The Daffodils

I wandered lonely as a cloud
   That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
   A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
   And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
   Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
   Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A Poet could not but be gay,
   In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
   In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
   Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

Monday's Child Is Fair Of Face

Monday's child is fair of face,

Tuesday's child is full of grace,

Wednesday's child is full of woe,

Thursday's child has far to go,

Friday's child is loving and giving,

Saturday's child works hard for a living,

But the child who is born on the Sabbath Day

Is bonny and blithe and good and gay

The Old House

The old house sits sad and alone,
Remembering days it was a home,
Now it cracks and leans and creaks,
And frowns at the rain when it leaks.

In every breeze it moans and groans,
Chilled to its rickety timber bones,
It cannot withstand another storm,
An old wreck it will form.

The empty eyes are mourning,
Each forgotten, pleasant morning,
The old house was a home,
But now it sits sad and alone.

3D Bunny Chicken!

I maid this on Tinkrad :

My Wee Little Cabin

I live in a wee little cabin,

That smells of the finest things,

Of cinnamon, of ginger, nutmeg, and pine,

And sometimes some blueberry muffins of mine.

It’s small; it’s dear; it’s a gingerbread house,

My wee elfin yard is a woodsy hollow,

With trees a-swishing and birds a-singing,

And wee little me just happily living.

By Aurora J Pass

Something Told The Wild Geese!

Something told the wild geese
It was time to go,
Though the fields lay golden
Something whispered, "snow."

Leaves were green and stirring,
Berries, luster-glossed,
But beneath warm feathers
Something cautioned, "frost."

All the sagging orchards
Steamed with amber spice,
But each wild breast stiffened
At remembered ice.

Something told the wild geese
It was time to fly,
Summer sun was on their wings,
Winter in their cry.

Rachel Field

The Hawk!

I stare
I glare
I gaze
I gawk
With keen
Mean eyes
I am the hawk.
All day I pray
For prey to view.
Be thankful if
I don’t
see
YOU!

Douglas Florian

Stopping By The Woods On A Snowy Evening!

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep

Robert Frost

Bee I'm expecting you!

Bee I'm expecting you!
Was saying yesterday
To somebody you know
That you were due.

The frogs got home last week,
Are settled and at work,
Birds mostly back,
The clover warm and thick.

You'll get my letter by
The seventeenth; reply,
Or better, be with me.
Yours,
Fly

Emily Dickinson

The Stolen Child!

Where dips the rocky highland Of Sleuth
Wood in the lake, There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake The drowsy water rats;
There we've hid our faery vats, Full of berrys
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
Where the wave of moonlight glosses
 The dim gray sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight; To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles And anxious in its sleep. Come away, O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. Where the wandering water gushes From the hills above Glen-Car, In pools among the rushes That scarce could bathe a star, We seek for slumbering trout And whispering in their ears Give them unquiet dreams; Leaning softly out From ferns that drop their tears Over the young streams. Come away, O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. Away with us he's going, The solemn-eyed: He'll hear no more the lowing Of the calves on the warm hillside Or the kettle on the hob Sing peace into his breast, Or see the brown mice bob Round and round the oatmeal chest. For he comes, the human child, To the waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than he can understand. 

The Jabberwocky!

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and grimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwocky, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious bandersnatch!

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time  the manxoum foe he sought-
So rested he by the Tumtum tree
And stood awhile in thought.

And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwocky, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
   Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
   He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
   Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
   And the mome raths outgrabe.

Lewis Carroll