#RhymedStanza
“I have no name: I am but two days old.” What shall I call thee? “I happy am, Joy is my name.”
Little Lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee? Gave thee life, and bid thee feed By the stream and o’er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight,
“Father, father, where are you goi… O do not walk so fast. Speak, father, speak to your littl… Or else I shall be lost.” The night was dark, no father was…
O THOU who passest thro’ our val… Thy strength, curb thy fierce stee… That flames from their large nostr… Oft pitched’st here thy golden ten… Beneath our oaks hast slept, while…
In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy. Drive your cart and your plough over the bones of the dead. The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom. Prudence is...
TO be or not to be Of great capacity, Like Sir Isaac Newton, Or Locke, or Doctor South, Or Sherlock upon Death—
WELCOME, 1 stranger, to this pl… Where joy doth sit on every bough, Paleness flies from every face; We reap not what we do not sow. Innocence doth like a rose
THERE’S Doctor Clash, And Signor Falalasole, O they sweep in the cash Into their purse hole! Fa me la sol, La me fa sol!
Earth rais’d up her head From the darkness dread and drear. Her light fled, Stony dread! And her locks cover’d with grey de…
HEAR then the pride and knowledg… His sprit sail, fore sail, main sa… A poor frail man—God wot! I know… I know no greater sinner than Joh…
WHEN early morn walks forth in s… Then to my black-eyed maid I hast… When evening sits beneath her dusk… And gently sighs away the silent h… The village bell alarms, away I g…
JUSTICE hath heaved a sword to plunge in Albion’s breast; for Albion’s sins are crimson dy’d, and the red scourge follows her desolate sons. Then Patriot rose; full oft did Patriot rise...
Ah! sunflower, weary of time, Who countest the steps of the sun, Seeking after that sweet golden cl… Where the traveller’s journey is d… Where the youth pined away with de…
LITTLE PHOEBUS came struttin… With his fat belly and his round c… What is it you would please to hav… Ho! Ho! I won’t let it go at only so and s…
My silks and fine array, My smiles and languish’d air, By love are driv’n away; And mournful lean Despair Brings me yew to deck my grave: