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Poems
Apr 17, 2024 15:48:48 GMT -5
Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 15:48:48 GMT -5
My Shadow I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me, And what can be the use of him is more than I can see. He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head; And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.
The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow— Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow; For he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber ball, And he sometimes gets so little that there’s none of him at all. He hasn’t got a notion of how children ought to play, And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way. He stays so close beside me, he’s a coward, you can see; I’d think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me! One morning, very early, before the sun was up, I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup; But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head, Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed. ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.
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Poems
Apr 17, 2024 15:49:34 GMT -5
Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 15:49:34 GMT -5
Little White Lily Little White Lily Sat by a stone, Drooping and waiting Till the sun shone. Little White Lily Sunshine has fed; Little White Lily Is lifting her head.
Little White Lily Said: “It is good Little White Lily’s Clothing and food.” Little White Lily Dressed like a bride! Shining with whiteness, And crownèd beside! Little White Lily Drooping with pain, Waiting and waiting For the wet rain. Little White Lily Holdeth her cup; Rain is fast falling And filling it up. Little White Lily Said: “Good again, When I am thirsty To have the nice rain. Now I am stronger, Now I am cool; Heat cannot burn me, My veins are so full.” Little White Lily Smells very sweet; On her head sunshine, Rain at her feet. Thanks to the sunshine, Thanks to the rain, Little White Lily Is happy again. GEORGE MACDONALD.
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Poems
Apr 17, 2024 15:50:05 GMT -5
Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 15:50:05 GMT -5
How the Leaves Came Down “I’ll tell you how the leaves came down,” The great Tree to his children said: “You’re getting sleepy, Yellow and Brown, Yes, very sleepy, little Red. It is quite time to go to bed.” “Ah!” begged each silly, pouting leaf, “Let us a little longer stay; Dear Father Tree, behold our grief! ’Tis such a very pleasant day, We do not want to go away.” So, for just one more merry day To the great Tree the leaflets clung, Frolicked and danced, and had their way, Upon the autumn breezes swung, Whispering all their sports among— “Perhaps the great Tree will forget, And let us stay until the spring, If we all beg, and coax, and fret.” But the great Tree did no such thing; He smiled to hear their whispering. “Come, children, all to bed,” he cried; And ere the leaves could urge their prayer, He shook his head, and far and wide, Fluttering and rustling everywhere, Down sped the leaflets through the air. I saw them; on the ground they lay, Golden and red, a huddled swarm, Waiting till one from far away, White bedclothes heaped upon her arm, Should come to wrap them safe and warm. The great bare Tree looked down and smiled. “Good-night, dear little leaves,” he said. And from below each sleepy child Replied, “Good-night,” and murmured, “It is so nice to go to bed!” SUSAN COOLIDGE
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Poems
Apr 17, 2024 15:50:32 GMT -5
Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 15:50:32 GMT -5
Willie Winkie Wee Willie Winkie rins through the town, Up-stairs and doon-stairs, in his nicht-gown, Tirlin’ at the window, cryin’ at the lock, “Are the weans in their bed?—for it’s now ten o’clock.” Hey, Willie Winkie! are ye comin’ ben? The cat’s singin’ gay thrums to the sleepin’ hen, The doug’s speldered on the floor, and disna gie a cheep; But here’s a waukrife laddie that winna fa’ asleep. Onything but sleep, ye rogue! glow’rin’ like the moon, Rattlin’ in an airn jug wi’ an airn spoon, Rumblin’ tumblin’ roun’ about, crowin’ like a cock, Skirlin’ like a kenna-what—wauknin’ sleepin’ folk. Hey, Willie Winkie! the wean’s in a creel! Waumblin’ aff a body’s knee like a vera eel, Ruggin’ at the cat’s lug, and ravellin’ a’ her thrums,— Hey, Willie Winkie!—See, there he comes! Wearie is the mither that has a storie wean, A wee stumpie stoussie that canna rin his lane, That has a battle aye wi’ sleep before he’ll close an ee; But a kiss frae aff his rosy lips gies strength anew to me. WILLIAM MILLER
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Poems
Apr 17, 2024 15:52:31 GMT -5
Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 15:52:31 GMT -5
