PDF BUTTERFLIES THE EYES HAVE IT (The Beauty of This World Book 1)

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I suspect younger children will like them just fine. Lovely wander through nature in words and art. I enjoyed having this in my library during the winter months. Reminder of all the beauty around us. Pleasure for sure. Will look for other books by author to share with students and friends.

May 03, Lynn Davidson rated it it was amazing Shelves: picture-books , reviewed. What a gorgeous book with stunning illustrations! The story is in two parts - a series of poems of various styles, each group of two poems leaves the reader to guess what is being described in them, followed by two pages of very interesting information abut what was in the preceding poems.

Glossary in the back. Aug 14, Brittany rated it really liked it. This book alternates 2 page spreads with poems with 2 page informational spreads about the animals, weather, plants, and other aspects of a meadow. The poems are lyrical and easy to read.

The informative areas are well written and full of engaging facts. The art is lovely. Jun 02, Kaydee rated it it was amazing. Apr 23, Molly Rhymer rated it it was amazing. Series of poems about things you would find in the meadow. Mar 20, Jyothi Gispanski rated it it was amazing. CC: children's poetry, meadow animals, meadows.

Feb 17, Mickey rated it it was amazing. This book is arranged a little differently than the other books of poetry by Sidman. As with many of her other books, each poem has a short nonfiction passage giving information about the subject.

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So, at first I disliked this new arrangement This book is arranged a little differently than the other books of poetry by Sidman. So, at first I disliked this new arrangement because it seemed to me that children were going to have to go into the poem blind with no background information and that the nonfiction passages would be reduced to longwinded answers to the riddle instead of being a resource to help with understanding the poem. However, in actual practice, I turned out to be completely wrong. Many of the kids liked having to guess. Even if the actual names were something so exotic that readers would have to be biologists to figure them out one of the answers is xylem and phloem which are like the veins of plants , this seemed not to irritate them.

And my leaves: monarchs adore them. They plant their babies and just fly away! But have you ever seen me bloom? Dec 02, Makenzie Sliva rated it it was amazing. Butterfly Eyes and Other Secrets of the Meadow is a lovely book full of many different types of poems about nature. The layout of the book is interesting because it is laid out with the same general pattern throughout the book. The book has two poems on each page that reveal two things that are commonly found in nature.

The poems are essentially clues to help the reader guess what each poem is about. Then, on the next page it reveals the answer and gives a few paragraphs of information about the Butterfly Eyes and Other Secrets of the Meadow is a lovely book full of many different types of poems about nature. Then, on the next page it reveals the answer and gives a few paragraphs of information about them.

This is a very fun way to introduce readers to the idea of poetry and inform them about many aspects of nature. Beth Krommes uses a very interesting "scratchboard technique" with her illustrations. This creates a very cool visual to accompany the poems. The illustrations are detailed but simple at the same time. Another interesting thing is that there is a glossary in the back that reviews the terms that were used in the book. This would be a great book to use in a classroom because it's educational and interesting for students. This would be great for a poetry or nature unit.

I loved this book! Dec 02, Rita Date rated it it was amazing. This unique story that is illustrated by Beth Krommes, contains many different types of unique poems. The pages follow a pattern. On each page there are two poems. Both poems have something similar and relate to nature. Following these pages is one combined story about both elements from the previous two pages.

This is a creative style that I really enjoyed reading. The illustrations in this book are also very vivid. It is nice to have pictures that are realistic and relate to nature. Most of th This unique story that is illustrated by Beth Krommes, contains many different types of unique poems. Most of the time children find reading about nature boring, but this book does a good job ting in nature and poetry. I really enjoy reading most of the books that Beth Krommes illustrated.

She uses the scratchboard technique in this book along with many other books that is very detailed and interesting for the audience to look at. May 10, Bridget R. Wilson rated it liked it Shelves: childrens-poetry. Have you ever observed a meadow or an open field? What did you see there? In this collection of poems, Joyce Sidman explores what you would see in a meadow, both flora and fauna. What I thought: What a beautiful collection.

All the poems have the quiet murmur that meadows do. I loved the scratchboard illustrations. They reminds me of old-fashioned woodcuts. Sidman's wonderful language slips off the tongue in the most lilting manner.


