3rd Grade Poetry Memorization
Students rehearse the title, author, poem, and then title and author to finish presentation.
There Was an Old Person Whose Habits by Edward Lear
There was an Old Person whose habits
Induced him to feed upon rabbits
When he’d eaten eighteen
He turned perfectly green
Upon which he relinquished those habits
A Young Lady Named Bright by Edward Lear
There was a young lady named Bright
Who traveled much faster than light
She started one day
In the relative way
And returned on the previous night
Song by William Shakespeare
(The Two Gentlemen of Verona)
Who is Silvia? What is she,
That all our swains commend her? *swains – male admirer
Holy, fair, and wise is she; *fair – lovely to look at
The heaven such grace did lend her,
That she might admired be.
Is she kind as she is fair?
For beauty lives with kindness.
Love doth to her eyes repair,
To help him of his blindness,
And, being help’d, inhabits there.
Then to Silvia let us sing,
That Silvia is excelling;
She excels each mortal thing
Upon the dull earth dwelling:
To her let us garlands bring.
Over Hill, over Dale by William Shakespeare
(A Midsummer-Night’s Dream)
Introduction: A fairy and Robin Good fellow, who is a mischievous spirit, meet on stage. Robin asks, “How now, spirit? Whither wander you?” The fairy answers with “Over Hill, over Dale.
Over hill, over dale, *dale - valley
Thorough bush, thorough briar, *briar - thorns
Over park, over pale, *pale – fenced in
Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moone’s sphere; *faster than the moon revolves around Earth
And I serve the fairy queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green. *organize fairy dances in the grass
The cowslips tall her pensioners be: *cowslips – fragrant yellow flower
In their gold coats spots you see; *pensioners – a hireling (queen’s bodyguards)
Those be rubies, fairy favours,
In those freckles live their savours: *savours – sweet smells
I must go seek some dewdrops here
And hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear.
Farewell, thou lob of spirits; I’ll be gone: *lob - clumsy
Our queen and all her elves come here anon. *anon - soon
The Yak by Hilaire Belloc
As a friend to the children, commend me the Yak
You will find it exactly the thing
It will carry and fetch, you can ride on its back
Or lead it about with a string
The Tartar who dwells on the plains of Tibet
(A desolate region of snow)
Has for centuries made it a nursery pet
And surely the Tartar should know
Then tell your papa where the Yak can be got
And if he is awfully rich
He will buy you the creature – or else he will not
(I cannot be positive which)
The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Part I: (everyone)
Listen my children and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five;
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.
Part II: (Student #1)
He said to his friend, “If the British march
By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch
Of the North Church tower as a signal light,
Part III: (Student #2)
One if by land, and two if by sea;
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and farm,
For the country folk to be up and to arm.”
Part IV: (Student #3)
Then he said “Good-night!” and with muffled oar
Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,
Just as the moon rose over the bay,
Where swinging wide at her moorings lay
The Somerset, British man-of-war;
Part V: (Student #4)
A phantom ship, with each mast and spar
Across the moon like a prison bar,
And a huge black hulk, that was magnified
By its own reflection in the tide.
Part VI: (Student #5)
Meanwhile, his friend through alley and street
Wanders and watches, with eager ears,
Till in the silence around him he hears
The muster of men at the barrack door,
Part VII: (Student #6)
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet,
And the measured tread of the grenadiers,
Marching down to their boats on the shore.
Part VIII: (Student #7)
Then he climbed the tower of the Old North Church
By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,
To the belfry chamber overhead,
And startled the pigeons from their perch
On the somber rafters, that round him made
Masses and moving shapes of shade,
Part IX: (Student #8)
By the trembling ladder, steep and tall,
To the highest window in the wall,
Where he paused to listen and look down
A moment on the roofs of the town
And the moonlight flowing over all.
Part X: (Student #9)
Beneath, in the churchyard lay the dead,
In their night encampment on the hill,
Wrapped in silence so deep and still
That he could hear, like a sentinel’s tread,
Part XI: (Student #10)
The watchful night-wind, as it went
Creeping along from tent to tent,
And seeming to whisper, “All is well!”
A moment only he feels the spell
Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread
Of the lonely belfry and the dead;
Part XII: (Student #11)
For suddenly all his thoughts are bent on a shadowy something far away,
Where the river widens to meet the bay,
A line of black that bends and floats
On the rising tide like a bridge of boats.
Part XIII: (Student #12)
Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.
Now he patted his horse's side,
Now gazed at the landscape far and near,
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth,
Part XIV: (Student #13)
And turned and tightened his saddle girth;
But mostly he watched with eager search
The belfry-tower of the Old North Church,
As it rose above the graves on the hill,
Lonely and spectral and somber and still.
Part XV: (Student #14)
And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight
A second lamp in the belfry burns!
