- Published on
Outdoors
I love the sun,
I love the sky,
I love the wind
That whistles by.
I love the grass,
I love the flowers,
I love the cool
Refreshing showers.
I love the snow,
I love the trees,
I love the Summer’s
Cooling breeze.
I love the rain
That pours and pours.
I love most every-
Thing outdoors.
by Vivian G. Gouled
Vivian G. Gouled was born on 12 June 1911. She became a poet. Vivian G. Gouled passed on at 94 years of age on 6 October 2005.
I love the sun,
I love the sky,
I love the wind
That whistles by.
I love the grass,
I love the flowers,
I love the cool
Refreshing showers.
I love the snow,
I love the trees,
I love the Summer’s
Cooling breeze.
I love the rain
That pours and pours.
I love most every-
Thing outdoors.
by Vivian G. Gouled
Vivian G. Gouled was born on 12 June 1911. She became a poet. Vivian G. Gouled passed on at 94 years of age on 6 October 2005.
- Published on
Shooting Star
Shooting star,
Falling star,
Burning with a light.
Shooting star,
Falling star,
Lighting up the night.
Shooting star,
Falling star,
What a sight to see.
Shooting star,
Shining star,
Grant a wish for me.
by Author Unknown
Shooting star,
Falling star,
Burning with a light.
Shooting star,
Falling star,
Lighting up the night.
Shooting star,
Falling star,
What a sight to see.
Shooting star,
Shining star,
Grant a wish for me.
by Author Unknown
- Published on
Sunset
Now the sun is sinking
In the golden west;
Birds and bees and children
All have gone to rest;
And the merry streamlet,
As it runs along,
With a voice of sweetness
Sings its evening song.
Cowslip, daisy, violet,
In their little beds,
All among the grasses
Hide their heavy heads;
There they’ll all, sweet darlings,
Lie in the happy dreams.
Till the rosy morning
Wakes them with its beams.
by Author Unknown
Now the sun is sinking
In the golden west;
Birds and bees and children
All have gone to rest;
And the merry streamlet,
As it runs along,
With a voice of sweetness
Sings its evening song.
Cowslip, daisy, violet,
In their little beds,
All among the grasses
Hide their heavy heads;
There they’ll all, sweet darlings,
Lie in the happy dreams.
Till the rosy morning
Wakes them with its beams.
by Author Unknown
- Published on
The Rain
Like a gentle joy descending,
To the earth a glory lending,
Comes the pleasant rain;
Fairer now the flowers are growing,
Fresher now the winds are blowing,
Gladder waves the grain;
Grove and forest, field and mountain,
Bathing in the crystal fountain,
Drinking in the inspiration,
Offer up a glad oblation;
All around, about, above us.
Things we love, the things that love us,
Bless the gentle rain.
Beautiful, and still, and holy,
Like the spirit of the lowly,
Comes the quiet rain;
’Tis a fount of joy distilling,
And the lyre of earth is trilling,
Swelling to a strain;
Nature opens wide her bosom,
Bursting buds begin to blossom;
To her very soul ’tis stealing,
All the springs of life unsealing;
Singing stream and rushing river
Drink it in, and praise the Giver
Of the blessed rain.
by Laura A. Boies
Like a gentle joy descending,
To the earth a glory lending,
Comes the pleasant rain;
Fairer now the flowers are growing,
Fresher now the winds are blowing,
Gladder waves the grain;
Grove and forest, field and mountain,
Bathing in the crystal fountain,
Drinking in the inspiration,
Offer up a glad oblation;
All around, about, above us.
Things we love, the things that love us,
Bless the gentle rain.
Beautiful, and still, and holy,
Like the spirit of the lowly,
Comes the quiet rain;
’Tis a fount of joy distilling,
And the lyre of earth is trilling,
Swelling to a strain;
Nature opens wide her bosom,
Bursting buds begin to blossom;
To her very soul ’tis stealing,
All the springs of life unsealing;
Singing stream and rushing river
Drink it in, and praise the Giver
Of the blessed rain.
by Laura A. Boies
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The Rainbow
Boats sail on the rivers,
And ships sail on the seas;
But clouds that sail across the sky
Are prettier than these.
