Old Grandpa's Book of Practical Poems

Oh Captain, my Captain, in Xanadu the word had gone around, yesterday upon a stair, Abou Ben Adhem, seated one day at the organ, gathered him rosebuds while he may in a rose red city, half as old as time. Did you get them all? Would your grandchildren?

This is the third edition of a canonical collection of English verse that young people of all ages can benefit from encountering. It is for grandparents to buy, and the selections are mainly intended for reading aloud: adult to child; child to child; child to adult. The reader will find the verse and poetry, British, North American or Australian, that bobs up in allusions and in crosswords, in educated conversation, grouped under these rough headings: Short, Sweet and Sour; Pieces to Get the Tongue Around; Parodies; Fun with words; Adventures; Stories; Travel; Myths and Other Animals; Books and the arts; Seasons; Love and beauty; Funny; Society and its oddities; Nature; Science; Sport and The game of war. The poems are followed by brief notes on the poets.

Above all, this is a work of love, both of language and also of grandchildren, official and unofficial, everywhere. All of the works are in the public domain other than the ones written by Duncan Bain, who is a close relative and has assigned me his rights.

Here, you will find where these lines come from, among others:
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread - and Thou
A rose-red city half as old as time.
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silvery Tay !
By channels of coolness the echoes are calling,
Come live with me, and be my love,
God made the wicked Grocer
Hail to thee, blithe spirit!
Hey there! Hoop-la! The circus is in town!
Ho, for the Pirate Don Durk of Dowdee!
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
'I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine.'
I had written him a letter which I had, for want of better
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
In summertime on Bredon
It is Christmas Day in the workhouse, and the cold, bare walls are bright
It was built of bark and poles, and the roof was full of holes
Jenny kiss'd me when we met,
King David and King Solomon
My candle burns at both ends;
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings
Oh I have been to Ludlow fair
Oh, who would paint a goldfield,
On the outer Barcoo where the churches are few,
Patter, patter ... Boolcoolatta,
Seated one day at the organ,
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
She walks in beauty like the night
Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair;
Some moment when the moon was blood
Swans sing before they die - 'twere no bad thing
The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
The boy stood on the burning deck,
The night we went to Birmingham by way of Beachy Head.
The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea
The Pobble who has no toes
There's a breathless hush in the Close to-night --
There's a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu,
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
To see a World in a Grain of Sand
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
Triantiwontigongolope.
Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that caught the cycling craze;
Under a spreading chestnut-tree
When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes
"Will you walk a little faster?" said a whiting to a snail.
Will you walk into my parlour?" said the Spider to the Fly,
With fingers weary and worn,
"You are old, Father William," the young man said,