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The collection reminds me of Disney's Bambi which was based on t Have you ever observed a meadow or an open field? The collection reminds me of Disney's Bambi which was based on the book by Felix Salten. I also liked how the poems are riddles. There were some I couldn't solve. I enjoyed the extra facts Sidman included. They really brought the [poems to life. My favorite poems were "In the Almost Light," "Shh! Jan 30, Barbara M rated it really liked it Shelves: picture-books , children-s-literature , butterflies , poetry.

This book is made up of poems and the natural science of meadow life. Two facing pages are poems ending with a question like What Am I?

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The next two facing pages are an answer and an explanation of their role or importance in the meadow. The poems have neat construction with standard verses or lines with unusual indents and spacing to give it interest and they are very appropriate to the telling such as the one for Sap Song. I beleive the illustrations are woodcuts b This book is made up of poems and the natural science of meadow life. I beleive the illustrations are woodcuts but this is not explained in an appendix although there is a glossary for words that might be new to children or adults.

From the glossary, I learned what a pantoum is in literature. Nicely done. Sep 03, Shelli rated it it was amazing Shelves: non-fiction , picture-books , poetry-art , science , my-favorites , language-arts. Butterfly Eyes and Other Secrets of the Meadow was a surprisingly impressive and informative picture book that can be used as additional curriculum in several areas of study for elementary age students. The illustrations are stunning and would be inspiring for a nature-art project.

The scientific facts about plants and animals can be used when covering earth science and animal adaptations. Also, the wonderful poems describe the various plants and animals in the meadow without saying what they ar Butterfly Eyes and Other Secrets of the Meadow was a surprisingly impressive and informative picture book that can be used as additional curriculum in several areas of study for elementary age students. Also, the wonderful poems describe the various plants and animals in the meadow without saying what they are discussing.

Leaving it up to the reader to use the text as clues to solve what is being written about. May 09, Erica rated it really liked it Shelves: juv , my-reviews , non-fiction , poetry. This collection of poems focuses on plant, animal and insect life of the meadow. Each poem is a riddle.


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  • After every two riddles, Sidman gives the answer and a brief introduction to whatever the plant or animal is. For example, the first two answers are dew and grasshoppers. Some were athirst in soul to see again Their fellow huntsmen o'er the wide champaign In times long past; to sit with them, and talk Of all the chances in their earthly walk; Comparing, joyfully, their plenteous stores Of happiness, to when upon the moors, Benighted, close they huddled from the cold, And shar'd their famish'd scrips.

    Thus all out-told Their fond imaginations,—saving him Whose eyelids curtain'd up their jewels dim, Endymion: yet hourly had he striven To hide the cankering venom, that had riven His fainting recollections. Now indeed His senses had swoon'd off: he did not heed The sudden silence, or the whispers low, Or the old eyes dissolving at his woe, Or anxious calls, or close of trembling palms, Or maiden's sigh, that grief itself embalms: But in the self-same fixed trance he kept, Like one who on the earth had never stept.

    Aye, even as dead-still as a marble man, Frozen in that old tale Arabian. Who whispers him so pantingly and close? Peona, his sweet sister: of all those, His friends, the dearest. Hushing signs she made, And breath'd a sister's sorrow to persuade A yielding up, a cradling on her care. Her eloquence did breathe away the curse: She led him, like some midnight spirit nurse Of happy changes in emphatic dreams, Along a path between two little streams,— Guarding his forehead, with her round elbow, From low-grown branches, and his footsteps slow From stumbling over stumps and hillocks small; Until they came to where these streamlets fall, With mingled bubblings and a gentle rush, Into a river, clear, brimful, and flush With crystal mocking of the trees and sky.

    A little shallop, floating there hard by, Pointed its beak over the fringed bank; And soon it lightly dipt, and rose, and sank, And dipt again, with the young couple's weight,— Peona guiding, through the water straight, Towards a bowery island opposite; Which gaining presently, she steered light Into a shady, fresh, and ripply cove, Where nested was an arbour, overwove By many a summer's silent fingering; To whose cool bosom she was used to bring Her playmates, with their needle broidery, And minstrel memories of times gone by.

