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	<title>Classic Children&#039;s Stories</title>
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		<title>Pick of the Week</title>
		<link>http://childhoodreading.com/?p=88</link>
		<comments>http://childhoodreading.com/?p=88#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 16 Mar 2011 08:00:49 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Melissa</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Pick of the Week]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[Happy Birthday to Illustrator, T. Kyle Gentry! &#8211; 3/19/2011 Earl, David G. Koala Koala, I&#8217;m Not A Bear, I&#8217;m A Koala. Ill. T. Kyle Gentry. Koala Koala is not a bear; he&#8217;s a koala just a koala. However, when he meets his new teacher, who knows everything about everything, he must prove that he is [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p><strong>Happy Birthday to Illustrator, T. Kyle Gentry! &#8211; 3/19/2011</strong></p>
<p><strong>Earl, David G. <em>Koala Koala, I&#8217;m Not A Bear, I&#8217;m A Koala</em>. Ill. T. Kyle Gentry.</strong><br />
Koala Koala is not a bear; he&#8217;s a koala just a koala. However, when he meets his new teacher, who knows everything about everything, he must prove that he is not a koala bear. This proves to be a frustrating and demanding task when his classmates and even his best friend Wumbatt have doubts. Keep up with Koala Koala and Friends at: www.koalakoala.com<br />
</br></p>
<p><strong>Enderle, Dotti. <em>Grandpa for Sale</em>. Ill. T. Kyle Gentry.</strong><br />
Writers&#8217; League of Texas Teddy Children&#8217;s Book Award 2007 winner, short works; 2008 Storytelling World Resource Award winner<br />
As her Grandpa naps on the sofa, Lizzie minds the family antique store. When the extravagantly rich Mrs. Bradley Larchmont III enters the shop and begins a buying spree, she refuses to leave without bargaining for an unexpected item&#8230; Lizzie’s Grandpa! As the stakes rise, Lizzie imagines all of the fabulous things she could buy with the money she is offered. But what fun would a sailboat, an ice cream parlor, or an amusement park be without Grandpa? Readers will enjoy the clever play between gray tones and vivid color that illustrates Lizzie’s growing conflict. This farcical storyline, coupled with vibrant paintings, ultimately stresses the importance of family and friendship over material possessions and selfish, money-driven desires.<br />
</br></p>
<p><strong>Enderle, Dotti. <em>Hidden</em>. Ill. T. Kyle Gentry.</strong><br />
A sealed envelope reveals clues to a hidden treasure. Twelve-year-old Fiona finds an unopened love letter containing mysterious symbols when she and her parents clear out her recently deceased grandmother&#8217;s house. She soon realizes the symbols contain clues to a long-hidden treasure, and suddenly, her grandmother&#8217;s house and belongings are more than just old, boring junk. Solving the mystery requires Fiona to learn more about both astronomy and mythology as she discovers the clues to two murders and a kidnapping, encounters a ghost, and eventually finds buried treasure.<br />
</br></p>
<p><strong>Becker, Brooke. <em>The Adventures of Sammy Snowflake (v. I)</em>. Ill. T. Kyle Gentry.</strong><br />
This is the story of Sammy the Snowflake and change. Sammy is introduced to the snowflake facts of life by his parents. He learns that a snowflake&#8217;s life is all about change; changing from flake to water to vapor and then back to flake. He doesn&#8217;t want to change as he likes his life just the way it is. He decides to go on a journey to find Weather, because for him, it seems that Weather is the cause of all this changing. He figures that if he can convince Weather not to change, then he won&#8217;t have to. His best friend Sylvie accompanies him on this quest across the cloud to the Hidden Crystalline Monastery. That is where the Great and Wise Snowflake Elders reside, and they are the only ones who know how to find Weather. And so begins the long, exciting, and dangerous adventure!<br />
</br><br />
</br><br />
<strong>Pick of the Week: 3/14/2011</strong></p>
<p><strong>Wood, Audrey. <em>King Bidgood&#8217;s in the Bathtub</em>. Ill. Don Wood.</strong><br />
In this delightful story, the king refuses to leave his bathtub and rule the kingdom. One by one, the Knight, the Queen, the Duke, and eventually all the members of the King&#8217;s Court attempt&#8211;and fail&#8211;to persuade King Bidgood to leave his sumptuous bath. Why King Bidgood finally leaves his bathtub makes a delightful surprise ending to this exuberant tale.<br />
</br><br />
</br><br />
<strong>Pick of the Week: 3/7/2011</strong></p>
<p><strong>Shaw, Nancy E. <em>Sheep in a Jeep</em>. Ill. Margot Apple.</strong><br />
