God's pity on poor kings, They know no gentle rest; The North and South cry out, Cries come from East and West, "Come, open this new Dock, Building, Bazaar or Fair." Lord, what a wretched life...
Lament in rhyme, lament in prose, Wi' saut tears trickling down your nose; Our bardie's fate is at a close, Past a' remead; The last sad cape-stane of his woes; Poor Mailie's dead. ...
Lone and alone she lies, Poor Miss 7, Five steep flights from the earth, And one from heaven; Dark hair and dark brown eyes, - Not to be sad she tries, Still - still it's lonely lies...
Poor old hat! poor old hat! like misen tha's grown An fowk call us old fashioned an odd; But monny's the storm we have met sin that day, When aw bowt thee all shiny an snod....
Blind Peter Piper used to play All up and down the city; I'd often meet him on my way, And throw a coin for pity. But all amid his sparkling tones His ear was quick as any...
Here far away from the city, here by the yellow dunes I will lie and soothe my heart where the sea croons. For what can I do with strife, or what can I do with hate?...
Now when the primrose makes a splendid show, And lilies face the March-winds in full blow, And humbler growths as moved with one desire Put on, to welcome spring, their best attire,...
Poor withered rose, she gave it me, Half in revenge and half in glee; Its petals not so pink by half As are her lips when curled to laugh, As are her cheeks when dimples gay...
Poor wounded heart, farewell! Thy hour of rest is come; Thou soon wilt reach thy home, Poor wounded heart, farewell! The pain thou'lt feel in breaking Less bitter far will be,...
These are the flowers of sleep That nod in the heavy noon, Ere the brown shades eastward creep To a drowsy and dreamful tune, These are the flowers of sleep.
Summer met Sleep at sunset, Dreaming within the south, Drugged with his soul's deep slumber, Red with her heart's hot drouth, These are the drowsy kisses She pressed upon his mouth.
Let us go far from here! Here there is sadness in the early year: Here sorrow waits where joy went laughing late: The sicklied face of heaven hangs like hate Above the woodland and the meadowland;...
I. Stand still, true poet that you are! I know you; let me try and draw you. Some night you'll fail us: when afar You rise, remember one man saw you, Knew you, and named a star!
Going shares with the Snakes, Porcupine Said--"the best of the bargain is mine:" Nor would he back down, When the snake would disown The agreement his quills made them sign. ...
The rain set early in to-night, The sullen wind was soon awake, It tore the elm-tops down for spite, And did its worst to vex the lake: I listened with heart fit to break....