Are you going to be late for an English class?
- Never mind! Recite a poem or sing a song!
POETRY
Symphony In Yellow
Oscar Wilde
An omnibus across the bridge
Crawls like a yellow butterfly,
And, here and there, a passer-by
Shows like a little restless midge.
Big barges full of yellow hay
Are moored against the shadowy wharf,
And, like a yellow silken scarf,
The thick fog hangs along the quay.
The yellow leaves begin to fade
And flutter from the Temple elms,
And at my feet the pale green Thames
Lies like a rod of rippled jade.
My Dear Mummy
My dear, dear mummy, I love you very much.
I want you to be happy on the 8-thof March.
Be happy, be happy on the 8-thof March.
Be happy, be happy on the 8-thof March.
My dear, dear daddy, let me kiss your face.
I want you to be happy today and always.
Be happy, be happy today and always.
Be happy, be happy today and always.
No Enemies
Charles Mackay
YOU have no enemies, you say?
Alas! my friend, the boast is poor;
He who has mingled in the fray
Of duty, that the brave endure,
Must have made foes! If you have none,
Small is the work that you have done.
You’ve hit no traitor on the hip,
You’ve dashed no cup from perjured lip,
You’ve never turned the wrong to right,
You’ve been a coward in the fight.
A Poem
Harltey Coleridge
She is not fair to outward view,
As many maidens be,
Her loveliness I never new
Until she smiled on me:
Oh, then I saw her eye was bright,-
A well of love, a spring of light.
But now her looks are coy and cold;
To mine they ne'er reply;
And yet I cease not to behold,
The love-light in her eye:
Her very frowns are better far
Than smiles of other maisens are!
Sonnet 130
William Shakespeare
My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask’d, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