This story, much like the jeep, gathers momentum from page one. When five foolish sheep cram into one jeep, their high spirits and occasional lack of foresight (like forgetting to steer) combine to make a riotous, if ill-fated, road trip. Plummeting over a hill, tumbling into a mud puddle, yelping for help, these muttonheads just can&#8217;t get their act together, much to the delight of young readers.<br />
</br></p>
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		<item>
		<title>February 2011 Picks</title>
		<link>http://childhoodreading.com/?p=87</link>
		<comments>http://childhoodreading.com/?p=87#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sat, 26 Feb 2011 08:00:46 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Melissa</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Pick of the Week]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://childhoodreading.com/?p=87</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Pick of the Week: 2/28/2011 Tresselt, Alvin. White Snow, Bright Snow. Ill. Roger Duvoisin. When the first flakes fell from the grey sky, the postman and the farmer and the policeman and his wife scurried about doing all the practical things grownups do when a snowstorm comes. But the children laughed and danced, and caught [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p><strong>Pick of the Week: 2/28/2011</strong></p>
<p><strong>Tresselt, Alvin. <em>White Snow, Bright Snow</em>. Ill. Roger Duvoisin.</strong><br />
When the first flakes fell from the grey sky, the postman and the farmer and the policeman and his wife scurried about doing all the practical things grownups do when a snowstorm comes. But the children laughed and danced, and caught the lacy snowflakes on thier tongues.<br />
All the wonder and delight a child feels in a snowfall is caught in the pages of this book &#8212; the frost ferns on the window sill, the snow man in the yard and the mystery and magic of a new white world. Roger Duvoisin&#8217;s pictures in soft blue half-tones with briliant splashes of yellow and red emphasize the gaiety and humor as well as the poetic quality of the text.<br />
</br><br />
</br><br />
<strong>Pick of the Week: 2/14/2011</strong></p>
<p><strong>Bond, Felicia. <em>Day It Rained Hearts</em>.</strong><br />
One day it rains hearts, and Cornelia Augusta catches them. Each heart is special in its own way, and Cornelia Augusta knows exactly who to send them to.<br />
</br><br />
</br><br />
<strong>Pick of the Week: 2/7/2011</strong></p>
<p><strong>Boynton, Sandra. <em>The Going-To-Bed Book</em>.</strong><br />
For a little one who is reluctant to go to bed, sometimes a silly book is just the ticket. And when it comes to silly books, Sandra Boynton is the undisputed queen. In The Going to Bed Book, an ark full of animals watches the sun go down and then prepares for bed. They take a bath (&#8220;in one big tub&#8221;), find pajamas, brush their teeth, do exercises up on deck (imagine an elephant jumping rope, a moose lifting weights, and a pig doing handstands), and finally say good night. Boynton&#8217;s inimitable animal characters have graced the pages of scads of picture books over the years. She has an extraordinary knack for knowing what appeals to small children: simple rhymes, goofy animals in goofy settings, and sweet, comforting stories. This book, along with her many other board-book titles (Moo, Baa, La La La!, But Not the Hippopotamus, and others) will surely remain a favorite.<br />
</br><br />
</br><br />
<strong>Chinese New Year: 2/3/2011</strong></p>
<p><strong>Holub, Joan. <em>Dragon Dance: A Chinese New Year Lift-the-Flap Book</em>. Ill. Benrei Huang.</strong><br />
It&#8217;s Chinese New Year and there are so many fun things to do! Shopping at the outdoor market for fresh flowers, eating New Year&#8217;s dinner with the whole family, receiving red envelopes from Grandma and Grandpa, and best of all-watching the spectacular Chinese New Year&#8217;s parade! Introduce the customs of Chinese New Year to even the youngest readers with this festive new lift-the-flap book.<br />
</br></p>
<p><strong>Yim, Shirin. <em>Ruby&#8217;s Wish</em>. Ill. Sophie Blackall.</strong><br />
Ruby is unlike most little girls in old China. Instead of aspiring to get married, Ruby is determined to attend university when she grows up, just like the boys in her family. Based upon the inspirational story of the author&#8217;s grandmother and accompanied by richly detailed illustrations, Ruby&#8217;s Wish is an engaging portrait of a young girl who strives for more and a family who rewards her hard work and courage.<br />
</br></p>
<p><strong>Chin, Oliver. <em>The Year of the Rabbit</em>. Ill. Justin Roth.</strong><br />
