The Holidays
"Ah! don't you remember, 'tis almost December,
And soon will the holidays come;
Oh, 'twill be so funny, I've plenty of money,
I'll buy me a sword and a drum. "
Thus said little Harry, unwilling to tarry,
Impatient from school to depart;
But we shall discover, this holiday lover
Knew little what was in his heart.
For when on returning, he gave up his learning,
Away from his sums and his books,
Though playthings surrounded, and sweetmeats abounded,
Chagrin still appear'd in his looks.
Though first they delighted, his toys were now slighted,
And thrown away out of his sight;
He spent every morning in stretching and yawning,
Yet went to bed weary at night.
He had not that treasure which really makes pleasure,
(A secret discover'd by few).
You'll take it for granted, more playthings he wanted;
Oh naught was something to do.
We must have employment to give us enjoyment
And pass the time cheerfully away;
And study and reading give pleasure, exceeding
The pleasures of toys and of play.
To school now returningto study and learning
With eagerness Harry applied;
He felt no aversion to books or exertion,
Nor yet for the holidays sigh'd.
poem by Jane Taylor
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Related quotes
The Holidays
'AH! don't you remember, 'tis almost December,
And soon will the holidays come;
Oh, 'twill be so funny, I've plenty of money,
I'll buy me a sword and a drum. '
Thus said little Harry, unwilling to tarry,
Impatient from school to depart;
But we shall discover, this holiday lover
Knew little what was in his heart.
For when on returning, he gave up his learning,
Away from his sums and his books,
Though playthings surrounded, and sweetmeats abounded,
Chagrin still appear'd in his looks.
Though first they delighted, his toys were now slighted,
And thrown away out of his sight;
He spent every morning in stretching and yawning,
Yet went to bed weary at night.
He had not that treasure which really makes pleasure,
(A secret discover'd by few).
You'll take it for granted, more playthings he wanted;
Oh no–it was something to do.
We must have employment to give us enjoyment
And pass the time cheerfully away;
And study and reading give pleasure, exceeding
The pleasures of toys and of play.
To school now returning–to study and learning
With eagerness Harry applied;
He felt no aversion to books or exertion,
Nor yet for the holidays sigh'd.
poem by Ann Taylor
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The Dress-Maker
A CLOISTERED nun had a lover
Dwelling in the neighb'ring town;
Both racked their brains to discover
How they best their love might crown.
The swain to pass the convent-door!--
No easy matter!--Thus they swore,
And wished it light.--I ne'er knew a nun
In such a pass to be outdone:--
In woman's clothes the youth must dress,
And gain admission. I confess
The ruse has oft been tried before,
But it succeeded as of yore.
Together in a close barred cell
The lovers were, and sewed all day,
Nor heeded how time flew away.--
"What's that I hear? Refection bell!
"'Tis time to part. Adieu!--Farewell!--
"How's this?" exclaimed the abbess, "why
"The last at table?"--"Madam, I
"Have had my dress-maker."--"The rent
"On which you've both been so intent
"Is hard to stop, for the whole day
"To sew and mend, you made her stay;
"Much work indeed you've had to do!
"--Madam, 't would last the whole night through,
"When in our task we find enjoyment
"There is no end of the employment."
poem by La Fontaine
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Boor Play
Every holiday
I was
Happy about...
My school life...
All holidays
Are not festvel
But..
I was happy about
Holidays...
School was very boor...
I was read story books...
Play some gams...
Think some more thing...
So...
I love and love
Holidays...
Today also
I love the holidays
For play...
For write...
For thing...
For love...
So...
My life is not boor...
My job is not boor...
Some time my mood
Boor...
I love and play boor...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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All Of Your Toys (Master Backing Track Take 20)
Once upon a once in awhile
It's hard to remember to smile
Just like all of your toys
Can't you see I don't wanna play
I don't need it
Can't you say you want me to stay
I'll believe it
Just like all of your toys
When all of your playthings someday disappear
Girl, will you be happy, with nothing but tears?
With nothing but tears?
Once upon a once in awhile
It's hard to remember to smile
Just like all of your toys
Don't you ever feel kinda sad
'Cause you're lonely?
Thinkin' 'bout the love that we had?
Are you lonely?
Just like all of your toys
When all of your playthings someday disappear
Girl, will you be happy, with nothing but tears?
With nothing but tears?
Just like all of your toys, I don't wanna be
Just like all of your toys, I don't need to be
Just like all of your, just like all of your toys
Just like all of your toys
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Uncle Harry
Oh, never let on to your own true love
That ever you drank a drop;
That ever you played in a two-up school
Or slept in a sly-grog shop;
That ever a bad girl nursed you round –
That ever you sank so low.
