【1】Rain--by Robert Louis StevensonRain is falling all around,It falls on field and tree,It rains on the umbrella here,And on the ships at sea.【2】What Does The Bee Do?-- by C. G. RossettiWhat 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.【3】O Sailor, Come Ashore-- by C. G. RossettiO sailor, come ashoreWhat have you brought for me?Red coral , white coral,Coral from the sea.I did not dig it from the groundNor pluck it from a tree;Feeble insects made itIn the stormy sea.【4】THE WIND-- by C. G. RossettiWho has seen the wind?Neither I nor you;But when the leaves hang trembling,The wind is passing through.Who has seen the wind?Neither you nor I;But when the trees bow down their heads,The wind is passing by.【5】THE CUCKOOIn April,Come he will,In May,Sing all day,In June,Change his tune,In July,Prepare to fly,In August,Go he must!【6】COLORS-- by C. G. RossettiWhat is pink? A rose is pinkBy the fountain's brink.What is red? A poppy's redIn its barley bed.What is blue? The sky is blueWhere the clouds float thro'.What is white? A swan is whiteSailing in the light.What is yellow? Pears are yellow,Rich and ripe and mellow.What is green? The grass is green,With small flowers between.What is violet? Clouds are violetIn the summer twilight.What is orange? Why, an orange,Just an orange!【7】A House Of Cards--by C. G. RossettiA house of cardsIs neat and small;Shake the table,It must fall.Find the court cardsOne by one;Raise it, roof it,--Now it's done;-Shake the table!That's the fun.【8】What Does Little Birdie Say?-- by Alfred TennysonWhat does little birdie say,In her nest at peep of day?Let me fly, says little birdie,Mother, let me fly away,Birdie, rest a little longer,Till the little wings are stronger.So she rests a little longer,Then she flies away.What does little baby say,In her bed at peep of day?Baby says, like little birdie,Let me rise and fly away.Baby, sleep a little longer,Till the little limbs are stronger.If she sleeps a little longer,Baby too shall fly away.【9】The Star-- by Jane TaylorTwinkle, twinkle, little star!How I wonder what you are,Up above the world so high,Like a diamond in the sky.When the blazing sun is gone,When he nothing shines upon,Then you show your little light,Twinkle, twinkle all the night.The dark blue sky you keepAnd often thro' my curtains peep,For you never shut your eyeTill the sun is in the sky.'Tis your bright and tiny sparkLights the traveler in the dark;Though I know not what you areTwinkle, twinkle, little star!【10】At The Seaside --by R. L. StevensonWhen I was down beside the seaA wooden spade they gave to meTo dig the sandy shore.The holes were empty like a cupIn every hole the sea camp up,Till it could come no more.【11】Boats Sail On The Rivers -- by C. G. RossettiBoats sail on the rivers,And ships sail on the seas;But clouds that sail across the sky,Are prettier far than these.There are bridges on the rivers,As pretty as you please;But the bow that bridges heaven,And overtops the trees,And builds a road from earth to sky,Is prettier far than these.【12】The Swing -- by R. L. StevensonHow do you like to go up in a swing,Up in the air so blue?Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thingEver a child can do.Up in the air and over the wall,Till I can see so wide,River and trees and cattle and allOver the countryside-Till I look down on the garden greenDown on the roof so brownUp in the air I go flying againUp in the air and down!【13】The Blossom -- by William Blake Merry, merry sparrow!Under leaves so green,A happy blossomSees you, swift as arrow,Seek your cradle narrowNear my bosom.Pretty, pretty robin!Under leaves so green,A happy blossomHears you sobbing, sobbing,Pretty, pretty, robin,Near my bosom.【14】When You Are Old-- by William Butler Yeats When you are old and gray and full of sleepAnd nodding by the fire, take down this book,And slowly read, and dream of the soft lookYour eyes had once, and of their shadows deep；How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true；But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,And loved the sorrows of your changing face;And bending down beside the glowing bars, Murmur, a little sadly, how love fledAnd paced upon the mountains overhead,And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.【15】The Road Not Taken --by Robert FrostTwo roads diverged in a yellow wood,And sorry I could not travel bothAnd be one traveler, long I stoodAnd looked down one as far as I couldTo where it bent in the undergrowth;Then took the other, as just as fair,And having perhaps the better claim,Because it was grassy and wanted wear;Though as for that the passing thereHad worn them really about the same,And both that morning equally layIn leaves no step had trodden black.Oh, I kept the first for another day!Yet knowing how way leads on to way,I doubted if I should ever come back.I shall be telling this with a sighSomewhere ages and ages hence:Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-I took the one less traveled by,And that has made all the difference.