    So she was gently glad to see him laid Under her favourite bower's quiet shade, On her own couch, new made of flower leaves, Dried carefully on the cooler side of sheaves When last the sun his autumn tresses shook, And the tann'd harvesters rich armfuls took. Soon was he quieted to slumbrous rest: But, ere it crept upon him, he had prest Peona's busy hand against his lips, And still, a sleeping, held her finger-tips In tender pressure.

    And as a willow keeps A patient watch over the stream that creeps Windingly by it, so the quiet maid Held her in peace: so that a whispering blade Of grass, a wailful gnat, a bee bustling Down in the blue-bells, or a wren light rustling Among seer leaves and twigs, might all be heard. O magic sleep! O comfortable bird, That broodest o'er the troubled sea of the mind Till it is hush'd and smooth! O unconfin'd Restraint! Opening his eyelids with a healthier brain, He said: "I feel this thine endearing love All through my bosom: thou art as a dove Trembling its closed eyes and sleeked wings About me; and the pearliest dew not brings Such morning incense from the fields of May, As do those brighter drops that twinkling stray From those kind eyes,—the very home and haunt Of sisterly affection.

    Can I want Aught else, aught nearer heaven, than such tears? Yet dry them up, in bidding hence all fears That, any longer, I will pass my days Alone and sad. No, I will once more raise My voice upon the mountain-heights; once more Make my horn parley from their foreheads hoar: Again my trooping hounds their tongues shall loll Around the breathed boar: again I'll poll The fair-grown yew tree, for a chosen bow: And, when the pleasant sun is getting low, Again I'll linger in a sloping mead To hear the speckled thrushes, and see feed Our idle sheep.

    So be thou cheered sweet, And, if thy lute is here, softly intreat My soul to keep in its resolved course. Hereat Peona, in their silver source, Shut her pure sorrow drops with glad exclaim, And took a lute, from which there pulsing came A lively prelude, fashioning the way In which her voice should wander. Surely some influence rare Went, spiritual, through the damsel's hand; For still, with Delphic emphasis, she spann'd The quick invisible strings, even though she saw Endymion's spirit melt away and thaw Before the deep intoxication.

    But soon she came, with sudden burst, upon Her self-possession—swung the lute aside, And earnestly said: "Brother, 'tis vain to hide That thou dost know of things mysterious, Immortal, starry; such alone could thus Weigh down thy nature. Hast thou sinn'd in aught Offensive to the heavenly powers? Caught A Paphian dove upon a message sent? Thy deathful bow against some deer-herd bent, Sacred to Dian? Haply, thou hast seen Her naked limbs among the alders green; And that, alas! No, I can trace Something more high perplexing in thy face!

    Endymion look'd at her, and press'd her hand, And said, "Art thou so pale, who wast so bland And merry in our meadows?

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    How is this? Tell me thine ailment: tell me all amiss! What indeed more strange? Or more complete to overwhelm surmise? Ambition is no sluggard: 'tis no prize, That toiling years would put within my grasp, That I have sigh'd for: with so deadly gasp No man e'er panted for a mortal love. So all have set my heavier grief above These things which happen. Rightly have they done: I, who still saw the horizontal sun Heave his broad shoulder o'er the edge of the world, Out-facing Lucifer, and then had hurl'd My spear aloft, as signal for the chace— I, who, for very sport of heart, would race With my own steed from Araby; pluck down A vulture from his towery perching; frown A lion into growling, loth retire— To lose, at once, all my toil breeding fire, And sink thus low!

    Now when his chariot last Its beams against the zodiac-lion cast, There blossom'd suddenly a magic bed Of sacred ditamy, and poppies red: At which I wondered greatly, knowing well That but one night had wrought this flowery spell; And, sitting down close by, began to muse What it might mean. Perhaps, thought I, Morpheus, In passing here, his owlet pinions shook; Or, it may be, ere matron Night uptook Her ebon urn, young Mercury, by stealth, Had dipt his rod in it: such garland wealth Came not by common growth.

    Thus on I thought, Until my head was dizzy and distraught. Moreover, through the dancing poppies stole A breeze, most softly lulling to my soul; And shaping visions all about my sight Of colours, wings, and bursts of spangly light; The which became more strange, and strange, and dim, And then were gulph'd in a tumultuous swim: And then I fell asleep.