But she pulled you through, and it's only you
And your old mate Harry know.
"Billy the Link" they called you then,
And it makes me sad to think
Of the strenuous days when it took three cops
And a pimp to couple the Link.
"Mister Linkhurst" they call you now,
And your kitchen garden grows;
And no one knows in your family,
But your Uncle Harry knows.
Oh, never let on to your fair young bride
How a "straight" girl stabbed your heart
With a devilish wire to the Western side
Where we were a world apart.
With pick and shovel you fought it out
Where the red sirocco blows;
And no one knew in the gang save you –
But your old mate Harry knows.
Oh, never let on to your own good wife,
For a tender heart has she,
Of the girl that loved and the girl that lies
In the graveyard there by the sea!
'Twas not for his "manners" she loved the cad,
'Twas not for his verse or prose,
But the pity she felt for the country lad –
And your Uncle Harry knows.
The bad girl went where the bad girls go
And I see her dark eyes yet;
The good girl left me her broken heart,
But I trow that their souls have met.
The cry of the heart we send not forth
On every wind that blows;
You are hiding a sorrow from someone now –
But your Uncle Harry knows.
poem by Henry Lawson
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The Little Big Man
I am small because I am a little child. I shall be big when I am
as old as my father is.
My teacher will come and say, "It is late, bring your slate
and your books."
I shall tell him, " Do you not know I am as big as father? And
I must not have lessons any more."
My master will wonder and say, "He can leave his books if he
likes, for he is grown up."
I shall dress myself and walk to the fair where the crowd is
thick.
My uncle will come rushing up to me and say, "You will get
lost, my boy; let me carry you."
I shall answer, "Can't you see, uncle, I am as big as father?
I must go to the fair alone."
Uncle will say, "Yes, he can go wherever he likes, for he is
grown up."
Mother will come from her bath when I am giving money to my
nurse, for I shall know how to open the box with my key.
Mother will say, "What are you about, naughty child?"
I shall tell her, "Mother, don't you know, I am as big as
father, and I must give silver to my nurse."
Mother will say to herself, "He can give money to whom he
likes, for he is grown up."
In the holiday time in October father will come home and,
thinking that I am still a baby, will bring for me from the town
little shoes and small silken frocks.
I shall say, "Father, give them to my data, for I am as big
as you are."
Father will think and say, "He can buy his own clothes if he
likes, for he is grown up."
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Tom
That Tom was poor was sure a pity,
Such guts for learning had the lad;
He took to Greek like babe to titty,
And he was mathematic mad.
I loved to prime him up with knowledge,
A brighter lad I never knew;
I dreamed that he would go to college
And there be honoured too.
But no! His Dad said, "Son, I need you
To keep the kettle on the boil;
No longer can I clothe and feed you,
Buy study books and midnight oil.
I carry on as best I'm able,
A humble tailor, as you know;
And you must squat cross-legged a table
And learn to snip and sew."
And that is what poor Tom is doing.
He bravely makes the best of it;
But as he "fits" you he is knowing
That he himself is a misfit;
And thinks as he fulfils his calling,
With patient heart yet deep distaste,
Like clippings from his shears down-falling,
--He, too, is Waste.
poem by Robert William Service
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one day at school, Korea (1801)
I don’t like school, Sir
most venerable teacher;
and though you are kind, Sir
and all my classmates too
and you all help me study and learn
like you make me know
the first five characters in the alphabet
but the moment I am out of school
all I can remember
are the rice-cakes and sweets and the dumplings my mother makes
and true, Sir
most venerable teacher
you teach me the numbers
and I can count from 1 to 5
when I am in class
but when I’m out
I love the toys my father brings
and I play with the wooden toy soldiers
and I love the ducks and the clay horses;
and I really can’t remember the first five letters
or the first five characters
when I lie in bed
and when I am back in class Sir
dragged in by Old Madam Toothless Bong
who always knows where I am wherever I try to run
I can’t remember anything anyone taught me, Sir
most venerable teacher...
I know Sir
all of you have spoken to me
and my dad and my mom
and Old Madam Toothless Bong
and all my friends in class
I must study so I can go to the city and find work
but alI I want to do, Sir
most venerable teacher
is to play and eat and sleep when it is time
and one day, Sir
most venerable teacher
(I know you worry about me)
when I’m grown and big
I’ll make toys and I’ll sell them
and make money for me and my family;
and I’ll make all those sweets and dumplings
and feed my family...
so please, Sir
most venerable teacher
because I don’t like school
and I can’t remember anything
do not worry about me and let me go to the fields now
and I shall grow to be tall as the trees
and as rich as the rice fields...
