Works

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!"...

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."
...

"My First, but don't suppose," he said,
"I'm setting you a riddle,
Is, if your Victim be in bed,
Don't touch the curtains at his head,
But take them in the middle,
...

"And did you really walk," said I,
"On such a wretched night?
I always fancied Ghosts could fly,
If not exactly in the sky,
Yet at a fairish height."

"It's very well," said he, "for Kings...

One winter night, at half-past nine,
Cold, tired, and cross, and muddy,
I had come home, too late to dine,
And supper, with cigars and wine,
Was waiting in the study.
...

"Oh, when I was a little Ghost,
A merry time had we!
Each seated on his favourite post,
We chumped and chawed the buttered toast
They gave us for our tea."

"That story is in print!" I cried....