#English #Victorians #Women #XIXCentury
O Lady Moon, your horns point tow… Shine, be increased; O Lady Moon, your horns point tow… Wane, be at rest.
How many seconds in a minute? Sixty, and no more in it. How many minutes in an hour? Sixty for sun and shower. How many hours in a day?
Passing away, saith the World, pa… Chances, beauty and youth, sapp’d… Thy life never continueth in one s… Is the eye waxen dim, is the dark… That hath won neither laurel nor b…
The city mouse lives in a house; — The garden mouse lives in a bower, He’s friendly with the frogs and t… And sees the pretty plants in flow… The city mouse eats bread and chee…
DOES the road wind uphill all th… Yes, to the very end. Will the day’s journey take the wh… From morn to night, my friend. But is there for the night a resti…
New Year met me somewhat sad: Old Year leaves me tired, Stripped of favourite things I ha… Baulked of much desired: Yet farther on my road to—day
I wish you were a pleasant wren, And I your small accepted mate; How we’d look down on toilsome men… We’d rise and go to bed at eight Or it may be not quite so late.
Minnie bakes oaten cakes, Minnie brews ale, All because her Johnny’s coming Home from sea. And she glows like a rose
Frost—locked all the winter, Seeds, and roots, and stones of fr… What shall make their sap ascend That they may put forth shoots? Tips of tender green,
How comes it, Flora, that, whenev… Play cards together, you invariabl… However the pack parts, Still hold the Queen of Hearts? I’ve scanned you with a scrutinizi…
Bread and milk for breakfast, And woollen frocks to wear, And a crumb for robin redbreast On the cold days of the year.
‘Ferry me across the water, Do, boatman, do.’ ‘If you’ve a penny in your purse I’ll ferry you.’ ‘I have a penny in my purse,
The wind has such a rainy sound Moaning through the town, The sea has such a windy sound, — Will the ships go down? The apples in the orchard
Maiden May sat in her bower, In her blush rose bower in flower, Sweet of scent; Sat and dreamed away an hour, Half content, half uncontent.
The sunrise wakes the lark to sing… The moonrise wakes the nightingale… Come darkness, moonrise, everythin… That is so silent, sweet, and pale… Come, so ye wake the nightingale.