#EnglishWriters #Victorian
ONE winter night, at half—past ni… Cold, tired, and cross, and muddy, I had come home, too late to dine, And supper, with cigars and wine, Was waiting in the study.
Little Birds are dining Warily and well, Hid in mossy cell: Hid, I say, by waiters Gorgeous in their gaiters —
The Milk—and—Water School Alas! she would not hear my prayer… Yet it were rash to tear my hair; Disfigured, I should be less fair… She was unwise, I may say blind;
‘You can’t think how glad I am to see you again, you dear old thing!’ said the Duchess, as she tucked her arm affectionately into Alice’s, and they walked off together. Alice was very g...
‘—it was at the great concert give… “Twinkle, twinkle, little bat! How I wonder what you’re at!” You know the song, perhaps?’ ‘I’ve heard something like it,’ sa…
I painted her a gushing thing, With years about a score; I little thought to find they were A least a dozen more; My fancy gave her eyes of blue,
The sun was shining on the sea, Shining with all his might: He did his very best to make The billows smooth and bright— And this was odd, because it was
Lady dear, if Fairies may For a moment lay aside Cunning tricks and elfish play, ’Tis at happy Christmas-tide. We have heard the children say—
“Are you deaf, Father William!” t… “Did you hear what I told you jus… ”Excuse me for shouting! Don’t wa… “Like a blundering, sleepy old cow… ”A little maid dwelling in Wallin…
She’s all my fancy painted him (I make no idle boast); If he or you had lost a limb, Which would have suffered most? He said that you had been to her,
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…
Fit the First The Landing “Just the place for a Snark!” the… As he landed his crew with care; Supporting each man on the top of…
Little maidens, when you look On this little story—book, Reading with attentive eye Its enticing history, Never think that hours of play
’Twas brillig, and the slithy tove… Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe. “Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
How doth the little crocodile Improve his shining tail, And pour the waters of the Nile On every golden scale! How cheerfully he seems to grin