【16】Saying Good-bye to Cambridge Again --- by Xu Zhimo Very quietly I take my leaveAs quietly as I came here;Quietly I wave good-byeTo the rosy clouds in the western sky.The golden willows by the riversideAre young brides in the setting sun;Their reflections on the shimmering wavesAlways linger in the depth of my heart.The floatingheart growing in the sludgeSways leisurely under the water;In the gentle waves of CambridgeI would be a water plant!That pool under the shade of elm treesHolds not water but the rainbow from the sky;Shattered to pieces among the duckweedsIs the sediment of a rainbow-like dream?To seek a dream? Just to pole a boat upstreamTo where the green grass is more verdant;Or to have the boat fully loaded with starlightAnd sing aloud in the splendour of starlight.But I cannot sing aloudQuietness is my farewell music;Even summer insects heep silence for meSilent is Cambridge tonight!Very quietly I take my leaveAs quietly as I came here;Gently I flick my sleevesNot even a wisp of cloud will I bring away【17】A Little Boy Lost-- by William Blake'Nought loves another as itself,Nor venerates another so,Nor is it possible to thoughtA greater than itself to know.'And, father, how can I love youOr any of my brothers more?I love you like the little birdThat picks up crumbs around the door.'The Priest sat by and heard the child;In trembling zeal he seized his hair,He led him by his little coat,And all admired his priestly care.And standing on the altar high,'Lo, what a fiend is here!' said he:'One who sets reason up for judgeOf our most holy mystery.'The weeping child could not be heard,The weeping parents wept in vain:They stripped him to his little shirt,And bound him in an iron chain,And burned him in a holy placeWhere many had been burned before;The weeping parents wept in vain.Are such things done on Albion's shore?【18】To Autumn-- by John Keats1Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun,Conspiring with him how to load and blessWith fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shellsWith a sweet kernel; to set budding more,And still more, later flowers for the bees,Until they think warm days will never cease,For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.2Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may findThee sitting careless on a granary floor,Thy hair sort-lifted by the winnowing wind;Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,Dows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers.And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keepSteady thy laden head across a brook;Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.3Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;Then in a waiful choir the small gnats mournAmong the river sallows, borne aloftOr sinking as the light wind lives or dies;And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble softThe red-breast whistles form a garden-croft;And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.【19】The School Boy-- by William BlakeI love to rise in a summer morn,When the birds sing on every tree;The distant huntsman winds his horn,And the sky-lark sings with me.O! what sweet company.But to go to school in a summer morn,O! it drives all joy away!Under a cruel eye outworn,The little ones spend the day,In sighing and dismay.Ah! then at times I drooping sit,And spend many an anxious hour,Nor in my book can I take delight,Nor sit in learnings bower,Worn thro' with the dreary shower.How can the bird that is born for joy,Sit in a cage and sing,How can a child when fears annoy,But droop his tender wing,And forget his youthful spring.O! father and mother, if buds are nip'd,And blossoms blown away,And if the tender plants are strip'dOf their joy in the springing day,By sorrow and cares dismay.How shall the summer arise in joy.Or the summer fruits appear.Or how shall we gather what griefs destroy Or bless the mellowing year,When the blasts of winter appear.【20】She Walks in Beauty--by Lord ByronShe walks in beauty, like the nightOf cloudless climes and starry skies;And all that's best of dark and brightMeet in her aspect and her eyes:Thus mellowed to that tender lightWhich heaven to gaudy day denies.One shade the more, one ray the less,Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress,Or softly lightens o'er her face;Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling place. And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,The smiles that win, the tints that glow,But tell of days in goodness spent,A mind at peace with all below,A heart whose love is innocent!。