Ideals Spring Poems

A Ballad of Trees and The Master

Sidney Lanier

Into the woods my Master went,

clean forspent, forspent;

into the woods my Master came,

forspent with love and shame.

But the olives they were not

blind to Him,

the little gray leaves were

kind to Him,

the thorn-tree had a mind to Him,

when into the woods He came.

Out of the woods my Master went,

and He was well content;

out of the woods my Master came,

content with death and shame.

When death and shame would

woo Him last,

from under the trees they

drew Him last,

’twas on a tree they slew Him last,

when out of the woods He came.

The Lamb

William Blake

Little Lamb, who made thee?

Dost thou know who made thee?

Gave thee life and bid thee feed.

By the stream and o’er the mead;

gave thee clothing of delight,

softest clothing wooly bright;

gave thee such a tender voice,

making all the vales rejoice.     

Little Lamb, who made thee?     

Dost thou know who made thee?

Little Lamb, I’ll tell thee,

Little Lamb, I’ll tell thee:

He is called by thy name,

for he calls himself a Lamb.

He is meek, and he is mild;

he became a little child.

I a child, and thou a lamb,

we are called by his name.     

Little Lamb, God bless thee!    

Little Lamb, God bless thee!

Rain, Rain, April Rain

Annette Wynne

Rain, rain, April rain,

washing tree and windowpane,

tapping every spot of ground,

lest some sleepy seed be found;

I can watch you and be gay

though I cannot go to play.

Rain, rain, April rain,

washer of the hill and plain,

summer could not be so gay

if it did not rain today,

and it’s fun to stay inside

and see you falling far and wide