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Joseph Skipsey

Joseph Skipsey

The Bowl

JUST let the Owl of Evil howl;
   To mourners of each rank and station, I cry,
Come, troll the Golden Bowl!
   And quaff me with a deep potation.
 
Each sparkling droplet to the soul
   Will yield o’er Care a bright ovation;
Then seize and troll the Golden Bowl!
   That beams—in my imagination.

#English #Victorians #XIXCentury

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The Summer Breezelet

‘NOT now shall I sing of my spor… But the golden hours and gay,’ Sang the Breeze, ‘when I, a wild… With the Summer flowers to play. ’When I tiptoe go to the pansy, t…
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Too lovely art thou to behold, And not to be stung by desire, To bathe in those ringlets of gold… To bathe in those glances of fire. Too lovely art thou to the ken,
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IF Ellerton Willy be slighted by… Yet others as bonny will hark to h… Then why like a silly bit daffodow… Should I droop my head, droop, an… Chorus:—Then why should pine Will…
The Violet and the Rose

The Violet invited my kiss. I kiss’d it and called it my bride… “Was ever one slighted like this?” Sighed the Rose as it stood by my… My heart ever open to grief,
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The Bee and the Rose

‘You wont!’ the Rose’s accents ri… ‘I will!’ the Golden Bee’s are ri… And tho’ the winds, to aid her, sp… Soon with the breeze-tost bloom he… swinging.
The Lucky Hour

THE fickle Moon has left the ski… But Night’s blue veil with stars… And every little twinkler tries To twinkle as he’d never twinkled. O, now’s the hour for Love to pou…
My Merry Bird

I HAD a merry bird Who sung a merry song, And take it on my word, The day it was not long In presence of my bird with its me…
Dora Dee

THERE’S not a may in Ellerton By half so sweet to look upon; In all the country round there’s n… So sweet as Dora Dee. The blood-red rose to passer by,
The Breezelet

CRIED Ciss to the breeze, as un… She lay at her ease, one day, ‘From thy rovings cease, and a mai… Of thy doings breeze now say! ’Be it so,' sang he; 'from the wes…
Too True

TRUTH’S words are oft so very t… And always when my lips he uses, His foes, which let us hope, are f… Declare he but the truth abuses. Thus when he spake of Ella’s tong…
Misfortune

AWAY with the muses of frolic!—a… With the haunts of diversion and f… Ay, mine be the joy to awaken a la… And to weave for misfortune a garl… We shrink at life’s shadows and fl…
My Little Boy

MY little boy, thy laughter Goes to my bosom core, And sends me yearning after The days that are no more. Adown my cheek is stealing
Thistle and Nettle

’TWAS on a night, with sleet and… From out the north a tempest blew, When Thistle to her cot did go The little Nettle’s self to woo. His errand known, she, with a frow…
The Butterfly

The butterfly from flower to flowe… The urchin chas’d; and, when at la… He caught it in my lady’s bower, He cried, “Ha, ha!” and held it f… Awhile he laugh’d, but soon he wep…
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MERRY, lark-like, merry, At the break of day, Polly meeteth Harry Coming down the way; And her lips, they quiver,



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