The Owl and the Pussy-Cat The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea In a beautiful pea-green boat; They took some honey, and plenty of money Wrapped up in a five-pound note. The Owl looked up to the moon above, And sang to a small guitar, “O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love! What a beautiful Pussy you are,— You are, What a beautiful Pussy you are!” Pussy said to the Owl, “You elegant fowl! How wonderful sweet you sing! Oh, let us be married,—too long we have tarried,— But what shall we do for a ring?” They sailed away for a year and a day To the land where the Bong-tree grows, And there in a wood a piggy-wig stood With a ring in the end of his nose,— His nose, With a ring in the end of his nose. “Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling Your ring?” Said the piggy, “I will.” So they took it away, and were married next day By the turkey who lives on the hill. They dined upon mince and slices of quince, Which they ate with a runcible spoon, And hand in hand on the edge of the sand They danced by the light of the moon,— The moon, They danced by the light of the moon. EDWARD LEAR
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Poems
Apr 17, 2024 15:53:51 GMT -5
Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 15:53:51 GMT -5
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night Sailed off in a wooden shoe,— Sailed on a river of crystal light Into a sea of dew. “Where are you going, and what do you wish?” The old moon asked the three. “We have come to fish for the herring-fish That live in this beautiful sea; Nets of silver and gold have we,” Said Wynken, Blynken, And Nod. The old moon laughed and sang a song, As they rocked in the wooden shoe; And the wind that sped them all night long Ruffled the waves of dew; The little stars were the herring-fish That lived in the beautiful sea. “Now cast your nets wherever you wish,— Never afeard are we!” So cried the stars to the fishermen three, Wynken, Blynken, And Nod. All night long their nets they threw To the stars in the twinkling foam,— Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe, Bringing the fishermen home: 'Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed As if it could not be; And some folk thought ’twas a dream they’d dreamed Of sailing that beautiful sea; But I shall name you the fishermen three: Wynken, Blynken, And Nod. Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes, And Nod is a little head, And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies Is a wee one’s trundle-bed; So shut your eyes while Mother sings Of wonderful sights that be, And you shall see the beautiful things As you rock on the misty sea Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three,— Wynken, Blynken, And Nod. EUGENE FIELD.
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Poems
Apr 17, 2024 15:54:45 GMT -5
Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 15:54:45 GMT -5
The Duel The gingham dog and the calico cat Side by side on the table sat; ’Twas half-past twelve, and (what do you think!) Nor one nor t’other had slept a wink! The old Dutch clock and the Chinese plate Appeared to know as sure as fate There was going to be a terrible spat. (I wasn’t there; I simply state What was told to me by the Chinese plate!) The gingham dog went “bow-wow-wow!” And the calico cat replied “mee-ow!” The air was littered, an hour or so, With bits of gingham and calico, While the old Dutch clock in the chimney-place Up with its hands before its face, For it always dreaded a family row! (Now mind: I’m only telling you What the old Dutch clock declares is true!) The Chinese plate looked very blue, And wailed, “Oh, dear! what shall we do!” But the gingham dog and the calico cat Wallowed this way and tumbled that, Employing every tooth and claw In the awfullest way you ever saw— And, oh! how the gingham and calico flew! (Don’t fancy I exaggerate! I got my views from the Chinese plate!) Next morning where the two had sat They found no trace of the dog or cat; And some folks think unto this day That burglars stole the pair away! But the truth about the cat and the pup Is this: They ate each other up! Now what do you really think of that! (The old Dutch clock it told me so, And that is how I came to know.) EUGENE FIELD
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Poems
Apr 17, 2024 15:55:23 GMT -5
Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 15:55:23 GMT -5
The Boy Who Never Told a Lie Once there was a little boy, With curly hair and pleasant eye— A boy who always told the truth, And never, never told a lie. And when he trotted off to school, The children all about would cry, “There goes the curly-headed boy— The boy that never tells a lie.” And everybody loved him so, Because he always told the truth, That every day, as he grew up, ’Twas said, “There goes the honest youth.” And when the people that stood near Would turn to ask the reason why, The answer would be always this: “Because he never tells a lie.”