    Ah, can I tell The enchantment that afterwards befel? Yet it was but a dream: yet such a dream That never tongue, although it overteem With mellow utterance, like a cavern spring, Could figure out and to conception bring All I beheld and felt. Methought I lay Watching the zenith, where the milky way Among the stars in virgin splendour pours; And travelling my eye, until the doors Of heaven appear'd to open for my flight, I became loth and fearful to alight From such high soaring by a downward glance: So kept me stedfast in that airy trance, Spreading imaginary pinions wide.

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    When, presently, the stars began to glide, And faint away, before my eager view: At which I sigh'd that I could not pursue, And dropt my vision to the horizon's verge; And lo! To commune with those orbs, once more I rais'd My sight right upward: but it was quite dazed By a bright something, sailing down apace, Making me quickly veil my eyes and face: Again I look'd, and, O ye deities, Who from Olympus watch our destinies!

    Whence that completed form of all completeness? Whence came that high perfection of all sweetness? Speak, stubborn earth, and tell me where, O Where Hast thou a symbol of her golden hair? Not oat-sheaves drooping in the western sun; Not—thy soft hand, fair sister! Unto what awful power shall I call? To what high fane? The wind out-blows Her scarf into a fluttering pavilion; 'Tis blue, and over-spangled with a million Of little eyes, as though thou wert to shed, Over the darkest, lushest blue-bell bed, Handfuls of daisies. Dream within dream! Soon, as it seem'd, we left our journeying high, And straightway into frightful eddies swoop'd; Such as ay muster where grey time has scoop'd Huge dens and caverns in a mountain's side: There hollow sounds arous'd me, and I sigh'd To faint once more by looking on my bliss— I was distracted; madly did I kiss The wooing arms which held me, and did give My eyes at once to death: but 'twas to live, To take in draughts of life from the gold fount Of kind and passionate looks; to count, and count The moments, by some greedy help that seem'd A second self, that each might be redeem'd And plunder'd of its load of blessedness.

    Ah, desperate mortal! I ev'n dar'd to press Her very cheek against my crowned lip, And, at that moment, felt my body dip Into a warmer air: a moment more, Our feet were soft in flowers. There was store Of newest joys upon that alp. Sometimes A scent of violets, and blossoming limes, Loiter'd around us; then of honey cells, Made delicate from all white-flower bells; And once, above the edges of our nest, An arch face peep'd,—an Oread as I guess'd.

    Why not see, Far off, the shadows of his pinions dark, And stare them from me? But no, like a spark That needs must die, although its little beam Reflects upon a diamond, my sweet dream Fell into nothing—into stupid sleep. And so it was, until a gentle creep, A careful moving caught my waking ears, And up I started: Ah!

    If an innocent bird Before my heedless footsteps stirr'd, and stirr'd In little journeys, I beheld in it A disguis'd demon, missioned to knit My soul with under darkness; to entice My stumblings down some monstrous precipice: Therefore I eager followed, and did curse The disappointment. Time, that aged nurse, Rock'd me to patience.

    Now, thank gentle heaven! These things, with all their comfortings, are given To my down-sunken hours, and with thee, Sweet sister, help to stem the ebbing sea Of weary life. Thus ended he, and both Sat silent: for the maid was very loth To answer; feeling well that breathed words Would all be lost, unheard, and vain as swords Against the enchased crocodile, or leaps Of grasshoppers against the sun. She weeps, And wonders; struggles to devise some blame; To put on such a look as would say, Shame On this poor weakness!

    At length, to break the pause, She said with trembling chance: "Is this the cause? This all? Yet it is strange, and sad, alas! That one who through this middle earth should pass Most like a sojourning demi-god, and leave His name upon the harp-string, should achieve No higher bard than simple maidenhood, Singing alone, and fearfully,—how the blood Left his young cheek; and how he used to stray He knew not where; and how he would say, nay, If any said 'twas love: and yet 'twas love; What could it be but love?

    Raconteur, Reader, Backpacker If I were an element, I'd be radioactive. View more posts. Excellent collection. Being an ardent dog lover and a voracious reader I loved this blog. Keep up the good work! The name is Bond…Ruskin Bond. View this post on Instagram. Previous Post Previous post: What if your dog could sing? Next Post Next post: You need to know these wonderful Delhi dogs!

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