Another adventurous tale from Oliver Chin, The Year of the Rabbit will be sure to keep children on the edge of their seats as they wait to discover how two friends help each other in need. Chin&#8217;s descriptive storytelling will keep children enthralled and looking forward to his next book!<br />
</br></p>
<p><strong>Mahoney, Judy. <em>Teach Me Everyday Chinese (Teach Me Series: Chinese Edition)</em>. Ed. Linda Nelson. Ill. Patrick Girouard.</strong><br />
Bring Chinese language learning alive with this 32-page brilliantly illustrated book with companion audio CD. Listen, learn and sing along with classic songs for children in this new dual language format. A perfect place to start exploring the Chinese language with children of all ages!<br />
</br></p>
<p><strong>Olive, Guillaume and Zihong He. <em>My First Book of Chinese Calligraphy</em>.</strong><br />
A fun and engaging way to learn, My First Book of Chinese Calligraphy is an excellent introduction to China and one of China&#8217;s most recognizable arts for young people. Join Mimi as she takes the first steps towards learning this magical art. Dive in, and explore: How Chinese words first began, thousands of years ago; How to draw the 8 strokes; with them, you can write anything; What &#8220;radicals&#8221; are…and how to unlock their secrets; And how to use the brush, the paper and ink to enjoy writing in Chinese. The included interactive CD-ROM enables learners to play creative games to see, hear and try Chinese writing; listen to the pronunciation of the Chinese characters; observe calligraphers in action and print the characters to create practice pages.<br />
</br></p>
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		<title>January 2011 Picks</title>
		<link>http://childhoodreading.com/?p=86</link>
		<comments>http://childhoodreading.com/?p=86#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 31 Jan 2011 08:00:45 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Melissa</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Pick of the Week]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://childhoodreading.com/?p=86</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Pick of the Week: 1/31/2011 Ehlert, Lois. Snowballs. Pull on your mittens and head outside for a snowball day. Grab some snow and start rolling. With a few found objects&#8211;like buttons and fabric and seeds&#8211;and a little imagination, you can create a whole family out of snow. Children will love poring over Lois Ehlert’s bold, [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p><strong>Pick of the Week: 1/31/2011</strong></p>
<p><strong>Ehlert, Lois. <em>Snowballs</em>.</strong><br />
Pull on your mittens and head outside for a snowball day. Grab some snow and start rolling. With a few found objects&#8211;like buttons and fabric and seeds&#8211;and a little imagination, you can create a whole family out of snow. Children will love poring over Lois Ehlert’s bold, funny illustrations and identifying the common (and not so common) objects she uses to decorate her snowy family.<br />
</br><br />
</br><br />
<strong>Pick of the Week: 1/24/2011</strong></p>
<p><strong>Brett, Jan. <em>The Mitten 20th Anniversary Edition</em>.</strong><br />
Millions of readers have fallen in love with Jan Brett’s The Mitten, and over 2.5 million copies have been sold since publication in 1989. This striking oversized anniversary edition with a silver foil jacket and a fresh image of the woodland animals will attract fans old and new, and adult collectors of Jan Brett’s books.<br />
Set in a snowy forest, the fun begins when, one by one, animals crawl into Nicki’s lost white mitten to get warm until the bear sneezes, sending the animals flying up and out of the mitten. On each turn of the page, Jan hints at what animal is coming next in her signature borders, inspired by Ukrainian folk art.<br />
</br><br />
</br><br />
<strong>Pick of the Week: 1/17/2011</strong></p>
<p><strong>Burton, Virginia L. <em>Katy and the Big Snow</em>.</strong><br />
In this paperback edition of Katy and the Big Snow, complete with CD audio recording, Katy, a brave and untiring tractor, who pushes a bulldozer in the summer and a snowplow in the winter, makes it possible for the townspeople to do their jobs.<br />
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</br><br />
<strong>Pick of the Week: 1/10/2011</strong></p>
<p><strong>Bancroft, Henrietta. <em>Animals in Winter</em>. Ill. Helen K. Davie</strong><br />
Have you ever seen a butterfly in the snow? Probably not. Butterflies can&#8217;t survive cold weather, so when winter comes, many butterflies fly to warmer places. They migrate. Woodchucks don&#8217;t like cold weather either but they don&#8217;t migrate; they hibernate. Woodchucks sleep in their dens all winter long. Read and find out how other animals cope with winter&#8217;s worst weather.<br />
