#English #XIXCentury #XXCentury
My folks think I’m a serving maid Each time I visit home; They do not dream I ply a trade As old as Greece or Rome; For if they found I’d fouled thei…
The Porch was blazoned with geran… Myrtle and jasmine meadows lit the… With rose and violet the vale’s pe… Languished to where the hyacinthin… Dreamed tenderly . . . “And I mus…
They dumped it on the lonely road, Then like a streak they sped; And as along the way I strode I thought that it was dead: And then I saw that yelping pup
He gave a picture exhibition, Hiring a little empty shop. Above its window: FREE ADMI… Cajoled the passers—by to stop; Just to admire —no need to purchas…
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
My poem may be yours indeed In melody and tone, If in its rhythm you can read A music of your own; If in its pale woof you can weave
In youth I longed to paint The loveliness I saw; And yet by dire constraint I had to study Law. But now all that is past,
She risked her all, they told me,… The pinched economies of thirty ye… And there the little shop was, mee… The sum of all her dreams and hope… Ere it was opened I would see the…
You speak to me, but does your spe… With truest truth your thought con… I listen to your words and each Is what I wait to hear you say. The pattern that your lips reveal,
You may talk o’ your lutes and you… Your harps and your tabors and cym… But here in the trenches jist gie… The wee penny whistle o’ Sandy M… Oh, it’s: “Sandy, ma lad, will yo…
“Sow your wild oats in your youth,… But I say with deeper sooth: “Sow… I’ll be wise till I’m about seven… Then, by Gad! I’ll blossom out as… I’ll assume a dashing air, laugh w…
This is the pay—day up at the mine… There’s money to burn in the stree… With a haggard face and a ribband… And I know at the dawn she’ll com… One for herself, to drown her sham…
Smith, great writer of stories, dr… Fused in his brain-pan, else a bla… Gave him the magical genius touch;… Flat in your face a soul-thought—… Twiddle your heart-strings in his…
Although you deem it far from nice… And it perchance may hurt you, Let me suggest that cowardice Can masquerade as virtue; And many a maid remains a maid
“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,…