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Poems
Apr 17, 2024 15:57:41 GMT -5
Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 15:57:41 GMT -5
Love Between Brothers and Sisters Whatever brawls disturb the street, There should be peace at home; Where sisters dwell and brothers meet, Quarrels should never come. Birds in their little nests agree; And ’tis a shameful sight, When children of one family Fall out and chide and fight. ISAAC WATTS
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Poems
Apr 17, 2024 15:58:01 GMT -5
Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 15:58:01 GMT -5
The Bluebell of Scotland Oh where! and oh where! is your Highland laddie gone? He’s gone to fight the French for King George upon the throne; And it’s oh! in my heart how I wish him safe at home. Oh where! and oh where! does your Highland laddie dwell? He dwells in merry Scotland at the sign of the Bluebell; And it’s oh! in my heart that I love my laddie well.
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Poems
Apr 17, 2024 15:58:27 GMT -5
Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 15:58:27 GMT -5
If I Had But Two Little Wings If I had but two little wings And were a little feathery bird, To you I’d fly, my dear! But thoughts like these are idle things And I stay here. But in my sleep to you I fly: I’m always with you in my sleep! The world is all one’s own. And then one wakes, and where am I? All, all alone. SAMUEL T. COLERIDGE.
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Poems
Apr 17, 2024 15:58:39 GMT -5
Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 15:58:39 GMT -5
A Farewell My fairest child, I have no song to give you; No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray; Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you For every day. Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever; Do noble things, not dream them all day long: And so make life, death, and that vast forever One grand, sweet song. CHARLES KINGSLEY
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Poems
Apr 17, 2024 16:00:00 GMT -5
Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 16:00:00 GMT -5
EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW 20 Casabianca The boy stood on the burning deck, Whence all but him had fled; The flame that lit the battle’s wreck Shone round him o’er the dead. Yet beautiful and bright he stood, As born to rule the storm; A creature of heroic blood, A proud though childlike form. The flames rolled on—he would not go Without his father’s word; That father, faint in death below, His voice no longer heard. He called aloud, “Say, father, say If yet my task is done?” He knew not that the chieftain lay Unconscious of his son. “Speak, father!” once again he cried, “If I may yet be gone!” And but the booming shots replied, And fast the flames rolled on. Upon his brow he felt their breath, And in his waving hair; And looked from that lone post of death In still, yet brave despair. And shouted but once more aloud “My father! must I stay?” While o’er him fast, through sail and shroud, The wreathing fires made way. They wrapt the ship in splendour wild, They caught the flag on high, And streamed above the gallant child Like banners in the sky. Then came a burst of thunder sound— The boy—oh! where was he? —Ask of the winds that far around With fragments strew the sea; With mast, and helm, and pennon fair. That well had borne their part— But the noblest thing that perished there Was that young, faithful heart. FELICIA HEMANS.
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Poems
Apr 17, 2024 16:00:46 GMT -5
Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 16:00:46 GMT -5
The Captain’s Daughter We were crowded in the cabin, Not a soul would dare to sleep,— It was midnight on the waters, And a storm was on the deep. ’Tis a fearful thing in winter To be shattered by the blast, And to hear the rattling trumpet Thunder, “Cut away the mast!” So we shuddered there in silence,— For the stoutest held his breath, While the hungry sea was roaring And the breakers talked with Death. As thus we sat in darkness, Each one busy with his prayers, “We are lost!” the captain shouted As he staggered down the stairs. But his little daughter whispered, As she took his icy hand, “Isn’t God upon the ocean, Just the same as on the land?” Then we kissed the little maiden. And we spoke in better cheer, And we anchored safe in harbour When the morn was shining clear. JAMES T. FIELDS.
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Poems
Apr 17, 2024 16:01:55 GMT -5
Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 16:01:55 GMT -5
Another all time favorite of mine.
The Village Blacksmith Under a spreading chestnut-tree The village smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands. His hair is crisp, and black, and long; His face is like the tan; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate’er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man. Week in, week out, from morn till night, You can hear his bellows blow; You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, With measured beat and slow, Like a sexton ringing the village bell, When the evening sun is low. And children coming home from school Look in at the open door; They love to see the flaming forge, And hear the bellows roar, And catch the burning sparks that fly Like chaff from a threshing-floor. He goes on Sunday to the church, And sits among his boys; He hears the parson pray and preach, He hears his daughter’s voice Singing in the village choir, And it makes his heart rejoice. It sounds to him like her mother’s voice, Singing in Paradise! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes. Toiling,—rejoicing,—sorrowing, Onward through life he goes; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close; Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night’s repose. Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught! Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought. HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.
