Beauty a poem by John Masefield

Have seen dawn and sunset on moors and windy hills 

Coming in solemn beauty like slow old tunes of Spain: 

I have seen the lady April bringing in the daffodils, 

Bringing the springing grass and the soft warm April rain. 

I have heard the song of the blossoms and the old chant of the sea, 

And seen strange lands from under the arched white sails of ships; 

But the loveliest things of beauty God ever has showed to me 

Are her voice, and her hair, and eyes, and the dear red curve of her lips

Daddy Fell into the Pond a poem by Alfred Noyes

Everyone grumbled. The sky was grey.

We had nothing to do and nothing to say.

We were nearing the end of a dismal day,

And then there seemed to be nothing beyond,

Then

Daddy fell into the pond!

And everyone's face grew merry and bright,

And Timothy danced for sheer delight.

"Give me the camera, quick, oh quick!

He's crawling out of the duckweed!" Click!

Then the gardener suddenly slapped his knee,

And doubled up, shaking silently,

And the ducks all quacked as if they were daft,

And it sounded as if the old drake laughed.

Oh, there wasn't a thing that didn't respond

When

Daddy Fell into the pond!

Alfred Noyes 

Beautiful Soup poem by Lewis Carroll

BEAUTIFUL Soup, so rich and green, 

Waiting in a hot tureen! 

Who for such dainties would not stoop? 

Soup of the evening, beautiful Soup! 

Soup of the evening, beautiful Soup!

Beau--ootiful Soo-oop! 

Beau--ootiful Soo-oop! 

Soo--oop of the e--e--evening, 

Beautiful, beautiful Soup!

Beautiful Soup! Who cares for fish, 

Game, or any other dish? 

Who would not give all else for two 

Pennyworth only of Beautiful Soup? 

Pennyworth only of beautiful Soup?

Beau--ootiful Soo-oop! 

Beau--ootiful Soo-oop! 

Soo--oop of the e--e--evening, 

Beautiful, beauti--FUL SOUP! 

Afternoon in School - The Last Lesson a poem by D.H.Lawrence

When will the bell ring, and end this weariness?

How long have they tugged the leash, and strained apart

My pack of unruly hounds: I cannot start

Them again on a quarry of knowledge they hate to hunt, 

I can haul them and urge them no more.

No more can I endure to bear the brunt

Of the books that lie out on the desks: a full three score

Of several insults of blotted pages and scrawl

Of slovenly work that they have offered me.

I am sick, and tired more than any thrall

Upon the woodstacks working weariedly.

And shall I take

The last dear fuel and heap it on my soul

Till I rouse my will like a fire to consume

Their dross of indifference, and burn the scroll

Of their insults in punishment? - I will not!

I will not waste myself to embers for them,

Not all for them shall the fires of my life be hot,

For myself a heap of ashes of weariness, till sleep

Shall have raked the embers clear: I will keep

Some of my strength for myself, for if I should sell

It all for them, I should hate them -

- I will sit and wait for the bell.

D. H. Lawrence