Little maidens, when you look On this little story-book, Reading with attentive eye Its enticing history, Never think that hours of play Are your only holiday, And that in a house of joy...
All in the golden afternoon Full leisurely we glide; For both our oars, with little skill, By little arms are plied, While little hands make vain pretense Our wanderings to guide. ...
"Are you deaf, Father William!" the young man said, "Did you hear what I told you just now?" "Excuse me for shouting! Don't waggle your head" "Like a blundering, sleepy old cow!"...
A Mother's breast: Safe refuge from her childish fears, From childish troubles, childish tears, Mists that enshroud her dawning years! see how in sleep she seems to sing A voiceless psalm, an offering...
There are certain things, as, a spider, a ghost, The income-tax, gout, an umbrella for three, That I hate, but the thing that I hate the most Is a thing they call the Sea. ...
He thought he saw an Elephant That practiced on a fife: He looked again, and found it was A letter from his wife. 'At length I realize,' he said, 'The bitterness of life!' ...
Ay, 'twas here, on this spot, In that summer of yore, Atalanta did not Vote my presence a bore, Nor reply to my tenderest talk "She had heard all that nonsense before." ...
A short direction To avoid dejection, By variations In occupations, And prolongation Of relaxation, And combinations Of recreations, And disputation On the state of the nation...
When on the sandy shore I sit, Beside the salt sea-wave, And fall into a weeping fit Because I dare not shave A little whisper at my ear Enquires the reason of my fear. ...
I'll tell thee everything I can; There's little to relate. I saw an aged aged man, A-sitting on a gate. "Who are you, aged man?" I said, "And how is it you live?"...
The sun was shining on the sea, Shining with all his might: He did his very best to make The billows smooth and bright, And this was odd, because it was The middle of the night. ...
"You are old, father William," the young man said, "And your hair has become very white; And yet you incessantly stand on your head, Do you think, at your age, it is right? ...