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Poems
Apr 17, 2024 16:02:17 GMT -5
Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 16:02:17 GMT -5
Sweet and Low Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea! Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dropping moon and blow, Blow him again to me; While my little one, while my pretty one sleeps. Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Father will come to thee soon; Rest, rest, on mother’s breast, Father will come to thee soon; Father will come to his babe in the nest, Silver sails all out of the west Under the silver moon: Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. ALFRED TENNYSON.
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Poems
Apr 17, 2024 16:02:41 GMT -5
Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 16:02:41 GMT -5
The Violet Down in a green and shady bed A modest violet grew; Its stalk was bent, it hung its head, As if to hide from view. And yet it was a lovely flower, No colours bright and fair; It might have graced a rosy bower, Instead of hiding there. Yet there it was content to bloom, In modest tints arrayed; And there diffused its sweet perfume, Within the silent shade. Then let me to the valley go, This pretty flower to see; That I may also learn to grow In sweet humility. JANE TAYLOR.
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Poems
Apr 17, 2024 16:02:57 GMT -5
Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 16:02:57 GMT -5
The Rainbow (A FRAGMENT) My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky; So was it when my life began, So is it now I am a man, So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die! The child is father of the man; And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety. WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.
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Poems
Apr 17, 2024 16:03:25 GMT -5
Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 16:03:25 GMT -5
A Visit from St. Nicholas ’Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there; The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads; And mamma in her ’kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap, When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below, When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer. With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name: “Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen! To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!” As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky; So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas, too. And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot; A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack. His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow; The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath; He had a broad face and a little round belly, That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly. He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself; A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread; He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk, And laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose; He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down on a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, “Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night.” CLEMENT CLARKE MOORE.
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Poems
Apr 17, 2024 16:04:17 GMT -5
Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 16:04:17 GMT -5
The Star-Spangled Banner O! say, can you see, by the dawn’s early light, What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming— Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight, O’er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming! And the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there; O! say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave? On that shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep, Where the foe’s haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze, o’er the towering steep, As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses? Now it catches the gleam of the morning’s first beam, In full glory reflected now shines on the stream; ’Tis the star-spangled banner; O long may it wave O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave! And where is that band who so vauntingly swore That the havoc of war and the battle’s confusion A home and a country should leave us no more? Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps’ pollution. No refuge could save the hireling and slave From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave; And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave. O! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand Between their loved homes and the war’s desolation! Blest with victory and peace, may the heav’n-rescued land Praise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation. Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just, And this be our motto—“In God is our trust”: And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave. FRANCIS SCOTT KEY.
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Poems
Apr 17, 2024 16:05:10 GMT -5
Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 16:05:10 GMT -5
Father William “You are old, Father William,” the young man said, “And your hair has become very white; And yet you incessantly stand on your head— Do you think, at your age, it is right?” “In my youth,” Father William replied to his son, “I feared it might injure the brain; But now that I’m perfectly sure I have none, Why, I do it again and again.” “You are old,” said the youth, “as I mentioned before, And have grown most uncommonly fat; Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door— Pray, what is the reason of that?” “In my youth,” said the sage, as he shook his gray locks, “I kept all my limbs very supple By the use of this ointment—one shilling the box— Allow me to sell you a couple.” “You are old,” said the youth, “and your jaws are too weak For anything tougher than suet; Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak: Pray, how did you manage to do it?” “In my youth,” said his father, “I took to the law, And argued each case with my wife; And the muscular strength which it gave to my jaw Has lasted the rest of my life.” “You are old,” said the youth; “one would hardly suppose That your eye was as steady as ever; Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose— What made you so awfully clever?” “I have answered three questions, and that is enough,” Said his father, “don’t give yourself airs! Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff? Be off, or I’ll kick you down-stairs!” LEWIS CARROLL. (“Alice in Wonderland.”)
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Poems
Apr 17, 2024 16:05:49 GMT -5
Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 16:05:49 GMT -5
The Nightingale and the Glow-Worm A nightingale, that all day long Had cheered the village with his song, Nor yet at eve his note suspended, Nor yet when eventide was ended, Began to feel, as well he might, The keen demands of appetite; When, looking eagerly around, He spied far off, upon the ground, A something shining in the dark, And knew the glow-worm by his spark; So, stooping down from hawthorn top, He thought to put him in his crop. The worm, aware of his intent, Harangued him thus, right eloquent: “Did you admire my lamp,” quoth he, “As much as I your minstrelsy, You would abhor to do me wrong, As much as I to spoil your song; For ’twas the self-same power divine, Taught you to sing and me to shine; That you with music, I with light, Might beautify and cheer the night.” The songster heard his short oration, And warbling out his approbation, Released him, as my story tells, And found a supper somewhere else. WILLIAM COWPER.
