Skip to main content

The Swing

    How do you like to go up in a swing, 
    Up in the air so blue. 
            
         Oh! I think, it is the pleasantest thing,
          Ever a child can do! 
    Up in the air and over the wall, 
    Till I can see so wide. 

           Rivers, trees, cattel and all, 
           Over the countryside
 
     Till look down to the garden
     Down on the roof so brown. 
      
               Up in the air I go flying again, 
               Up in the air and down. 



                                  -Robert Louis Stevenson 

    

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

A Moonbeam Comes

  Deep in the night;    When all is still,    A moonbeam climbs the window-sill.   Over your bed;    It softly flies,    To see if sleep has closed your eyes.      A pinch of gold;    Some fairy land,    Is clasped within that moonbeam's hand.    And if by chance;    Your are not asleep,    It comes tip-toe on gentle feet.    To touch your eyes;   With golden beam,    And take you to the land of dreams . 

A Happy Child

Enjoy this poem      My house is red - a little house     A happy child am I .     I laugh and play the whole day long.      I hardly ever cry.            I have a tree, a green, green tree,      To shade me from the sun;      And under it I often sit,      When all my play is done. 

The Laburnum Top

                                   -Ted Hughes  The Laburnum top is silent, quite still  In the afternoon yellow September sunlight,   A few leaves yellowing , all its seeds fallen.       https://www.pexels.com/search/the%20labu     rnum%20tree/  Till the goldfinch comes,  with a twitching chirrup  A suddenness, a starlement, at a branch end.  Then sleek as a lizard, and alert, and abrupt,   She enters the thickness, and a machine starts up  Of chitterlings, and a tremor of wings, and trillings-  The whole tree trembles and thrills.   It is the engine of her family.   She stokes it full, then flirts out to a branch-end  Showing her barred face identity mask  Then with eerie delicate whistle-chirrup whisperings  She launches away, towards the infinite   And the laburnum subsides to empty.