Various - Graded Memory Selections стр 5.

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!

Hearts like doors can open with ease
To very, very little keys;
And neer forget that they are these:
I thank you, sir, and If you please.

Grandma told me all about it,
Told me so I couldnt doubt it,
How she danced, my grandma danced; long ago
How she held her pretty head,
How her dainty skirt she spread,
How she slowly leaned and roselong ago.

Grandmas hair was bright and sunny,
Dimpled cheeks, too, oh, how funny!
Really quite a pretty girllong ago.
Bless her! why, she wears a cap,
Grandma does and takes a nap
Every single day: and yet
Grandma danced the minuetlong ago.

Modern ways are quite alarming,
Grandma says, but boys were charming
(Girls and boys she means of course) long ago.
Brave but modest, grandly shy;
She would like to have us try
Just to feel like those who met
In the graceful minuetlong ago.

Wynken, Blynken and Nod one night
Sailed off in a wooden shoe,
Sailed on a river of crystal light
Into a sea of dew.
Where are you going? What do you wish?
The old Moon asked the three.
We come to fish for the herring fish
That live in the beautiful sea,
Nets of silver and gold have we,
Said Wynken, Blynken and Nod.

The old Moon laughed and sang a song
As they rocked in the wooden shoe,
And the wind that sped them all night long
Ruffled the waves of dew.
The little stars were the herring fish
That lived in that beautiful sea,
Now cast your nets whenever you wish,
Never afeard are we!
So cried the stars to the fishermen three
Wynken, Blynken and Nod.

All night long their nets they threw
To the stars in the twinkling foam.
Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe
Bringing the fishermen home.
Twas all so pretty a sail it seemed
As if it could not be,
And some folks thought twas a dream theyd dreamed
Of sailing that beautiful sea.
But I can name you the fishermen three
Wynken, Blynken and Nod.

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes
And Nod is a little head,
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
Is a wee ones trundle bed.
So shut your eyes while mother sings
Of wonderful sights that be,
And you shall see the beautiful things
As you rock on the misty sea,
Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three
Wynken, Blynken and Nod.

The spider wears a plain brown dress,
And she is a steady spinner;
To see her, quiet as a mouse,
Going about her silver house,
You would never, never, never guess
The way she gets her dinner.

She looks as if no thought of ill
In all her life had stirred her;
But while she moves with careful tread,
And while she spins her silken thread,
She is planning, planning, planning still
The way to do some murder.

My child, who reads this simple lay,
With eyes down-dropt and tender,
Remember the old proverb says
That pretty is which pretty does,
And that worth does not go nor stay
For poverty nor splendor.

Tis not the house, and not the dress,
That makes the saint or sinner.
To see the spider sit and spin,
Shut with her walls of silver in,
You would never, never, never guess
The way she gets her dinner.

Over the cradle the mother hung,
Softly crooning a slumber song:
And these were the simple words she sung
All the evening long.

Cheek or chin, or knuckle or knee
Where shall the babys dimple be?
Where shall the angels finger rest
When he comes down to the babys nest?
Where shall the angels touch remain
When he awakens my babe again?

Still as she bent and sang so low,
A murmur into her music broke:
And she paused to hear, for she could but know
The babys angel spoke.

Cheek or chin, or knuckle or knee,
Where shall the babys dimple be?
Where shall my finger fall and rest
When I come down to the babys nest?
Where shall my finger touch remain
When I awaken your babe again?

Silent the mother sat and dwelt
Long in the sweet delay of choice,
And then by her babys side she knelt,
And sang with a pleasant voice:

Not on the limb, O angel dear!
For the charm with its youth will disappear;
Not on the cheek shall the dimple be,
For the harboring smile will fade and flee;
But touch thou the chin with an impress deep,
And my baby the angels seal shall keep.

Down in a field one day in June, the flowers all bloomed together,
Save one who tried to hide herself, and drooped that pleasant weather.
A robin who had flown too high, and felt a little lazy,
Was resting near this buttercup who wished she was a daisy.

For daisies grow so slim and tall! She always had a passion
For wearing frills about her neck in just the daisies fashion.
And buttercups must always be the same old tiresome color;
While daisies dress in gold and white, although their gold is duller.

Dear Robin, said the sad young flower, Perhaps youd not mind trying
To find a nice white frill for me, some day when you are flying.
You silly thing! the Robin said, I think you must be crazy;
Id rather be my honest self, than any made-up daisy.

Youre nicer in your own bright gown; the little children love you.
Be the best buttercup you can, and think no flower above you.
Though swallows leave me out of sight, wed better keep our places:
Perhaps the world would all go wrong with one too many daisies.
Look bravely up into the sky and be content with knowing
That God wished for a buttercup, just here where you are growing.