________________ _________________________
poem based on painting: “Seodang”
(private elementary school in town)
by Kim Hong-do, Danwon (1745-1806)
poem by Raj Arumugam
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School Days
School days, school days
where did the summer go
the beaches, festivals and summer love
time to get the backpacks ready
time to move on to the next grade
see old friends, meet new one
we all hate the first day, but love the last
no more sleeping late
now all we have is due dates
days of no work, now tons of homework
study, study study
all we dread is quizzes, but its good for the wizs
no late hangouts, no more all niter's
now we all worry about fighters
we all dream for summer to come
one by one the days go by
when is there a holiday
School day, school days
give me some school breaks
poem by Michael Peterson
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Wisdom
(Proverbs, viii. 22-31)
"Ere God had built the mountains,
Or raised the fruitful hills;
Before he fill'd the fountains
That feed the running rills;
In me from everlasting,
The wonderful I am,
Found pleasures never wasting,
And Wisdom is my name.
"When, like a tent to dwell in,
He spread the skies abroad,
And swathed about the swelling
Of Ocean's mighty flood;
He wrought by weight and measure,
And I was with Him then:
Myself the Father's pleasure,
And mine, the sons of men."
Thus Wisdom's words discover
Thy glory and Thy grace,
Thou everlasting lover
Of our unworthy race!
Thy gracious eye survey'd us
Ere stars were seen above;
In wisdom thou hast made us,
And died for us in love.
And couldst thou be delighted
With creatures such as we,
Who, when we saw Thee, slighted,
And nail'd Thee to a tree?
Unfathomable wonder,
And mystery divine!
The voice that speaks in thunder,
Says, "Sinner, I am thine!"
poem by William Cowper
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Greedy Richard
"I think I want some pies this morning,"
Said Dick, stretching himself and yawning;
So down he threw his slate and books,
And saunter'd to the pastry-cook's.
And there he cast his greedy eyes
Round on the jellies and the pies,
So to select, with anxious care,
The very nicest that was there.
At last the point was thus decided:
As his opinion was divided
'Twixt pie and jelly, being loth
Either to leave, he took them both.
Now Richard never could be pleased
To stop when hunger was appeased,
But would go on to eat still more
When he had had an ample store.
"No, not another now," said Dick;
"Dear me, I feel extremely sick:
I cannot even eat this bit;
I wish I had not tasted it. "
Then slowing rising from his seat,
He threw his cheesecake in the street,
And left the tempting pastry-cook's
With very discontented looks.
Just then a man with wooden leg
Met Dick, and held his hat to beg;
And while he told his mournful case,
Look'd at him with imploring face.
Dick, wishing to relieve his pain,
His pockets search'd, but search'd in vain;
And so at last he did declare,
He had not left a farthing there.
The beggar turn'd with face of grief,
And look of patient unbelief,
While Richard now his folly blamed,
And felt both sorry and ashamed.
"I wish," said he (but wishing's vain),
"I had my money back again,
And had not spent my last, to pay
For what I only threw away.
"Another time, I'll take advice,
And not buy things because they're nice;
But rather save my little store,
To give to those who want it more."
poem by Jane Taylor
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School School School
Every school has a name but
school is so lame
school what can I say
school im there like every day
school is like a prison, you can nver escape
school is like having a detencion every day
school you tell us to do schoolwork and at home we have to do homework: (
school, school, school
work, work, work
study, study, study
test, test, test it all goes trough my mind
what else should i do
might the principle think; .
My school
My rules
My way or the hard way
This is what i think
Im
Victor Arambula
poem by Somebody U Will Never Know
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Summer holidays
The greatest time of the year
Summer holidays
Much freedom and a pint of beer
Summer holidays
Just do what you want
There’s no need to pant
Just have some fun with your friends
Summer holidays
You got even time to watch the ants
Summer holidays
Don’t ever dare to think of school
Summer holidays have no rules
Meet friends, have fun or just chill out
Buy milk, go swim or eat an ice upon a roundabout
You understand what they are like?
Summer holidays are the time of your life!
poem by Kevin Deckert
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School's out
Well we got no choice
All the girls and boys
Makin all that noise
'Cause they found new toys
Well we can't salute ya
Can't find a flag
If that don't suit ya
That's a drag
School's out for summer
School's out forever
School's been blown to pieces
No more pencils
No more books
No more teacher's dirty looks
Well we got no class
And we got no principles
And we got no innocence
We can't even think of a word that rhymes
School's out for summer
School's out forever
School's been blown to pieces
No more pencils
No more books
No more teacher's dirty looks
Out for summer
Out till fall
We might not go back at all
School's out forever
School's out for summer
School's out with fever
School's out completely.
poem by Killed Killa
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Harry the Wu
What can I do, Harry the Wu,
A policeman will come
And ask questions of you,
He'll pull out his book
And his pencil, too,
And look very sternly
At Harry the Wu.
