Tiddle-de-dumpty, tiddle-de-dee-- The spider courted the frisky flea; Tiddle-de-dumpty, tiddle-de-doo-- The flea ran off with the bugaboo! "Oh, tiddle-de-dee!" Said the frisky flea--...
O heart of hearts, the chalice of love's fire, Hid round with flowers and all the bounty of bloom; O wonderful and perfect heart, for whom The lyrist liberty made life a lyre;...
Dear wife, there is no word in all my songs But unto thee belongs: Though I indeed before our true day came Mistook thy star in many a wandering flame,...
When to her lute Corinna sings, Her voice revives the leaden strings, And doth in highest notes appear As any challenged echo clear. But when she doth of mourning speak,...
Tanagra! think not I forget Thy beautifully-storeyd streets; Be sure my memory bathes yet In clear Thermodon, and yet greets The blythe and liberal shepherd boy, Whose sunny bosom swells with joy...
Get up, get up for shame, the blooming Morn Upon her wings presents the god unshorn. See how Aurora throws her fair Fresh-quilted colours through the air; Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see...
To-day the woods are trembling through and through With shimmering forms, that flash before my view, Then melt in green as dawn-stars melt in blue. The leaves that wave against my cheek caress...
An Oldham-County Weather Philosopher. "Who is Corncob Jones?" you say. Beateningest man and talkingest: Talk and talk th' enduring day, Never even stop to rest, Keep on talking that a-way,...
Among the haughtiest of her sex, in noble, quiet pride, Cornelia stood, with mien that seemed their folly vain to chide: No jewels sparkled on her brow, so high, so purely fair,...
The following lines were read at the festival after the stone had been laid by Grand Master Col. Moffat, of a church on the Culloden road, with Masonic honors.
I met Bear at the 5 n' dime sipping a Cream Soda he was voluble & needed to talk... "I got a shit-load on my mind," mumbling something about some run-in with a Mountie - tampering...
Out on the mountain over the town, All night long, all night long, The trolls go up and the trolls go down, Bearing their packs and crooning a song; And this is the song the hill-folk croon,...
His old clay pipe stuck in his mouth, His hat pushed from his brow, His dress best fitted for the South, I think I see him now; And when the city streets are still, And sleep upon me comes,...