DAFFODILS by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

This is another one of my favorite poems, which I learned about in the 8th grade at the good ole Houghton School in Cambridge, Mass

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:

I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost

I was in  Harvard Square last night and stopped in the Curious George children's store.  I was browsing the book selection when I stumbled across "Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening.  That book brought back so many memories.   I learned that poem in the 8th grade at the Houghton School in Cambridge.  The school curriculum at the Houghton School was the best ever.  The things I learned have stuck in my head over the years.  Did you know that the Great Lakes spells HOMES:
HuronOntarioMichiganErieSuperior. 

Our  teacher Regina B. Key,  used to rap, before rapping became a phenomenon. She would write on the board "Mary went to the store" and we would recite while she tapped the ruler on the desk with a rhythmic beat,  "Mary is the subject therefore nominated case, first person singular".  Let me share one of my favorite  poem's with you.

Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening

By Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep

Enjoy!