story of Johnny Head in the Air

  Emily Dickinson

  A Light Exists in Spring

  Edward Lear

  An Alphabet

  Charles and Mary Lamb

  The First Tooth

  Robert Louis Stevenson

  Bed in Summer

  The Land of Counterpane

  At The Seaside

  The Land of Nod

  My Shadow

  Mary Howitt

  The Spider and the Fly

  Hilaire Belloc

  Introduction to The Bad Child’s Book of Beasts

  The Vulture

  Jim

  Rebecca

  Isaac Watts

  Love Between Brothers and Sisters

  Colley Cibber

  The Blind Boy

  Lewis Carrol

  Jabberwocky

  How Doth the Little Crocodile

  You Are Old, Father William

  A Boat, Beneath a Sunny Sky

  Mary Hunter Austin

  Rathers

  William Brighty Rands

  Topsy-Turvey World

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  The Arrow and the Song

  There was a little girl

  Edgar Allen Poe

  The Raven

  Christina Rosetti

  The Rainbow

  Colour

  What are heavy

  Flint

  Kenneth Grahame

  A Song of Toad

  Jane and Ann Taylor

  The Star

  My Mother

  Eugene Field

  The Sugar Plum Tree

  Abbie Farwell Brown

  The Fisherman

  Friends

  George Macdonald

  Baby

  Ralph Waldo Emerson

  The Mountain and the Squirrel

  Rudyard Kipling

  Playing Robinson Crusoe

  If—

  Emily Brontë

  Past, Present, Future

  Clement Clarke Moore

  A Visit from St. Nicholas

  Anonymous Authors

  Old Mother Hubbard

  Ladybird Ladybird

  Remember Remember the Fifth of November

  The Days of the Month

  Mr. Nobody

  About this book

  About the Editor

  Index of first lines

  Introduction

  Children find poetry mesmerizing. Poems can make us laugh, make us wonder; it can tell imaginative stories or send powerful messages in a few words.

  There are many hidden benefits of introducing children to poetry from an early age. Poetry's emphasis on the sound and rhythm of language helps build phonemic awareness (sensitivity to the smallest sounds of speech) which helps to develop the skills required for reading. Colourful use of language exposes children to a wider range of vocabulary and concepts which in turn helps children write more articulately.

  Poetry celebrates the sound and rhythm of language and words in ways which narratives do not. Being shorter than most stories and books, poems provide morsels of literary goodness which to be enjoyed over and over, encouraging delight in the simple use of language in cases where dredging through pages of text are discouraging.

  In this anthology, I've selected fifty of my favourite children's poems by many authors. These are verses I read alone and spoke aloud as a child; which I've shared with important people in my life and – most importantly – which I now share and enjoy with my own children.

  Since children particularly enjoy poetry which they can relate to, I've chosen a variety of verse to suit many personalities and occasions. I hope you will enjoy sharing these classic poems with your own children to help inspire in them a love of the written word.

  William Blake

  William Blake (1757-1827) was a poet, artist and printmaker who was largely unrecognised during his lifetime. He is now considered an important figure in the history of the poetic and visual arts of the Romantic Age.

  First published in 1794, his poem The Tyger has thrilled children and roused discussion among academics for over 200 years. It remains one of his most famous poems, whether considered an allegory for the French Revolution or simply a rhyme to delight.

  Cradle Song was first published in 1789 in the anthology, Songs of Innocence and Experience; it is often interpreted as a lullaby meant to be sung by a mother to her child.

  The Tyger

  Tyger Tyger, burning bright,

  In the forests of the night;

  What immortal hand or eye,

  Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

  In what distant deeps or skies.

  Burnt the fire of thine eyes?

  On what wings dare he aspire?

  What the hand, dare seize the fire?

  And what shoulder, & what art,

  Could twist the sinews of thy heart?

  And when thy heart began to beat,

  What dread hand? & what dread feet?

  What the hammer? what the chain,

  In what furnace was thy brain?

  What the anvil? what dread grasp,

  Dare its deadly terrors clasp!

  When the stars threw down their spears

  And water'd heaven with their tears:

  Did he smile his work to see?

  Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

  Tyger Tyger burning bright,

  In the forests of the night:

  What immortal hand or eye,

  Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

  Cradle Song

  Sweet dreams form a shade,

  O'er my lovely infants head.

  Sweet dreams of pleasant streams,

  By happy silent moony beams

  Sweet sleep with soft down.

  Weave thy brows an infant crown.

  Sweet sleep Angel mild,

  Hover o'er my happy child.

  Sweet smiles in the night,

  Hover over my delight.

  Sweet smiles Mothers smiles,

  All the livelong night beguiles.

  Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,

  Chase not slumber from thy eyes,

  Sweet moans, sweeter smiles,

  All the dovelike moans beguiles.

  Sleep sleep happy child,

  All creation slept and smil'd.

  Sleep sleep, happy sleep.

  While o'er thee
thy mother weep

  Sweet babe in thy face,

  Holy image I can trace.

  Sweet babe once like thee.

  Thy maker lay and wept for me

  Wept for me for thee for all,

  When he was an infant small.

  Thou his image ever see.

  Heavenly face that smiles on thee,

  Smiles on thee on me on all,

  Who became an infant small,

  Infant smiles are His own smiles,

  Heaven & earth to peace beguiles.

  John Keats

  John Keats (1795-1821) was born in London, and from being a teenager was raised by a merchant after his parents died. Before his untimely death at the young age of 25, he had already established his reputation as a prominent Romantic poet.

  Keats’ poem, A Song About Myself, was written for the pleasure of his 15 year old sister, Fanny. It is full of whimsical rhymes and jolly rhythms as the poet teases himself through playful language.

  A Poem About Myself

  I.

  There was a naughty boy,

  A naughty boy was he,

  He would not stop at home,

  He could not quiet be-

  He took

  In his knapsack

  A book

  Full of vowels

  And a shirt

  With some towels,

  A slight cap

  For night cap,

  A hair brush,

  Comb ditto,

  New stockings

  For old ones

  Would split O!

  This knapsack

  Tight at's back

  He rivetted close

  And followed his nose

  To the north,

  To the north,

  And follow'd his nose

  To the north.

  II.

  There was a naughty boy

  And a naughty boy was he,

  For nothing would he do

  But scribble poetry-

  He took

  An ink stand

  In his hand

  And a pen

  Big as ten

  In the other,

  And away

  In a pother

  He ran

  To the mountains

  And fountains

  And ghostes

  And postes

  And witches

  And ditches

  And wrote

  In his coat

  When the weather

  Was cool,

  Fear of gout,

  And without

  When the weather

  Was warm-

  Och the charm

  When we choose

  To follow one's nose

  To the north,

  To the north,

  To follow one's nose

  To the north!

  III.

  There was a naughty boy

  And a naughty boy was he,

  He kept little fishes

  In washing tubs three

  In spite

  Of the might

  Of the maid

  Nor afraid

  Of his Granny-good-

  He often would

  Hurly burly

  Get up early

  And go

  By hook or crook

  To the brook

  And bring home

  Miller's thumb,

  Tittlebat

  Not over fat,

  Minnows small

  As the stall

  Of a glove,

  Not above

  The size

  Of a nice

  Little baby's

  Little fingers-

  O he made

  'Twas his trade

  Of fish a pretty kettle

  A kettle-

  A kettle

  Of fish a pretty kettle

  A kettle!

  IV.

  There was a naughty boy,

  And a naughty boy was he,

  He ran away to Scotland

  The people for to see-

  There he found

  That the ground

  Was as hard,

  That a yard

  Was as long,

  That a song

  Was as merry,

  That a cherry

  Was as red,

  That lead

  Was as weighty,

  That fourscore

  Was as eighty,

  That a door

  Was as wooden

  As in England-

  So he stood in his shoes

  And he wonder'd,

  He wonder'd,

  He stood in his

  Shoes and he wonder'd.

  Heinrich Hoffman

  Heinrich Hoffmann (June 13, 1809 - September 20, 1894) was a German psychiatrist who authored a few short works, including Der Strewwelpeter: the anthology from which these two poems were translated.

