On The Grassy Banks
On the grassy banks
Lambkins at their pranks;
Woolly sisters, woolly brothers
Jumping off their feet
While their woolly mothers
Watch by them and bleat.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Fly Away, Fly Away Over The Sea
Fly away, fly away over the sea,
Sun-loving swallow, for summer is done;
Come again, come again, come back to me,
Bringing the summer and bringing the sun.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Rushes In A Watery Place
Rushes in a watery place,
And reeds in a hollow;
A soaring skylark in the sky,
A darting swallow;
And where pale blossom used to hang
Ripe fruit to follow.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Hop-O'-My-Thumb And Little Jack Horner
Hop-o'-my-thumb and little Jack Horner,
What do you mean by tearing and fighting?
Sturdy dog Trot close round the corner,
I never caught him growling and biting.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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If I Were A Queen
If I were a Queen,
What would I do?
I’d make you King,
And I’d wait on you.
If I were a King,
What would I do?
I’d make you Queen,
For I’d marry you.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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The Days Are Clear
The days are clear,
Day after day,
When April's here,
That leads to May,
And June
Must follow soon:
Stay, June, stay! -
If only we could stop the moon
And June!
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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A Frisky Lamb
A frisky lamb
And a frisky child
Playing their pranks
In a cowslip meadow:
The sky all blue
And the air all mild
And the fields all sun
And the lanes half shadow.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Wee Wee Husband
Wee wee husband,
Give me some money,
I have no comfits,
And I have no honey.
Wee wee wifie,
I have no money,
Milk, nor meat, nor bread to eat,
Comfits, nor honey.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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What Does The Bee Do?
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.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Under The Ivy Bush
Under the ivy bush
One sits sighing,
And under the willow tree
One sits crying: -
Under the ivy bush
Cease from your sighing,
But under the willow-tree
Lie down a-dying.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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