I have a Poll parrot, And Poll is my doll, And my nurse is Polly, And my sister Poll. ‘Polly!’ cried Polly,
‘Now did you mark a falcon, Sister dear, sister dear, Flying toward my window In the morning cool and clear? With jingling bells about her neck…
Your hands lie open in the long fr… The finger—points look through lik… Your eyes smile peace. The pastur… ‘Neath billowing skies that scatte… All round our nest, far as the eye…
If a mouse could fly, Or if a crow could swim, Or if a sprat could walk and talk, I’d like to be like him. If a mouse could fly,
In the meadow —what in the meadow? Bluebells, buttercups, meadowsweet… And fairy rings for the children’s… In the meadow. In the garden —what in the garden?
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.
Two doves upon the selfsame branch… Two lilies on a single stem, Two butterflies upon one flower:— Oh happy they who look on them. Who look upon them hand in hand
I have a little husband And he is gone to sea, The winds that whistle round his s… Fly home to me. The winds that sigh about me
Herself a rose, who bore the Rose… She bore the Rose and felt its th… All loveliness new—born Took on her bosom its repose, And slept and woke there night and…
If I were a Queen, What would I do? I’d make you King, And I’d wait on you. If I were a King,
A hundred, a thousand to one; even… Not a hope in the world remained: The swarming howling wretches belo… Gained and gained and gained. Skene looked at his pale young wif…
A pin has a head, but has no hair; A clock has a face, but no mouth t… Needles have eyes, but they cannot… A fly has a trunk without lock or… A timepiece may lose, but cannot w…
Rosy maiden Winifred, With a milkpail on her head, Tripping through the corn, While the dew lies on the wheat In the sunny morn.
My baby has a mottled fist, My baby has a neck in creases; My baby kisses and is kissed, For he’s the very thing for kisses…
Oh roses for the flush of youth, And laurel for the perfect prime; But pluck an ivy branch for me Grown old before my time. Oh violets for the grave of youth,