Little Blue Shoes Mustn't go Very far alone, you know Else she'll fall down, Or, lose her way; Fancy--what Would mamma say? Better put her little hand Under sister's wise command....
The song that lightens the languid way, When brows are glowing, And faint with rowing, Is like the spell of Hope's airy lay, To whose sound thro' life we stray; The beams that flash on the oar awhile,...
Pull away merrily--over the waters! Bend to your oars for the wood-tangled shore; We're off and afloat with earth's loveliest daughters, Worth all the argosies wave ever bore....
Singer of songs of the hills Dreamer, by waters unstirred, Back in a valley of rills, Home of the leaf and the bird! Read in this fall of the year Just the compassionate phrase,...
Grown tired of mourning for my sins, And brooding over merits, The other night with aching heart I went amongst the spirits; And I met one that I knew well: 'O Scotty's Ghost! is that you?...
There's a little red-faced man, Which is Bobs, Rides the talliest 'orse 'e can, Our Bobs. If it bucks or kicks or rears, 'E can sit for twenty years...
"The body of 'Bobs' then lay in state until five o'clock, when it was interred in a crypt near-by those containing the bodies of Nelson and Wellington." - Press Despatch.
While about the shore of Mona those Neronian legionaries Burnt and broke the grove and altar of the Druid and Druidess, Far in the East Bo'dic'a, standing loftily charioted,...
La tribu proph'tique aux prunelles ardentes Hier s'est mise en route, emportant ses petits Sur son dos, ou livrant ' leurs fiers app'tits Le tr'sor toujours pr't des mamelles pendantes. ...
In Dublin town I was brought up, in that city of great fame' My decent friends and parents, they will tell to you the same. It was for the sake of five hundred pounds I was sent across the main,...
Mark how the bashful morn in vain Courts the amorous marigold, With sighing blasts and weeping rain, Yet she refuses to unfold. But when the planet of the day Approacheth with his powerful ray,...
I go from colonnade to colonnade In streets that Dante trod, and past the towers Aslant toward heaven, and listen to the hours Chimed by the bells of choirs where Dante prayed....
Each sin has its door of entrance. Keep--that--door--closed! Bolt it tight! Just outside, the wild beast crouches In the night. Pin the bolt with a prayer, God will fix it there.