Foundation Lessons in English, Book 1

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Page 32 - THE mountain and the squirrel Had a quarrel; And the former called the latter ' Little Prig.' Bun replied, ' You are doubtless very big ; But all sorts of things and weather Must be taken in together, To make up a year And a sphere. And I think it no disgrace To occupy my place. If I'm not so large as you, You are not so small as I, And not half so spry. I'll not deny you make A very pretty squirrel track ; Talents differ; all is well and wisely put; If I cannot carry forests on my back, Neither...
Page 14 - They are only one times one. 0 moon ! in the night I have seen you sailing And shining so round and low ; You were bright! ah, bright! but your light is failing — You are nothing now but a bow. You moon, have you done something wrong in heaven That God has hidden your face ? 1 hope if you have you will soon be forgiven And shine again in your place.
Page 189 - And there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean To be some happy creature's palace; The little bird sits at his door in the sun, Atilt like a blossom among the leaves, And lets his illumined being o'errun With the deluge of summer it receives...
Page 146 - THE SEA. The Sea ! the Sea ! the open Sea ! The blue, the fresh, the ever free ! Without a mark, without a bound, It runneth the earth's wide regions 'round ; It plays with the clouds ; it mocks the skies ; Or like a cradled creature lies.
Page 45 - Down swept the chill wind from the mountain peak, From the snow five thousand summers old; On open wold and hill-top bleak It had gathered all the cold, And whirled it like sleet on the wanderer's cheek; It carried a shiver everywhere From the unleafed boughs and pastures bare; 180 The little brook heard it and built a roof 'Neath which he could house him, winter-proof; All night by the white stars...
Page 157 - Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea ! Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me; While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.
Page 190 - Who knows whither the clouds have fled ? In the unscarred heaven they leave no wake; And the eyes forget the tears they have shed, The heart forgets its sorrow and ache...
Page 102 - My canoe to bind together, So to bind the ends together That the water may not enter, That the river may not wet me!
Page 180 - Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere ; In the noisy city street, My pleasant face you'll meet, Cheering the sick at heart. Toiling his busy part, Silently creeping, creeping everywhere.
Page 14 - I am old, so old I can write a letter; My birthday lessons are done; The lambs play always, they know no better, They are only one times one.

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