#English #XIXCentury #XXCentury
Two blind men met. Said one: “Thi… Has been a blackout from my birth. Through darkness I have groped my… Forlorn, unknowing night from day. But you —though War destroyed you…
Her little head just topped the wi… She even mounted on a stool, maybe… She pressed against the pane, as c… And watched us playing, oh so wist… And then I missed her for a month…
Dick’s dead! It was the Polack gu… Put powdered glass into his cage When I was tramping round the yar… I could have killed him in my rage… I slugged him with that wrench I…
There once was a Square, such a s… And he loved a trim Triangle; But she was a flirt and around her… Vainly she made him dangle. Oh he wanted to wed and he had no…
“Flowers, only flowers—bring me da… Blossoms for forgetfulness,” that… So we sacked our gardens, violets… Lilies white and bluebells laid we… Soft his pale hands touched them,…
On silver sand where ripples curle… I counted sea—gulls seven; Shy, secret screened from all the… And innocent as heaven. They did not of my nearness know,
We have no aspiration vain For paradise Utopian, And here in our sun—happy Spain, Though man exploit his fellow man, To high constraint we humbly yield…
The aged Queen who passed away Had sixty servants, so they say; Twice sixty hands her shoes to tie… Two soapy ones have I. The old Queen had of beds a score…
A pencil, sir; a penny —won’t you… I’m cold and wet and tired, a sorr… Don’t turn your back, sir; take on… I haven’t made a single sale to—ni… Oh, thank you, sir; but take the p…
I used to sing, when I was young, The joy of idleness; But now I’m grey I hold my tongue… For frankly I confess If I had not some job to do
I used to think a pot of ink Held magic in its fluid, And I would ply a pen when I Was hoary a a Druid; But as I scratch my silver thatch
'God’ is composed of letters three… But if you put an 'l’ Before the last it seems to me A synonym for Hell. For all of envy, greed and hate
A very humble pen I ply Beneath a cottage thatch; And in the sunny hours I try To till my cabbage patch; And in the gloaming glad am I
They say that rhyme and rhythm are Outmoded now. I do not know, for I am far From high of brow. But if the twain you take away,
Upspoke the culprit at the bar, Conducting his own case: ‘Your Lordship, I have gone to fa… But grant me of your grace. As I was passing by a shop