Part XVI: (Student #15)
A hurry of hoofs in a village street,
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,
And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark
Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet:
Part XVII: (Student #16)
That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,
The fate of a nation was riding that night;
And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,
Kindled the land into flame with its heat.
Part XVIII: (Student #17)
He has left the village and mounted the steep,
And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep,
Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides;
And under the alders, that skirt its edge,
Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge,
Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides.
Part XVIX: (Student #18)
It was twelve by the village clock,
When he crossed the bridge into Medford town.
He heard the crowing of the cock,
And the barking of the farmer's dog,
And felt the damp of the river fog,
That rises after the sun goes down.
Part XX: (Student #19)
It was one by the village clock,
When he galloped into Lexington.
He saw the gilded weathercock
Swim in the moonlight as he passed,
Part XXI: (Student #20)
And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare,
Gaze at him with a spectral glare,
As if they already stood aghast
At the bloody work they would look upon.
Part XXII: (Student #21)
It was two by the village clock,
When he came to the bridge in Concord town.
He heard the bleating of the flock,
And the twitter of birds among the trees,
Part XXIII: (Student #22)
And felt the breath of the morning breeze
Blowing over the meadows brown.
And one was safe and asleep in his bed
Who at the bridge would be first to fall,
Who that day would be lying dead,
Pierced by a British musket-ball.
Part XXIV: (Student #23)
You know the rest. In the books you have read,
How the British Regulars fired and fled, —
How the farmers gave them ball for ball,
From behind each fence and farm-yard wall,
Part XXV: (Student #24)
Chasing the red-coats down the lane,
Then crossing the fields to emerge again
Under the trees at the turn of the road,
And only pausing to fire and load.
Part XVI: (Student #25)
So through the night rode Paul Revere;
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every Middlesex village and farm, —
Part XXVII: (Student #26)
A cry of defiance and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo forevermore!
Part XXVIII: (everyone)
For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,
Through all our history, to the last,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,
And the midnight message of Paul Revere.
The Swing by Robert Louis Stevenson
How do you like to go up in a swing,
Up in the air so blue?
Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing
Ever a child can do!
Up in the air and over the wall,
‘Till I can see so wide,
Rivers and trees and cattle and all
Over the countryside—
‘Till I look down on the garden green,
Down on the roof so brown—
Up in the air I go flying again,
Up in the air and down!
The Swan and the Goose by William Ellery Leonard
A rich man bought a Swan and a Goose—
That for song, and this for use
It chanced his simple-minded cook
One night the Swan for Goose mistook
But in the dark about to chop
The Swan in two above the crop
He heard the lyric note, and stayed
The action of the fatal blade
And thus we see a proper tune
Is sometimes very opportune
The Spider and the Fly by Mary Howitt
“Will you walk into my parlor?” said the spider to the fly;
“‘Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you may spy.
The way into my parlor is up a winding stair,
And I have many curious things to show when you are there.”
“Oh no, no,” said the little fly; “to ask me is in vain,
For who goes up your winding stair can ne’er come down again.”
“I’m sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high.
Will you rest upon my little bed?” said the spider to the fly.
“There are pretty curtains drawn around; the sheets are fine and thin,
And if you like to rest awhile, I’ll snugly tuck you in!”
“Oh no, no,” said the little fly, “for I’ve often heard it said,
They never, never wake again who sleep upon your bed!”
Said the cunning spider to the fly: “Dear friend, what can I do
To prove the warm affection I’ve always felt for you?
I have within my pantry good store of all that’s nice;
I’m sure you’re very welcome – will you please take a slice?”
“Oh no, no,” said the little fly; “kind sir, that cannot be;
I’ve heard what’s in your pantry and I do not wish to see!”
“Sweet creature!” said the spider, “you’re witty and you’re wise;
How handsome are you gauzy wings; how brilliant are your eyes!
I have a little looking-glass upon my parlor shelf;
If you’d step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself.”
“I thank you, gentle sir,” she said, “for what you’re pleased to say,
And, bidding you good morning now, I’ll call another day.”
The spider turned him round about, and went into his den,
For well he knew the silly fly would soon come back again:
So he wove a subtle web in a little corner sly,
And set his table ready to dine upon the fly;
Then came out to his door again and merrily did sing:
“Come hither, hither, pretty fly, with pearl and silver wing;
Your robes are green and purple; there’s a crest up on your head;
Your eyes are like diamonds bright, but mine are dull as lead!”
Alas, alas! How very soon this silly little fly,
Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by;
With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew,
Thinking only of her brilliant eyes and green and purple hue,
Thinking only of her crested head. Poor, foolish thing! At last
Up jumped the cunning spider, and fiercely held her fast;
He dragged her up his winding stair, into the dismal den –
Within his little parlor – but she ne’er came out again!
And now, dear little children, who may this story read,
To idle, silly flattering words I pray you ne’er give heed;
Unto an evil counselor close heart and ear and eye,
And take a lesson from this tale of the spider and the fly.