Download A Child's Own Book of Verse, Book One by Ada M. Skinner, Frances Gillespy Wickes, Maud Petersham, PDF

By Ada M. Skinner, Frances Gillespy Wickes, Maud Petersham, Miska Petersham

First quantity of A kid's personal booklet of Verse, a three-volume set deliberate to be used through the 4 fundamental years. This surprisingly effective choice of poetry used to be chosen with the kid's pursuits in brain. contains sound rhymes and jingles to attract the ear, descriptive poems to create photographs within the imagination, lullabies and lyrics to hot the guts, and story-telling poems to stir the mind's eye. Attractively illustrated via Maud and Miska Petersham. compatible for a while five to eight.

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Additional resources for A Child's Own Book of Verse, Book One

Sample text

Not I," said the sheep, "Oh, no! I wouldn't treat a poor bird so. I gave wool the nest to line, But the nest was none of mine. Baa! " said the sheep, "Oh, no! " "Tu-whit! Tu-whit! Tu-whee! Will you listen to me? " "Coo-coo! Coo-coo! Coo-coo! Let me speak a few words too! " "Caw! " "Cluck! " said the hen; "Don't ask me again. Why, I haven't a chick Would do such a trick. We all gave her a feather, And she wove them together. I'd scorn to intrude On her and her brood. Cluck! " "Chirr-a-whirr! Chirr-a-whirr!

Spin," said the mother; "We spin," said the ten— So they spun lace webs In their dark little den. Over in the meadow, In the soft summer even, Lived a mother firefly And her little flies eleven. "Glow," said the mother; "We glow," said the eleven— So they glowed like stars In the soft summer even. Over in the meadow, Where the men dig and delve Lived a wise mother ant, And her little ants twelve. "Toil," said the mother; "We toil," said the twelve— So they toiled and were wise Where the men dig and delve.

Now the summer days are ended, All your duties are well done, And the little homes you've builded Have grown empty, one by one. Swallow, Swallow, neighbor Swallow, Are you ready for your flight? Are the little coats completed? Are the feathered caps all right? Are the young wings strong and steady For their flight to warmer sky? Come again in early springtime. Until then, good-by, good-by. Seven Times One There's no dew left on the daisies and clover There's no rain left in heaven: I've said my "seven times" over and over, Seven times one are seven.

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