Blacksmith Green had three strong… With bread and beef did fill 'em, Now John and Ned are perished and… But plenty remains of William. John Green was a whiskey drinker,
In my body lives a flame, Flame that burns me all the day; When a fierce sun does the same, I am charred away. Who could keep a smiling wit,
I, an ambassador of Otherwhere To the unfederated states of Here… Enjoy (as the phrase is) Extra—territorial privileges. With heres and theres I seldom co…
We may well wonder at those bearde… Who like the scorpion and the basi… Couched in the desert sands, to un… Their scrufy flesh with tortures. They drank from pools fouled by th…
‘Edward back from the Indian Sea, What have you brought for Nancy?’ ‘A rope of pearls and a gold earri… And a bird of the East that will… A carven tooth, a box with a key—’
Take now a country mood, Resolve, distil it: — Nine Acre swaying alive, June flowers that fill it, Spicy sweet—briar bush,
Have you spent the money I gave y… Ay, father I have. A fourpence on cakes, two pennies… To a beggar I gave. The lake of yellow brimstone boil…
Where is the landlord of old Hawk… And what of Master Straddler this… He’s along in the tap—room with br… And ten bold companions all drinki… Where is the daughter of old Hawk…
She let her golden ball fall down… And begged a cold frog to retrieve… For which she kissed his ugly, gap… Indeed, he could scarce believe it… And seeing him transformed to his…
‘Gabble—gabble . . . brethren . .… My window glimpses larch and heath… I hardly hear the tuneful babble, Not knowing nor much caring whethe… The text is praise or exhortation,
When outside the icy rain Comes leaping helter—skelter, Shall I tie my restive brain Snugly under shelter? Shall I make a gentle song
“Come, surly fellow, come! A song… “What, madmen? Sing to you? Choose from the clouded tales of w… And terror I bring to you. Of a night so torn with cries,
The butterfly, the cabbage white, (His honest idiocy of flight) Will never now, it is too late, Master the art of flying straight, Yet has —who knows so well as I?…
Under this loop of honeysuckle, A creeping, coloured caterpillar, I gnaw the fresh green hawthorn sp… I nibble it leaf by leaf away. Down beneath grow dandelions,
I remember, Ma’am, a frosty morni… When I was five years old and bro… Marching solemnly upstairs with th… Like an angel of doom; knocked gen… “Father, the Times has a black bo…