At Vaterloo dar ban a scrap Gude many year ago. Napolyun, he ban brave old chap And boss of whole French show. And Maester Vellington, he say, "Ay skol mak gude defence,...
I thought 'twas a toy of the fancy, a dream That leads with illusion the senses astray, And I sighed with delight as we stole down the stream, While the sun, as he smiled on our sail, seemed to say,...
July is th' month to gooa a spawin'; an' fowk luk forrard to it just th' same as if they conldn't do withaat it. Th' fact is aw hardly dar say owt agean it, for awm fond ov a bit ov a off mysen; but then ther's different ways o...
Gold of the tangled wilderness of wattle, Break in the lone green hollows of the hills, Flame on the iron headlands of the ocean, Gleam on the margin of the hurrying rills. ...
When, on a novel's newly printed page We find a maudlin eulogy of sin, And read of ways that harlots wander in, And of sick souls that writhe in helpless rage;...
Late, when the Autumn evening fell On Mirkwood Mere's romantic dell, The lake return'd, in chasten'd gleam, The purple cloud, the golden beam: Reflected in the crystal pool,...
I saw the daughters of the ocean dance With wind and tide, and heard them on the rocks: White hands they waved me, tossing sunlit locks, Green as the light an emerald holds in trance....
Once on a Lord Mayor's Day, in Cheapside, when Skulls could not well pass through that scum of men, For quick despatch Skulls made no longer stay Than but to breathe, and everyone gave way;...
Pluck not the wayside flower, It is the traveller's dower; A thousand passers-by Its beauties may espy, May win a touch of blessing From Nature's mild caressing. The sad of heart perceives...
'Weak is the will of Man, his judgment blind; 'Remembrance persecutes, and Hope betrays; 'Heavy is woe; and joy, for human-kind, 'A mournful thing, so transient is the blaze!'...
Who shall tell what did befall, Far away in time, when once, Over the lifeless ball, Hung idle stars and suns? What god the element obeyed? Wings of what wind the lichen bore,...
From what old ballad, or from what rich frame Did you descend to glorify the earth? Was it from Chaucer's singing book you came? Or did Watteau's small brushes give you birth?...
Father and Mother, and Me, Sister and Auntie say All the people like us are We, And every one else is They. And They live over the sea, While We live over the way,...
We are accused of terrorism If we dare to write about the remains of a homeland That is scattered in pieces and in decay In decadence and disarray About a homeland that is searching for a place...
We are not always glad when we smile: Though we wear a fair face and are gay, And the world we deceive May not ever believe We could laugh in a happier way. - Yet, down in the deeps of the soul,...