</br><br />
</br><br />
<strong>Pick of the Week: 1/3/2011</strong></p>
<p><strong>Yolen, Jane. <em>Owl Moon</em>.</strong><br />
A girl and her father go owling on a moonlit winter night near the farm where they live. Bundled tight in wool clothes, they trudge through snow &#8220;whiter than the milk in a cereal bowl&#8221;; here and there, hidden in ink-blue shadows, a fox, raccoon, fieldmouse and deer watch them pass. An air of expectancy builds as Pa imitates the Great Horned Owl&#8217;s call once without answer, then again. From out of the darkness &#8220;an echo/ came threading its way/ through the trees.&#8221; Schoenherr&#8217;s watercolor washes depict a New England few readers see: the bold stare of a nocturnal owl, a bird&#8217;s-eye view of a farmhouse. In harmony with the art, the melodious text brings to life an unusual countryside adventure.<br />
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		<title>The Sleeper</title>
		<link>http://childhoodreading.com/?p=104</link>
		<comments>http://childhoodreading.com/?p=104#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 17 Jan 2011 08:00:59 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Melissa</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Edgar Allan Poe]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Edmund Dulac]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://childhoodreading.com/?p=104</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Edgar Allan Poe Illustrated by Edmund Dulac At midnight, in the month of June, I stand beneath the mystic moon. An opiate vapor, dewy, dim, Exhales from out her golden rim, And, softly dripping, drop by drop, Upon the quiet mountain top, Steals drowsily and musically Into the universal valley. The rosemary nods upon [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<h5>by Edgar Allan Poe<br />
Illustrated by Edmund Dulac</h5>
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<td class="center"><img src="/wp-content/illustrations/Edmund_Dulac/Dulac-Sleeper.jpg" alt="The Sleeper, by Edmund Dulac" /></td>
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<div style="font-size:16px; color: #373434; line-height: 24px;">
</br><br />
At midnight, in the month of June,<br />
I stand beneath the mystic moon.<br />
An opiate vapor, dewy, dim,<br />
Exhales from out her golden rim,<br />
And, softly dripping, drop by drop,<br />
Upon the quiet mountain top,<br />
Steals drowsily and musically<br />
Into the universal valley.<br />
The rosemary nods upon the grave;<br />
The lily lolls upon the wave;<br />
Wrapping the fog about its breast,<br />
The ruin molders into rest;<br />
Looking like Lethe, see! the lake<br />
A conscious slumber seems to take,<br />
And would not, for the world, awake.<br />
All Beauty sleeps!- and lo! where lies<br />
Irene, with her Destinies!</p>
<p>O, lady bright! can it be right-<br />
This window open to the night?<br />
The wanton airs, from the tree-top,<br />
Laughingly through the lattice drop-<br />
The bodiless airs, a wizard rout,<br />
Flit through thy chamber in and out,<br />
And wave the curtain canopy<br />
So fitfully- so fearfully-<br />
Above the closed and fringed lid<br />
&#8216;Neath which thy slumb&#8217;ring soul lies hid,<br />
That, o&#8217;er the floor and down the wall,<br />
Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall!<br />
Oh, lady dear, hast thou no fear?<br />
Why and what art thou dreaming here?<br />
Sure thou art come O&#8217;er far-off seas,<br />
A wonder to these garden trees!<br />
Strange is thy pallor! strange thy dress,<br />
Strange, above all, thy length of tress,<br />
And this all solemn silentness! </p>
<p>The lady sleeps! Oh, may her sleep,<br />
Which is enduring, so be deep!<br />
Heaven have her in its sacred keep!<br />
This chamber changed for one more holy,<br />
This bed for one more melancholy,<br />
I pray to God that she may lie<br />
For ever with unopened eye,<br />
While the pale sheeted ghosts go by! </p>
<p>My love, she sleeps! Oh, may her sleep<br />
As it is lasting, so be deep!<br />
Soft may the worms about her creep!<br />
Far in the forest, dim and old,<br />
For her may some tall vault unfold-<br />
Some vault that oft has flung its black<br />
And winged panels fluttering back,<br />
Triumphant, o&#8217;er the crested palls,<br />
Of her grand family funerals- </p>
<p>Some sepulchre, remote, alone,<br />
Against whose portal she hath thrown,<br />
In childhood, many an idle stone-<br />
Some tomb from out whose sounding door<br />
She ne&#8217;er shall force an echo more,<br />
Thrilling to think, poor child of sin!<br />
It was the dead who groaned within.
