#English #Victorians
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...
He thought he saw an Elephant, That practised on a fife: He looked again, and found it was A letter from his wife. ‘At length I realise,’ he said,
‘Haddock’s Eyes’ or 'The Aged Ag… 'Ways and Means’ or 'A-Sitting O… I’ll tell thee everything I can; There’s little to relate. I saw an aged, aged man,
‘You are old, father William,’ th… ‘And your hair has become very whi… And yet you incessantly stand on y… Do you think, at your age, it is r… ‘In my youth,’ father William rep…
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,
‘“Will you walk a little faster?”… “There’s a porpoise close behind u… See how eagerly the lobsters and t… They are waiting on the shingle—wi… Will you, won’t you, will you, won…
Poeta Fit, Non Nascitur “How shall I be a poet? How shall I write in rhyme? You told me once ‘the very wish Partook of the sublime.’
“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…
From his shoulder Hiawatha Took the camera of rosewood, Made of sliding, folding rosewood; Neatly put it all together. In its case it lay compactly,
All in the golden afternoon Full leisurely we glide; For both our oars, with little ski… By little arms are plied, While little hands make vain prete…
A boat, beneath a sunny sky Lingering onward dreamily In an evening of July — Children three that nestle near, Eager eye and willing ear
’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!
There are certain things —a spider… The income—tax, gout, an umbrella… That I hate, but the thing that I… Is a thing they call the SEA. Pour some salt water over the floo…
AY, 'twas here, on this spot, In that summer of yore, Atalanta did not Vote my presence a bore, Nor reply to my tenderest talk “S…
In winter, when the fields are whi… I sing this song for your delight. In Spring, when woods are getting… I’ll try and tell you what I mean… In Summer, when the days are long…
