#EnglishWriters #Victorian
The Beaver’s Lesson They sought it with thimbles, they… They pursued it with forks and hop… They threatened its life with a ra… They charmed it with smiles and so…
I have a fairy by my side Which says I must not sleep, When once in pain I loudly cried It said “You must not weep” If, full of mirth, I smile and gr…
Matilda Jane, you never look At any toy or picture—book. I show you pretty things in vain You must be blind, Matilda Jane! I ask you riddles, tell you tales,
A BOAT beneath a sunny sky, Lingering onward dreamily In an evening of July — Children three that nestle near, Eager eye and willing ear,
CHAPTER IV. The Rabbit Sends in a Little Bill It was the White Rabbit, trotting slowly back again, and looking anxiously about as it went, as if it had lost something; and...
Blow, blow your trumpets till they… Ye little men of little souls! And bid them huddle at your back — Gold—sucking leeches, shoals on sh… Fill all the air with hungry wails…
Little Birds are dining Warily and well, Hid in mossy cell: Hid, I say, by waiters Gorgeous in their gaiters —
“WHAT’S this?” I pondered. “Ha… Or can I have been drinking?” But soon a gentler feeling crept Upon me, and I sat and wept An hour or so, like winking.
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.
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
Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no...
As one who strives a hill to climb… Who never climbed before: Who finds it, in a little time, Grow every moment less sublime, And votes the thing a bore:
Matilda Jane, you never look At any toy or picture-book. I show you pretty things in vain You must be blind, Matilda Jane! I ask you riddles, tell you tales,
I have a horse– a ryghte good hors… Ne doe Y envye those Who scoure ye playne yn headye cou… Tyll soddayne on theyre nose They lyghte wyth unexpected force
I love the stillness of the wood: I love the music of the rill: I love to couch in pensive mood Upon some silent hill. Scarce heard, beneath you arching…