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		<title>Lenore</title>
		<link>http://childhoodreading.com/?p=116</link>
		<comments>http://childhoodreading.com/?p=116#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 17 Jan 2011 08:00:41 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Melissa</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Edgar Allan Poe]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Edmund Dulac]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://childhoodreading.com/?p=116</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Edgar Allan Poe Illustrated by Edmund Dulac AH, broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown forever! Let the bell toll!—a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river; And, Guy De Vere, hast thou no tear?—weep now or nevermore! See! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore! Come! let the [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<h5>by Edgar Allan Poe<br />
Illustrated by Edmund Dulac</h5>
<p><img src="/wp-content/illustrations/Edmund_Dulac/Dulac-LenoreSM.jpg" class="topright" alt="Lenore, by Edmund Dulac"/></p>
<div style="font-size:16px; color: #373434; line-height: 24px;">
AH, broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown forever!<br />
Let the bell toll!—a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river;<br />
And, Guy De Vere, hast <em>thou</em> no tear?—weep now or nevermore!<br />
See! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore!<br />
Come! let the burial rite be read—the funeral song be sung!—<br />
An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young—<br />
A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young. </p>
<p>‘Wretches! ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her pride,<br />
And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her—that she died!<br />
How <em>shall</em> the ritual, then, be read?—the requiem how be sung<br />
By you—by yours, the evil eye,—by yours, the slanderous tongue<br />
That did to death the innocence that died, and died so young?’</p>
<p><em>Peccavimus</em>; but rave not thus! and let a Sabbath song<br />
Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel no wrong<br />
The sweet Lenore hath ‘gone before,’ with Hope, that flew beside,<br />
Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been thy bride—<br />
For her, the fair and <em>debonair</em>, that now so lowly lies,<br />
The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes—<br />
The life still there, upon her hair — the death upon her eyes. </p>
<p>‘Avaunt! avaunt! from fiends  below, the indignant ghost is riven—<br />
From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven—<br />
From grief and groan, to a golden throne, beside the King of Heaven!<br />
Let no bell toll, then,—lest her soul, amid its hallowed mirth,<br />
Should catch the note as it doth float up from the damned Earth!—<br />
And I!—to-night my heart is light!—No dirge will I upraise,<br />
But waft the angel on her flight with a Paean of old days!’
</p></div>
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		<title>Sonnet—Silence</title>
		<link>http://childhoodreading.com/?p=113</link>
		<comments>http://childhoodreading.com/?p=113#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 17 Jan 2011 08:00:40 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Melissa</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Edgar Allan Poe]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Edmund Dulac]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://childhoodreading.com/?p=113</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Edgar Allan Poe Illustrated by Edmund Dulac There are some qualities—some incorporate things, &#8194; &#8194; That have a double life, which thus is made A type of that twin entity which springs &#8194; &#8194; From matter and light, evinced in solid and shade. There is a two-fold Silence—sea and shore— &#8194; &#8194; Body and [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<h5>by Edgar Allan Poe<br />
Illustrated by Edmund Dulac</h5>
<p><img src="/wp-content/illustrations/Edmund_Dulac/Dulac-SilenceSM.jpg"  class="topright" alt="Sonnet - Silence, by Edmund Dulac" /> </p>
<div style="font-size:16px; color: #373434; line-height: 24px;">
There are some qualities—some incorporate things,<br />
&ensp; &ensp; That have a double life, which thus is made<br />
A type of that twin entity which springs<br />
&ensp; &ensp; From matter and light, evinced in solid and shade.<br />
There is a two-fold <em>Silence</em>—sea and shore—<br />
&ensp; &ensp; Body and soul. One dwells in lonely places,<br />
&ensp; &ensp; Newly with grass o’ergrown; some solemn graces,<br />
Some human memories and tearful lore,<br />
Render him terrorless: his name’s ‘No More.’<br />
He is the corporate Silence: dread him not!<br />
&ensp; &ensp; No power hath he of evil in himself;<br />
But should some urgent fate (untimely lot!)<br />
&ensp; &ensp; Bring thee to meet his shadow (nameless elf,<br />
That haunteth the lone regions where hath trod<br />
No foot of man), commend thyself to God!