Oh, Harry the Wu, what did you do,
While I was in bed
Going down with the flu,
I didn't get up until
Half past two,
And you're so impatient,
Harry the Wu.
I knew there was something that
I had to do,
I had to get up and feed
Harry the Wu,
That bowl in the fridge of
The left-over stew
Was meant for your dinner,
Harry the Wu.
Oh what can I do, Harry the Wu,
They'll probably lock you
Away in the zoo,
And then you will miss me
And I'll miss you too,
Life is a tragedy,
Harry the Wu.
I thought that you knew,
Harry the Wu,
That there are some things
You are not meant to do,
Now all that is left is
The Postman's shoe,
His hat and his bag
You have eaten them too.
What can I do, Harry the Wu,
You've ripped off the policeman's
Trousers, too,
You'd better go hide in
The chimney flu,
Stop wagging your tail at me
Harry the Wu.
13 April 2009
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Two Schools
I put my heart to school
In the world, where men grow wise,
"Go out," I said, "and learn the rule;
Come back when you win a prize."
My heart came back again:
"Now where is the prize?" I cried. ----
"The rule was false, and the prize was pain,
And the teacher's name was Pride."
I put my heart to school
In the woods, where veeries sing,
And brooks run cool and clear;
In the fields, where wild flowers spring,
And the blue of heaven bends near.
"Go out," I said: "you are half a fool,
But perhaps they can teach you here."
"And why do you stay so long,
My heart, and where do you roam?"
The answer came with a laugh and a song, ---
"I find this school is home."
poem by Henry Van Dyke
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Everything Ill Ever Own
(johnny mcrae, bob morrison)
Funny you can hold it in your hand
And never cause youre afraid to play
And you can feel your dreams
Softly slipping through your fingers
Till theyre so far away
Sitting there surrounded
By your many lifes possessions
Feeling so much more than all the load
You realized youve learned one more
Of livings many lessons
Loves worth more than all youll ever own
Chorus:
What Id give if you were here beside me
We could spend forever here alone
Oh what Id give what would I give
Just that moment
Just everything Ill ever own
Funny when I really had it all
I never knew
Cause I just couldnt see
The wealth I hoped to find
Couldnt even hold a candle
To the love you gave to me
Ive taken love for granted
And Ive taken love for pleasure
Never taking time to understand
Now I know that loving you
Has been my greatest treasure
And I let it slip right through my hands
Repeat chorus
song performed by by Reba Mcentire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Book Lover
I keep collecting books I know
I'll never, never read;
My wife and daughter tell me so,
And yet I never head.
"Please make me," says some wistful tome,
"A wee bit of yourself."
And so I take my treasure home,
And tuck it in a shelf.
And now my very shelves complain;
They jam and over-spill.
They say: "Why don't you ease our strain?"
"some day," I say, "I will."
So book by book they plead and sigh;
I pick and dip and scan;
Then put them back, distrest that I
Am such a busy man.
Now, there's my Boswell and my Sterne,
my Gibbon and Defoe;
To savour Swift I'll never learn,
Montaigne I may not know.
On Bacon I will never sup,
For Shakespeare I've no time;
Because I'm busy making up
These jingly bits of rhyme.
Chekov is caviare to me,
While Stendhal makes me snore;
Poor Proust is not my cup of tea,
And Balzac is a bore.
I have their books, I love their names,
And yet alas! they head,
With Lawrence, Joyce and Henry James,
My Roster of Unread.
I think it would be very well
If I commit a crime,
And get put in a prison cell
And not allowed to rhyme;
Yet given all these worthy books
According to my need,
I now caress with loving looks,
But never, never read.
poem by Robert William Service
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The Night Before School Starts
‘Twas the night before school starts,
And all through the city,
Parents were filled with joy.
They were downright giddy.
Children huddled in beds,
Many shed a tear.
Thoughts of returning to school
Filled them with fear.
All around the city,
Parents said what they love to say;
"Better get to bed now.
Tomorrow's a school day! "
poem by Bruce Larkin
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My dream, I remember, when I went to boarding school, was to have a study all my own, a little nook someplace where nobody could get at me - nobody, like the football coach.
quote by Harry Mathews
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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