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Poems
Apr 17, 2024 16:08:23 GMT -5
Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 16:08:23 GMT -5
The Tyger Share on Facebook Share on Twitter Share on Tumblr View print mode Copy embed code Add this poem to an anthology William Blake 1757 – 1827 Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand, dare sieze the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears, And water'd heaven with their tears, Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
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Poems
Apr 17, 2024 16:09:11 GMT -5
Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 16:09:11 GMT -5
Jabberwocky BY LEWIS CARROLL ’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe.
“Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun The frumious Bandersnatch!”
He took his vorpal sword in hand; Long time the manxome foe he sought— So rested he by the Tumtum tree And stood awhile in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood, The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, Came whiffling through the tulgey wood, And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! He left it dead, and with its head He went galumphing back.
“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!” He chortled in his joy.
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe.
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Poems
Apr 17, 2024 16:13:28 GMT -5
Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 16:13:28 GMT -5
“Aiken Drum” Lyrics There was a man lived in the moon, lived in the moon, lived in the moon,
There was a man lived in the moon, And his name was Aiken Drum.
∼ Chorus ∼ And he played upon a ladle, a ladle, a ladle, And he played upon a ladle, and his name was Aiken Drum.
And his hat was made of good cream cheese, of good cream cheese, of good cream cheese, And his hat was made of good cream cheese, And his name was Aiken Drum.
And his coat was made of good roast beef, of good roast beef, of good roast beef, And his coat was made of good roast beef, And his name was Aiken Drum.
And his buttons made of penny loaves, of penny loaves, of penny loaves, And his buttons made of penny loaves, And his name was Aiken Drum.
And his waistcoat was made of crust pies, of crust pies, of crust pies, And his waistcoat was made of crust pies, And his name was Aiken Drum.
And his breeches made of haggis bags, of haggis bags, of haggis bags, And his breeches made of haggis bags, And his name was Aiken Drum.
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Poems
Apr 17, 2024 16:14:17 GMT -5
Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 16:14:17 GMT -5
And the Green Grass Grows All Around … Oh in the woods there was a tree The prettiest tree You ever did see And the tree was in the ground And the green grass grew all around, all around, and the green grass grew all around … And on that tree There was a limb The prettiest limb That you ever did see And the limb was on the tree And the tree in the ground And the green grass grew all around, all around, and the green grass grew all around … And on that limb There was a branch The prettiest branch That you ever did see And the branch was on the limb, And the limb was on the tree, And the tree was in the ground And the green grass grew all around, all around, and the green grass grew all around … And on that branch There was a nest The prettiest nest That you ever did see And the nest was on the branch And the branch was on the limb And the limb was on the tree And the tree was in the ground And the green grass grew all around, all around, and the green grass grew all around … And in that nest There was an egg The prettiest egg That you ever did see And the egg was in the nest And the nest was on the branch And the branch was on the limb And the limb was on the tree And the tree was in the ground And the green grass grew all around, all around, and the green grass grew all around … And in that egg There was a bird The prettiest bird That you ever did see And the bird was in the egg And the egg was in the nest And the nest was on the branch And the branch was on the limb And the limb was on the tree And the tree was in the ground And the green grass grew all around, all around, and the green grass grew all around
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Poems
Apr 17, 2024 16:15:01 GMT -5
Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 16:15:01 GMT -5
“This Is the House That Jack Built” Lyrics This is the house that Jack built. This is the cheese that lay in the house that Jack built. This is the rat that ate the cheese That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the cat that chased the rat That ate the cheese that lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the dog that worried the cat That chased the rat that ate the cheese That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the cow with the crumpled horn That tossed the dog that worried the cat That chased the rat that ate the cheese That lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the maiden all forlorn That milked the cow with the crumpled horn That tossed the dog that worried the cat That chased the rat that ate the cheese That lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the man all tattered and torn That kissed the maiden all forlorn That milked the cow with the crumpled horn That tossed the dog that worried the cat That chased the rat that ate the cheese That lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the judge all shaven and shorn That married the man all tattered and torn That kissed the maiden all forlorn That milked the cow with the crumpled horn That tossed the dog that worried the cat That chased the rat that ate the cheese That lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the rooster that crowed in the morn That woke the judge all shaven and shorn That married the man all tattered and torn That kissed the maiden all forlorn That milked the cow with the crumpled horn That tossed the dog that worried the cat That chased the rat that ate the cheese That lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the farmer sowing his corn That kept the rooster that crowed in the morn That woke the judge all shaven and shorn That married the man all tattered and torn That kissed the maiden all forlorn That milked the cow with the crumpled horn That tossed the dog that worried the cat That chased the rat that ate the cheese That lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the horse and the hound and the horn That belonged to the farmer sowing his corn That kept the rooster that crowed in the morn That woke the judge all shaven and shorn That married the man all tattered and torn That kissed the maiden all forlorn That milked the cow with the crumpled horn That tossed the dog that worried the cat That chased the rat that ate the cheese That lay in the house that Jack built.