  The Story of the Fidgety Philip is about a boy who won't sit still at dinner; he accidentally knocks all of the food onto the floor, much to his parents' great displeasure. The Story of Johnny Head-in-Air concerns a boy who habitually fails to watch where he's walking. One day he walks into a river, and while he is soon rescued, his writing-book drifts away.

  The anthology from which they are derived is a book of cautionary tales aimed at three to six year olds, and are incredibly tame compared to some of the more gruesome poems (such as The Story of Bad Frederick and The Dreadful Story of the Matches!).

  The Story of Fidgety Phillip

  "Let me see if Philip can

  Be a little gentleman;

  Let me see if he is able

  To sit still for once at table:"

  Thus Papa bade Phil behave;

  And Mamma looked very grave.

  But fidgety Phil,

  He won't sit still;

  He wriggles,

  And giggles,

  And then, I declare,

  Swings backwards and forwards,

  And tilts up his chair,

  Just like any rocking-horse-

  "Philip! I am getting cross!"

  See the naughty, restless child

  Growing still more rude and wild,

  Till his chair falls over quite.

  Philip screams with all his might,

  Catches at the cloth, but then

  That makes matters worse again.

  Down upon the ground they fall,

  Glasses, plates, knives, forks, and all.

  How Mamma did fret and frown,

  When she saw them tumbling down!

  And Papa made such a face!

  Philip is in sad disgrace.

  Where is Philip, where is he?

  Fairly covered up you see!

  Cloth and all are lying on him;

  He has pulled down all upon him.

  What a terrible to-do!

  Dishes, glasses, snapped in two!

  Here a knife, and there a fork!

  Philip, this is cruel work.

  Table all so bare, and ah!

  Poor Papa, and poor Mamma

  Look quire cross, and wonder how

  They shall have their dinner now.

  The Story of Johnny Head in the Air

  As he trudged along to school,

  It was always Johnny's rule

  To be looking at the sky

  And the clouds that floated by;

  But what just before him lay,

  In his way,

  Johnny never thought about;

  So that everyone cried out,

  "Look at little Johnny there,

  Little Johnny Head-in-Air!"

/>   Running just in Johnny's way

  Came a little dog one day;

  Johnny's eyes were still astray

  Up on high,

  In the sky;

  And he never heard them cry

  "Johnny, mind, the dog is nigh!"

  Bump!

  Dump!

  Down they fell, with such a thump,

  Dog and Johnny in a lump!

  Once, with head as high as ever,

  Johnny walked beside the river.

  Johnny watched the swallows trying

  Which was cleverest at flying.

  Oh! what fun!

  Johnny watched the bright round sun

  Going in and coming out;

  This was all he thought about.

  So he strode on, only think!

  To the river's very brink,

  Where the bank was and steep,

  And the water very deep;

  And the fishes, in a row,

  Stared to see him coming so.

  One step more! oh! sad to tell!

  Headlong in poor Johnny fell.

  And the fishes, in dismay,

  Wagged their tails and swam away.

  There lay Johnny on his face,

  With his nice red writing-case;

  But, as they were passing by,

  Two strong men had heard him cry;

  And, with sticks, these two strong men

  Hooked poor Johnny out again.

  Oh! you should have seen him shiver

  When they pulled him from the river.

  He was in a sorry plight,

  Dripping wet, and such a fright!

  Wet all over, everywhere,

  Clothes, and arms, and face, and hair:

  Johnny never will forget

  What it is to be so wet.

  And the fishes, one, two, three,

  Are come back again, you see;

  Up they came the moment after,

  To enjoy the fun and laughter.

  Each popped out his little head,

  And, to tease poor Johnny, said

  "Silly little Johnny, look,

  You have lost your writing-book!"

  Emily Dickinson

  Emily Elizabeth Dickinson (December 10, 1830 – May 15, 1886) was an American poet. Born in Amherst, Massachusetts. Her family were successful with strong community ties, though she spent most of her life introverted and reclusive.

  She was considered an eccentric among the locals, and was an unconventional poet for her time since her poems contained short lines and strange capitalisation.

  Dickinson’s poem, A Light Exists in Spring tells us of the urgency and vitality presented by the seasonal light when it falls upon the landscape.