There are bridges on the rivers,
As pretty as you please;
But the bow that bridges heaven,
And overtops the trees,
And builds a road from earth to sky,
Is prettier far than these.
by Christina Rossetti
Boats sail on the rivers,
And ships sail on the seas;
But clouds that sail across the sky
Are prettier than these.
There are bridges on the rivers,
As pretty as you please;
But the bow that bridges heaven,
And overtops the trees,
And builds a road from earth to sky,
Is prettier far than these.
by Christina Rossetti
- Published on
Flint
An emerald is as green as grass,
A ruby red as blood;
A sapphire shines as blue as heaven;
A flint lies in the mud.
A diamond is a brilliant stone,
To catch the world’s desire;
An opal holds a fiery spark;
But a flint holds fire*.
by Christina Rossetti
*‘holds fire’ means a material has the ability to make fire, as when a piece of flint stone is struck against another piece of flint stone or some other hard material, causing sparks that can start combustible material, such as wood, to burn.
Christina Georgina Rossetti was born on 5 December 1830 in London, England. She became a poet. She is known for “Goblin Market” and “Remember,” among other works. Christina Georgina Rossetti passed on at 64 years of age on 29 December 1894 in London, England.
Image shown: Black Flintstone.
An emerald is as green as grass,
A ruby red as blood;
A sapphire shines as blue as heaven;
A flint lies in the mud.
A diamond is a brilliant stone,
To catch the world’s desire;
An opal holds a fiery spark;
But a flint holds fire*.
by Christina Rossetti
*‘holds fire’ means a material has the ability to make fire, as when a piece of flint stone is struck against another piece of flint stone or some other hard material, causing sparks that can start combustible material, such as wood, to burn.
Christina Georgina Rossetti was born on 5 December 1830 in London, England. She became a poet. She is known for “Goblin Market” and “Remember,” among other works. Christina Georgina Rossetti passed on at 64 years of age on 29 December 1894 in London, England.
Image shown: Black Flintstone.
- Published on
If I Were a Sunbeam
“If I were a sunbeam,
I know what I’d do;
I would seek white lilies,
Roaming woodlands through.
I would steal among them,
Softest light I’d shed,
Until every lily
Raised its drooping head.
“If I were a sunbeam,
I know where I’d go;
Into lowly hovels,
Dark with want and woe:
Till sad hearts looked upward,
I would shine and shine;
Then they’d think of heaven,
Their sweet home and mine.”
Are you not a sunbeam,
Child, whose life is glad
With an inner brightness
Sunshine never had?
Oh, as God has blessed you,
Scatter light divine!
For there is no sunbeam
But must die or shine.
by Alice Cary
Alice Cary was born on 26 April 1820 in Mount Healthy, Ohio, United States of America. She was an older sister of the poet Phoebe Cary (1824 - 1871). Alice Cary became a writer and a poet. She passed on at 50 years of age on 12 February 1871 in New York City, New York, United States of America.
“If I were a sunbeam,
I know what I’d do;
I would seek white lilies,
Roaming woodlands through.
I would steal among them,
Softest light I’d shed,
Until every lily
Raised its drooping head.
“If I were a sunbeam,
I know where I’d go;
Into lowly hovels,
Dark with want and woe:
Till sad hearts looked upward,
I would shine and shine;
Then they’d think of heaven,
Their sweet home and mine.”
Are you not a sunbeam,
Child, whose life is glad
With an inner brightness
Sunshine never had?
Oh, as God has blessed you,
Scatter light divine!
For there is no sunbeam
But must die or shine.
by Alice Cary
Alice Cary was born on 26 April 1820 in Mount Healthy, Ohio, United States of America. She was an older sister of the poet Phoebe Cary (1824 - 1871). Alice Cary became a writer and a poet. She passed on at 50 years of age on 12 February 1871 in New York City, New York, United States of America.
- Published on
Afternoon on a Hill
I will be the gladdest thing
Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
And not pick one.
I will look at cliffs and clouds
With quiet eyes,
Watch the wind bow down the grass,
And the grass rise.
And when the lights begin to show
Up from the town,
I will mark which must be mine,
And then start down.
by Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892 - 1950)
I will be the gladdest thing
Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
And not pick one.
I will look at cliffs and clouds
With quiet eyes,
Watch the wind bow down the grass,
And the grass rise.
And when the lights begin to show
Up from the town,
I will mark which must be mine,
And then start down.
by Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892 - 1950)