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<p></br></p>
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		<title>Annabel Lee</title>
		<link>http://childhoodreading.com/?p=111</link>
		<comments>http://childhoodreading.com/?p=111#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 17 Jan 2011 08:00:32 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Melissa</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Edgar Allan Poe]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Edmund Dulac]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://childhoodreading.com/?p=111</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Edgar Allan Poe Illustrated by Edmund Dulac It was many and many a year ago, &#8194; &#8194; In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know &#8194; &#8194; By the name of ANNABEL LEE; And this maiden she lived with no other thought &#8194; &#8194; Than to love [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<h5>by Edgar Allan Poe<br />
Illustrated by Edmund Dulac</h5>
<p><img src="/wp-content/illustrations/Edmund_Dulac/Dulac-AnnabelLeeSM.jpg" class="topright" alt="Annabel Lee, by Edmund Dulac"/></p>
<div style="font-size:16px; color: #373434; line-height: 24px;">
<p>It was many and many a year ago,<br />
&ensp; &ensp; In a kingdom by the sea,<br />
That a maiden there lived whom you may know<br />
&ensp; &ensp; By the name of ANNABEL LEE;<br />
And this maiden she lived with no other thought<br />
&ensp; &ensp; Than to love and be loved by me.</p>
<p>I was a child and <em>she</em> was a child,<br />
&ensp; &ensp; In this kingdom by the sea;<br />
But we loved with a love that was more than love—<br />
&ensp; &ensp; I and my Annabel Lee;<br />
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven<br />
&ensp; &ensp; Coveted her and me.</p>
<p>And this was the reason, that long ago,<br />
&ensp; &ensp; In this kingdom by the sea,<br />
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling<br />
My beautiful Annabel Lee;<br />
So that her highborn kinsmen came<br />
&ensp; &ensp; And bore her away from me,<br />
To shut her up in a sepulchre<br />
&ensp; &ensp; In this kingdom by the sea.</p>
<p>The angels, not half so happy in heaven,<br />
&ensp; &ensp; Went envying her and me—<br />
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,<br />
&ensp; &ensp; In this kingdom by the sea)<br />
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,<br />
&ensp; &ensp; Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.</p>
<p>But our love it was stronger by far than the love<br />
&ensp; &ensp; Of those who were older than we—<br />
&ensp; &ensp; Of many far wiser than we—</p>
<p>And neither the angels in heaven above,<br />
&ensp; &ensp; Nor the demons under the sea,<br />
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul<br />
&ensp; &ensp; Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.</p>
<p>For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams<br />
&ensp; &ensp; Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;<br />
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes<br />
&ensp; &ensp; Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;<br />
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side<br />
Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,<br />
&ensp; &ensp; In her sepulchre there by the sea,<br />
&ensp; &ensp; In her tomb by the sounding sea.
</p></div>
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		<title>The Raven</title>
		<link>http://childhoodreading.com/?p=106</link>
		<comments>http://childhoodreading.com/?p=106#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 17 Jan 2011 08:00:28 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Melissa</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Edgar Allan Poe]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Edmund Dulac]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[book:isbn=142630398X]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://childhoodreading.com/?p=106</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Edgar Allan Poe Illustrated by Edmund Dulac Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. ‘’Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<h5>by Edgar Allan Poe<br />
Illustrated by Edmund Dulac</h5>
<table>
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<td class="center"><img src="/wp-content/illustrations/Edmund_Dulac/Dulac-Raven.jpg" alt="The Raven, by Edmund Dulac" /></td>
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<div style="font-size:16px; color: #373434; line-height: 24px;">
</br><br />
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,<br />
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,<br />
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,<br />
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.<br />
‘’Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, ‘tapping at my chamber door—<br />
&ensp; &ensp; Only this, and nothing more.’</p>
<p>Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,<br />
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.<br />
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow<br />
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—<br />
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—<br />
&ensp; &ensp; Nameless here for evermore. </p>
<p>And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain<br />
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;<br />
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,<br />
‘’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—<br />
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—<br />
&ensp; &ensp; This it is, and nothing more.’</p>
<p>Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,<br />
‘Sir,’ said I, ‘or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;<br />
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,<br />
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,<br />
That I scarce was sure I heard you,’—here I opened wide the door;—<br />
&ensp; &ensp; Darkness there, and nothing more. </p>
<p>Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,<br />
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;<br />
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,<br />
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, ‘Lenore!’<br />
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, ‘Lenore!’—<br />
&ensp; &ensp; Merely this, and nothing more. </p>
<p>Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,<br />
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.<br />
‘Surely,’ said I, ‘surely that is something at my window lattice:<br />
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—<br />
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—<br />
&ensp; &ensp; ‘Tis the wind and nothing more!’</p>