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Poems
Apr 17, 2024 16:15:49 GMT -5
Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 16:15:49 GMT -5
There Was an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly Lyrics There was an old lady who swallowed a fly I don’t know why she swallowed a fly – Perhaps she’ll die! There was an old lady who swallowed a spider That wriggled and jiggled and tickled inside her!
She swallowed the spider to catch the fly; I don’t know why she swallowed a fly – Perhaps she’ll die! There was an old lady who swallowed a bird; How absurd to swallow a bird!
She swallowed the bird to catch the spider That wriggled and jiggled and tickled inside her! She swallowed the spider to catch the fly; I don’t know why she swallowed a fly – Perhaps she’ll die! There was an old lady who swallowed a cat; Fancy that! She swallowed a cat!
She swallowed the cat to catch the bird, She swallowed the bird to catch the spider That wriggled and jiggled and tickled inside her! She swallowed the spider to catch the fly; I don’t know why she swallowed a fly – Perhaps she’ll die! There was an old lady that swallowed a dog; What a hog, to swallow a dog!
She swallowed the dog to catch the cat, She swallowed the cat to catch the bird, She swallowed the bird to catch the spider That wriggled and jiggled and tickled inside her!
She swallowed the spider to catch the fly; I don’t know why she swallowed a fly – Perhaps she’ll die! There was an old lady who swallowed a goat; She just opened her throat and swallowed a goat!
She swallowed the goat to catch the dog, She swallowed the dog to catch the cat, She swallowed the cat to catch the bird, She swallowed the bird to catch the spider That wriggled and jiggled and tickled inside her! She swallowed the spider to catch the fly; I don’t know why she swallowed a fly – Perhaps she’ll die! There was an old lady who swallowed a cow; I don’t know how she swallowed a cow!
She swallowed the cow to catch the goat, She swallowed the goat to catch the dog, She swallowed the dog to catch the cat, She swallowed the cat to catch the bird, She swallowed the bird to catch the spider That wriggled and jiggled and tickled inside her! She swallowed the spider to catch the fly; I don’t know why she swallowed a fly – Perhaps she’ll die! There was an old lady who swallowed a horse;
…She died, of course!
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Poems
Apr 17, 2024 16:17:09 GMT -5
Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 16:17:09 GMT -5
“The Ants Go Marching” Lyrics The ants go marching one by one, hurrah, hurrah. The ants go marching one by one, hurrah, hurrah. The ants go marching one by one, The little one stops to suck his thumb. And they all go marching down, To the ground, to get out of the rain. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
…two…tie her shoe… …three….climb a tree… …four…shut the door… …five…take a dive… …six…pick up sticks… …seven…pray to heaven… …eight…check the gate… …nine…check the time… …ten…say “The End!”
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Poems
Apr 17, 2024 16:18:27 GMT -5
Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 16:18:27 GMT -5
“Daisy Bell (Bicycle Built For Two)” Lyrics Daisy, Daisy give me your answer do. I’m half crazy all for the love of you. It won’t be a stylish marriage, I can’t afford a carriage. But you’ll look sweet, Upon the seat, Of a bicycle made for two.
Michael, Micheal, here is your answer true. I’m not crazy all for the love of you. There won’t be any marriage, If you can’t afford a carriage. ‘Cause I’ll be switched, If I get hitched, On a bicycle built for two!”
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