My son, if you go to the races to battle with Ikey and Mo, Remember, it's seldom the pigeon can pick out the eye of the crow; Remember, they live by the business; remember, my son, and go slow. ...
Go, little book, To him who, on a lute with horns of pearl, Sang of the white feet of the Golden Girl: And bid him look Into thy pages: it may hap that he May find that golden maidens dance through thee.
With a ho-ho-ho! and a hi-hi-hi! With a canzonet and tabor, Thus, with ho-ho-ho! and our hi-hi-hi! We amble, ramble, gambol, I And my lily-fingered neighbor.
With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the sky, "How silently, and with how wan a face!" Where art thou? Thou so often seen on high Running among the clouds a Wood-nymph's race!...
First, there's the entrance, narrow, and so small, The hat-stand seems to fill the tiny hall; That staircase, too, has such an awkward bend, The carpet rucks, and rises up on end!...
With rosy hand a little girl prest down A boss of fresh-cull'd cowslips in a rill: Often as they sprang up again, a frown Show'd she disliked resistance to her will:...
Sometimes I long to write an ode And magnify his name, The man of honor, on the road To opulence and fame, On whom was never aid bestowed By any helpful dame. ...
All Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair - The bees are stirring - birds are on the wing - And Winter slumbering in the open air, Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!...
My dear old friends - It jes beats all, The way you write a letter So's ever' last line beats the first, And ever' next-un's better! - W'y, ever' fool-thing you putt down You make so interestin',...
Vertiginosus, inops, surdus, male gratus amicis; Non campana sonans, tonitru non ab Jove missum, Quod mage mirandum, saltem si credere fas est, Non clamosa meas mulier jam percutit aures.
Thou whom chance may hither lead, Be thou clad in russet weed, Be thou deck'd in silken stole, Grave these maxims on thy soul. Life is but a day at most, Sprung from night, in darkness lost;...
Dear P----, while Painters, Poets, Sages, Inscribe this volume's votive pages With partial friendship: why invite The tribute of a luckless wight Unknown--by wisdom or by wit...
Whate'er thy countrymen have done By law and wit, by sword and gun, In thee is faithfully recited, And all the living world that view Thy work, give thee the praises due...
Blue was the loch, [1] the clouds were gone, Ben-Lomond in his glory shone, When, Luss, I left thee; when the breeze Bore me from thy silver sands, Thy kirk-yard wall among the trees,...