<p>Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,<br />
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;<br />
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;<br />
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—<br />
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—<br />
&ensp; &ensp; Perched, and sat, and nothing more. </p>
<p>Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,<br />
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,<br />
‘Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,’ I said, ‘art sure no craven,<br />
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore—<br />
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!’<br />
&ensp; &ensp; Quoth the Raven, ‘Nevermore.’</p>
<p>Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,<br />
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;<br />
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being<br />
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door—<br />
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,<br />
&ensp; &ensp; With such name as ‘Nevermore.’</p>
<p>But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only<br />
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.<br />
Nothing further then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—<br />
Till I scarcely more than muttered, ‘other friends have flown before—<br />
On the morrow <em>he</em> will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.’<br />
&ensp; &ensp; Then the bird said, ‘Nevermore.’</p>
<p>Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,<br />
‘Doubtless,’ said I, ‘what it utters is its only stock and store,<br />
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster<br />
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—<br />
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore<br />
&ensp; &ensp; Of “Never—nevermore”.’</p>
<p>But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,<br />
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;<br />
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking<br />
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—<br />
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore<br />
&ensp; &ensp; Meant in croaking ‘Nevermore.’</p>
<p>This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing<br />
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;<br />
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining<br />
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o’er,<br />
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o’er,<br />
&ensp; &ensp; <em>She</em> shall press, ah, nevermore! </p>
<p>Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer<br />
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.<br />
‘Wretch,’ I cried, ‘thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee<br />
Respite—respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!<br />
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!’<br />
&ensp; &ensp; Quoth the Raven, ‘Nevermore.’</p>
<p>‘Prophet!’ said I, ‘thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—<br />
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,<br />
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—<br />
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—<br />
Is there—<em>is</em> there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!’<br />
&ensp; &ensp; Quoth the Raven, ‘Nevermore.’</p>
<p>‘Prophet!’ said I, ‘thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!<br />
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—<br />
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,<br />
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—<br />
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.’<br />
&ensp; &ensp; Quoth the Raven, ‘Nevermore.’</p>
<p>‘Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend,’ I shrieked, upstarting—<br />
‘Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!<br />
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!<br />
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!<br />
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”<br />
&ensp; &ensp; Quoth the Raven, ‘Nevermore.’</p>
<p>And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting<br />
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;<br />
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,<br />
And the lamplight o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;<br />
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor<br />
&ensp; &ensp; Shall be lifted—nevermore!
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		<title>To One in Paradise</title>
		<link>http://childhoodreading.com/?p=115</link>
		<comments>http://childhoodreading.com/?p=115#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 17 Jan 2011 08:00:12 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Melissa</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Edgar Allan Poe]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Edmund Dulac]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://childhoodreading.com/?p=115</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Edgar Allan Poe Illustrated by Edmund Dulac THOU wast all that to me, love, For which my soul did pine— A green isle in the sea, love, A fountain and a shrine, All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers, And all the flowers were mine. Ah, dream too bright to last! Ah, starry Hope! [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<h5>by Edgar Allan Poe<br />
Illustrated by Edmund Dulac</h5>
<table>
<tbody>
<tr>
<td class="center"><img src="/wp-content/illustrations/Edmund_Dulac/Dulac-ToOneInParadise.jpg" alt="To One in Paradise, by Edmund Dulac" /></td>
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<div style="font-size:16px; color: #373434; line-height: 24px;">
</br><br />
THOU wast all that to me, love,<br />
For which my soul did pine—<br />
A green isle in the sea, love,<br />
A fountain and a shrine,<br />
All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers,<br />
And all the flowers were mine. </p>
<p>Ah, dream too bright to last!<br />
Ah, starry Hope! that didst arise<br />
But to be overcast!<br />
A voice from out the Future cries,<br />
“On! on!”—but o’er the Past<br />
(Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies<br />
Mute, motionless, aghast! </p>
<p>For, alas! alas! with me<br />
The light of Life is o’er!<br />
‘No more—no more—no more—’<br />
(Such language holds the solemn sea<br />
To the sands upon the shore)<br />
Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree<br />
Or the stricken eagle soar! </p>
<p>And all my days are trances,<br />
And all my nightly dreams<br />
Are where thy grey eye glances,<br />
And where thy footstep gleams—<br />
In what ethereal dances,<br />
By what eternal streams.
