Novermber 15, Sunday

Dear my students,

We are to learn some poems and rhymes on Novermber 15, Sunday.
Here are the lyrics:

A child’s garden of verses
By
Robert Louis Stevenson

Bed in Summer
In winter I get up at night
And dress by yellow candle-light.
In summer quite the other way,
I have to go to bed by day.
I have to go to bed and see
The birds still hopping on the tree,
Or hear the grown-up people's feet
Still going past me in the street.
And does it not seem hard to you,
When all the sky is clear and blue,
And I should like so much to play,
To have to go to bed by day?


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--
Oh wind, a-blowing all day long,
Oh wind, that sings so loud a song!

Oh you that are so strong and cold,
Oh blower, are you young or old?
Are you a beast of field and tree,
Or just a stronger child than me?
Oh wind, a-blowing all day long,
Oh wind, that sings so loud a song!

A Thought
It is very nice to think
The world is full of meat and drink,
With little children saying grace
In every Christian kind of place.


Good and Bad Children
Children, you are very little,
And your bones are very brittle;
If you would grow great and stately,
You must try to walk sedately.
You must still be bright and quiet,
And content with simple diet;
And remain, through all bewild'ring,
Innocent and honest children.
Happy hearts and happy faces,
Happy play in grassy places--
That was how in ancient ages,
Children grew to kings and sages.
But the unkind and the unruly,
And the sort who eat unduly,
They must never hope for glory--
Theirs is quite a different story!
Cruel children, crying babies,
All grow up as geese and gabies,
Hated, as their age increases,
By their nephews and their nieces.