Nursery Rhymes and Poems

There’s a neat little clock,
In the school room it stands,
And points to the time,
With its two little hands.
And may we, like the clock,
Keep a face clean and bright,
With hands ever ready,
To do what is right.

I had a little castle upon the seaside,
One half was water, the other was land;
I opened my little castle door,
and guess what I found:
I found a fair lady with a cup in her hand.
The cup was gold, and filled with wine;
Drink, fair lady,
and thou shalt be mine!

Mr Brush on his steed, dashing with speed,
Was asked if he had time to spare;
Said he, with a smile,
“I’ll be back in a while,
But at present I’m hunting the hair.”

The cat she walks on padded claws,
The wolf on the hills lays stealthy paws,
Feathered birds in the rain-sweet sky
At their ease in the air, flit low, flit high.
The oak’s blind, tender roots pierce deep,
His green crest towers, dimmed in sleep,
Under the stars whose thrones are set
Where never prince hath journeyed yet.

A Carrion crow sat on an oak,
Watching a tailor shape his cloak,
Heigh ho! the carrion crow,
Derry, derry, derry, decco.
O wife bring me my old bent bow
That I may shoot yon carrion crow,
Heigh ho! the carrion crow,
Derry, derry, derry, decco.
The Tailor shot, but miss his mark,
And shot his old sow through the heart,
Heigh ho! the carrion [...]

You better not fool with a Bumblebee!
Ef you don’t think they can sting – you’ll see!
They’re lazy to look at, an’ kindo’ go
Buzzin’ an’ bumin’ aroun’ so slow,
An’ ac’ so slouchy an’ all fagged out,
Danglin’ their legs as they drone about
The hollyhawks ‘at they can’t climb in
‘Ithout ist a-tumblin-un out agin!
Wunst I watched one climb [...]

A little boy went into the barn,
And lay down on some hay.
An owl came out,
And flew about,
And the little boy ran away.

The Boy from his bedroom-window
Look’d over the little town,
And away to the bleak black upland
Under a clouded moon.
The moon came forth from her cavern,
He saw the sudden gleam
Of a tarn in the swarthy moorland;
Or perhaps the whole was a dream.
For I never could find that water
In all my walks and rides:
Far-off, in the Land of [...]

Which is the bow that has no arrow?
The rainbow that never killed a sparrow.
Which is the singer that has but one song?
The cuckoo, who singeth it all day long.

The bees
Sneeze and wheeze,
Scraping pollen and honey
From the lime tree.
The ants
Hurries and pants,
Storing up everything
They wants.
What does the bee do?
Bring home honey.
And what does Father do?
Bring home money.
And what does Mother do?
Lay out the money.
And what does baby do?
Eat up the honey.