Come, Phyllis, I've a cask of wine That fairly reeks with precious juices, And in your tresses you shall twine The loveliest flowers this vale produces.
What perfumed, posie-dizened sirrah, With smiles for diet, Clasps you, O fair but faithless Pyrrha, On the quiet? For whom do you bind up your tresses, As spun-gold yellow,--...
Omit, omit, my simple friend, Still to inquire how parties tend, Or what we fix with foreign powers. If France and we are really friends, And what the Russian Czar intends, Is no concern of ours. ...
What end the gods may have ordained for me, And what for thee, Seek not to learn, Leuconoe; we may not know; Chaldean tables cannot bring us rest-- 'Tis for the best...
Why do you shun me, Chloe, like the fawn, That, fearful of the breezes and the wood, Has sought her timorous mother since the dawn And on the pathless mountain tops has stood? ...
Horatius ban brave yentleman, Who vatch big bridge at night: It ban gude many years ago, Ay ant got date yust right. Dar ban some foxy geezers Who march avay from home,...
When the Horse first took Man on his back, To help him the Stag to attack; How little his dread, As the enemy fled, Man would make him his slave & his hack.
My name used to be in the papers daily As having dined somewhere, Or traveled somewhere, Or rented a house in Paris, Where I entertained the nobility. I was forever eating or traveling,...
When to warm his cold fingers man blew, And again, but to cool the hot stew; Simple Satyr, unused To man's ways, felt confused, When the same mouth blew hot & cold too!
Hot Cross Buns! Hot Cross Buns! One a penny, two a penny, Hot Cross Buns! If you have no daughters, If you have no daughters, If you have no daughters, Pray give them to your sons;...
Farewell, my Highland lassie! when the year returns around, Be it Greece, or be it Norway, where my vagrant feet are found, I shall call to mind the place, I shall call to mind the day,...
Because we love bare hills and stunted trees And were the last to choose the settled ground, Its boredom of the desk or of the spade, because So many years companioned by a hound,...
Look, Christian, on thy Bible, and that glass That sheds its sand through minutes, hours, and days, And years; it speaks not, yet, methinks, it says, To every human heart: so mortals pass...
Hours continuing long, sore and heavy-hearted, Hours of the dusk, when I withdraw to a lonesome and unfrequented spot, seating myself, leaning my face in my hands;...
Shall I sonnet-sing you about myself? Do I live in a house you would like to see? Is it scant of gear, has it store of pelf? 'Unlock my heart with a sonnet-key?' ...