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Poems Every Child Should Know

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<h3>The Destruction of Sennacherib.</h3> <div class="pre_poem">"The Destruction of Sennacherib," by Lord Byron, finds a place in this collection because Johnnie, a ten-year-old, and many of his friends say, "It's great." (1788-1824.) </div> <table class="poem" summary="poem"><tr><td><div class="stanza"> The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. </div> <div class="stanza"> Like the leaves of the forest when the Summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen: Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown. </div> <div class="stanza"> For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew still! </div> <div class="stanza"> And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride; And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. </div> <div class="stanza"> And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail, And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. </div> <div class="stanza"> And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal; And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord! </div> </td></tr></table> Lord Byron. <h3>I Remember, I Remember.</h3> <table class="poem" summary="poem"><tr><td><div class="stanza"> I remember, I remember The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn; He never came a wink too soon Nor brought too long a day; But now, I often wish the night Had borne my breath away. </div> <div class="stanza"> I remember, I remember The roses, red and white, The violets, and the lily-cups— Those flowers made of light! The lilacs where the robin built, And where my brother set The laburnum on his birthday,— The tree is living yet! </div> <div class="stanza"> I remember, I remember Where I was used to swing, And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing; My spirit flew in feathers then That is so heavy now, And summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow. </div> <div class="stanza"> I remember, I remember The fir trees dark and high; I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky: It was a childish ignorance, But now 'tis little joy To know I'm farther off from Heaven Than when I was a boy. </div> </td></tr></table> Thomas Hood. <h3>Driving Home the Cows.</h3> <table class="poem" summary="poem"><tr><td><div class="stanza"> Out of the clover and blue-eyed grass He turned them into the river lane; One after another he let them pass, Then fastened the meadow bars again. </div> <div class="stanza"> Under the willows and over the hill, He patiently followed their sober pace; The merry whistle for once was still, And something shadowed the sunny face. </div> <div class="stanza"> Only a boy! and his father had said He never could let his youngest go: Two already were lying dead, Under the feet of the trampling foe. </div> <div class="stanza"> But after the evening work was done, And the frogs were loud in the meadow-swamp, Over his shoulder he slung his gun, And stealthily followed the footpath damp. </div> <div class="stanza"> Across the clover, and through the wheat, With resolute heart and purpose grim: Though the dew was on his hurrying feet, And the blind bat's flitting startled him. </div> <div class="stanza"> Thrice since then had the lanes been white, And the orchards sweet with apple-bloom; And now, when the cows came back at night, The feeble father drove them home. </div> <div class="stanza"> For news had come to the lonely farm That three were lying where two had lain; And the old man's tremulous, palsied arm Could never lean on a son's again. </div> <div class="stanza"> The summer day grew cool and late: He went for the cows when the work was done; But down the lane, as he opened the gate, He saw them coming one by one: </div> <div class="stanza"> Brindle, Ebony, Speckle, and Bess, Shaking their horns in the evening wind; Cropping the buttercups out of the grass, But who was it following close behind? </div> <div class="stanza"> Loosely swung in the idle air The empty sleeve of army blue; And worn and pale, from the crisping hair, Looked out a face that the father knew. </div> <div class="stanza"> For close-barred prisons will sometimes yawn, And yield their dead unto life again; And the day that comes with a cloudy dawn, In golden glory at last may wane. </div> <div class="stanza"> The great tears sprang to their meeting eyes; For the heart must speak when the lips are dumb, And under the silent evening skies Together they followed the cattle home. </div> </td></tr></table> Kate Putnam Osgood. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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