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		<title>The Bells</title>
		<link>http://childhoodreading.com/?p=101</link>
		<comments>http://childhoodreading.com/?p=101#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 17 Jan 2011 08:00:06 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Melissa</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Edgar Allan Poe]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Edmund Dulac]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://childhoodreading.com/?p=101</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Edgar Allan Poe Illustrated by Edmund Dulac I. HEAR the sledges with the bells— Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night! While the stars, that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight; Keeping time, time, time, [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<h5>by Edgar Allan Poe<br />
Illustrated by Edmund Dulac</h5>
<table>
<tbody>
<tr>
<td class="center"><img src="/wp-content/illustrations/Edmund_Dulac/Dulac-Bells01.jpg" alt="The Bells, by Edmund Dulac" /></td>
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<div style="font-size:16px; color: #373434; line-height: 24px;">
</br><br />
I.</p>
<p>HEAR the sledges with the bells—<br />
Silver bells!<br />
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!<br />
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,<br />
In the icy air of night!<br />
While the stars, that oversprinkle<br />
All the heavens, seem to twinkle<br />
With a crystalline delight;<br />
Keeping time, time, time,<br />
In a sort of Runic rhyme,<br />
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells<br />
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,<br />
Bells, bells, bells—<br />
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.</p>
<p>II.</p>
<p>Hear the mellow wedding bells,<br />
Golden bells!<br />
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!<br />
Through the balmy air of night<br />
How they ring out their delight!<br />
From the molten golden-notes,<br />
And all in tune,<br />
What a liquid ditty floats<br />
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats<br />
On the moon!<br />
Oh, from out the sounding cells,<br />
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!<br />
How it swells!<br />
How it dwells<br />
On the Future! how it tells<br />
Of the rapture that impels<br />
To the swinging and the ringing<br />
Of the bells, bells, bells,<br />
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,<br />
Bells, bells, bells—<br />
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!<br />
</br>
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<td class="center"><img src="/wp-content/illustrations/Edmund_Dulac/Dulac-Bells02.jpg" alt="The Bells, by Edmund Dulac" /></br></td>
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<div style="font-size:16px; color: #373434; line-height: 24px;">
III.</p>
<p>Hear the loud alarum bells—<br />
Brazen bells!<br />
What tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!<br />
In the startled ear of night<br />
How they scream out their affright!<br />
Too much horrified to speak<br />
They can only shriek, shriek,<br />
Out of tune,<br />
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,<br />
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,<br />
Leaping higher, higher, higher,<br />
With a desperate desire,<br />
And a resolute endeavor.<br />
Now—now to sit or never,<br />
By the side of the pale-faced moon.<br />
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!<br />
What a tale their terror tells<br />
Of Despair!<br />
How they clang, and clash, and roar!<br />
What a horror they outpour<br />
On the bosom of the palpitating air!<br />
Yet the ear it fully knows,<br />
By the twanging,<br />
And the clanging,<br />
How the danger ebbs and flows;<br />
Yet the ear distinctly tells,<br />
In the jangling,<br />
And the wrangling,<br />
How the danger sinks and swells,<br />
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells—<br />
Of the bells—<br />
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,<br />
Bells, bells, bells—<br />
In the clamour and the clangour of the bells!<br />
</br>
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<td class="center"><img src="/wp-content/illustrations/Edmund_Dulac/Dulac-Bells03.jpg" alt="The Bells, by Edmund Dulac" /></br></td>
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IV.</p>
<p>Hear the tolling of the bells—<br />
Iron bells!<br />
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!<br />
In the silence of the night,<br />
How we shiver with affright<br />
At the melancholy menace of their tone!<br />
For every sound that floats<br />
From the rust within their throats<br />
Is a groan.<br />
And the people—ah, the people—<br />
They that dwell up in the steeple,<br />
All alone,<br />
And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,<br />
In that muffled monotone,<br />
Feel a glory in so rolling<br />
On the human heart a stone—<br />
They are neither man nor woman—<br />
They are neither brute nor human—<br />
They are Ghouls:<br />
And their king it is who tolls;<br />
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,<br />
Rolls<br />
A paean from the bells!<br />
And his merry bosom swells<br />
With the paean of the bells!<br />
And he dances, and he yells;<br />
Keeping time, time, time,<br />
In a sort of Runic rhyme,<br />
To the paean of the bells—<br />
Of the bells:<br />
Keeping time, time, time,<br />
In a sort of Runic rhyme,<br />
To the throbbing of the bells—<br />
Of the bells, bells, bells—<br />
To the sobbing of the bells;<br />
Keeping time, time, time,<br />
As he knells, knells, knells,<br />
In a happy Runic rhyme,<br />
To the rolling of the bells—<br />
Of the bells, bells, bells:<br />
To the tolling of the bells,<br />
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells—<br />
Bells, bells, bells—<br />
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.
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