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Poems Teachers Ask For, Book Two
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Now Jim, the young heaven-built mechanic, in the dusk of the evening before,
Had well-nigh unjointed the stovepipe, to make it come down on the floor;
And the squire bringing smartly his foot down, as a clincher to what he had said,
A joint of the pipe fell upon him, and larruped him square on the head.
The soot flew in clouds all about him, and blotted with black all the place
And the squire and the other four fathers were peppered with black in the face.
The school, ever sharp for amusement, laid down all their cumbersome books
And, spite of the teacher's endeavors, laughed loud at their visitors' looks.
And the squire, as he stalked to the doorway, swore oaths of a violet hue;
And the four district fathers, who followed, seemed to say: "Them's my sentiments tew."
Will Carleton.
Mother o' Mine
If I were hanged on the highest hill,
Mother o' mine!
Oh, mother o' mine!
I know whose love would follow me still;
Mother o' mine!
Oh, mother o' mine!
If I were drowned in the deepest sea,
Mother o' mine!
Oh, mother o' mine!
I know whose tears would flow down to me,
Mother o' mine!
Oh, mother o' mine!
If I were damned o' body and soul,
Mother o' mine!
Oh, mother o' mine!
I know whose prayers would make me whole,
Mother o' mine!
Oh, mother o' mine!
Rudyard Kipling.
Encouragement
Who dat knockin' at de do'?
Why, Ike Johnson—yes, fu' sho'!
Come in, Ike. I's mighty glad
You come down. I t'ought you's mad
At me 'bout de othah night,
An' was stayin' 'way fu' spite.
Say, now, was you mad fu' true
W'en I kin' o' laughed at you?
Speak up, Ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f.
'Tain't no use a-lookin' sad,
An' a-mekin' out you's mad;
Ef you's gwine to be so glum,
Wondah why you evah come.
I don't lak nobidy 'roun'
Dat jes' shet dey mouf an' frown—
Oh, now, man, don't act a dunce!
Cain't you talk? I tol' you once,
Speak up, Ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f.
Wha'd you come hyeah fu' to-night?
Body'd t'ink yo' haid ain't right.
I's done all dat I kin do—
Dressed perticler, jes' fu' you;
Reckon I'd a' bettah wo'
My ol' ragged calico.
Aftah all de pains I's took,
Cain't you tell me how I look?
Speak up, Ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f.
Bless my soul! I 'mos' fu'got
Tellin' you 'bout Tildy Scott.
Don't you know, come Thu'sday night,
She gwine ma'y Lucius White?
Miss Lize say I allus wuh
Heap sight laklier 'n huh;
An' she'll git me somep'n new,
Ef I wants to ma'y too.
Speak up, Ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f.
I could ma'y in a week,
If de man I wants 'ud speak.
Tildy's presents 'll be fine,
But dey wouldn't ekal mine.
Him whut gits me fu' a wife
'll be proud, you bet yo' life.
I's had offers, some ain't quit;
But I hasn't ma'ied yit!
Speak up, Ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f.
Ike, I loves you—yes, I does;
You's my choice, and allus was.
Laffin' at you ain't no harm—
Go 'way, dahky, whah's yo' arm?
Hug me closer—dah, da's right!
Wasn't you a awful sight,
Havin' me to baig you so?
Now ax whut you want to know—
Speak up, Ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f.
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Книга дельная. Без воды, приводятся реальные кейсы и способы их разрешения. Много практичных полезных советов и методик. Кое-что уже испробовала в дел...
Далее