A rose has thorns as well as honey… I’ll not have her for love or mone… An iris grows so straight and fine… That she shall be no friend of min… Snowdrops like the snow would chil…
I was a cottage maiden Hardened by sun and air Contented with my cottage mates, Not mindful I was fair. Why did a great lord find me out,
Summer is gone with all its roses, Its sun and perfumes and sweet flo… Its warm air and refreshing shower… And even Autumn closes. Yea, Autumn’s chilly self is goin…
“Sweet, thou art pale.” “More pale to see, Christ hung upon the cruel tree And bore His Father’s wrath for m… “Sweet, thou art sad.”
She sat and sang alway By the green margin of a stream, Watching the fishes leap and play Beneath the glad sunbeam. I sat and wept alway
The first was like a dream through… The second like a tedious numbing… While the half—frozen pulses lagge… Beneath a winter moon. ‘But,’ says my friend, ‘what was t…
Love, strong as Death, is dead. Come, let us make his bed Among the dying flowers: A green turf at his head; And a stone at his feet,
Minnie bakes oaten cakes, Minnie brews ale, All because her Johnny’s coming Home from sea. And she glows like a rose
I have a Poll parrot, And Poll is my doll, And my nurse is Polly, And my sister Poll. ‘Polly!’ cried Polly,
Passing away, saith the World, pa… Chances, beauty and youth, sapp’d… Thy life never continueth in one s… Is the eye waxen dim, is the dark… That hath won neither laurel nor b…
How comes it, Flora, that, whenev… Play cards together, you invariabl… However the pack parts, Still hold the Queen of Hearts? I’ve scanned you with a scrutinizi…
When the cows come home the milk i… Honey’s made while the bees are hu… Duck and drake on the rushy lake, And the deer live safe in the bree… And timid, funny, brisk little bun…
Clever little Willie wee, Bright—eyed, blue—eyed little fell… Merry little Margery With her hair all yellow. Little Willie in his heart
Live all thy sweet life through, Sweet Rose, dew—sprent, Drop down thine evening dew To gather it anew When day is bright:
The lily has an air, And the snowdrop a grace, And the sweetpea a way, And the heartsease a face, — Yet there’s nothing like the rose