Oh, saw ye my own true love, I pr… My own true love so sweete? For the flowers have lightly toss’… The prynte of her faery feete. Now, how can we telle if she passe…

Thou little village curate, Come quick, and do not wait; We’ll sit and talk together, So sweetly _tete-a-tete_. Oh do not fear the railway

Two neighbours, fighting for a yar… Two witnesses, who _lie_ on either… Two lawyers, issuing many writs an… Two clerks, in a dark passage coun… Two counsel, calling one another n…

Take, oh take those boots away, That so nearly are outworn; And those shoes remove, I pray— Pumps that but induce the corn! But my slippers bring again,

Oh this earth is a mineful of trea… A goblet, that’s full to the brim, And each man may take for his plea… The thing that’s most pleasant to… Then let all, who are birds of my…

Sleep, little baby, sleep, love, s… Evening is coming, and night is ni… Under the lattice the little birds… All will be sleeping by and by. Sleep, little baby, sleep.

Warriors! who from the cannon’s mo… Your fame to raise, Upon its blaze, Alas! ye do but light your funeral… Tempting Fate’s stroke;

I know not what the cause may be, Or whether there be one or many; But this year’s Spring has seemed… More exquisite than any. What happy days we spent together

Thanks for an hour of laughing In a world that is growing old; Thanks for an hour of weeping In a world that is growing cold; For we who have wept with Dickens…

Nothing so true as what you once l… “To growl at something is the lot… Contentment is a gem on earth unkn… And Perfect Happiness the wizard’… Give me,” you cried, “to see my du…

The moon in the valley of Ajalon Stood still at the word of the pro… But since certain “Essays” were w… We don’t think so very much of it. Now, a prophet is raised up among…

The times still “grow to something… We rap and turn the tables; We fire our guns at awful range; We lay Atlantic cables; We bore the hills, we bridge the s…

Three attorneys came sailing down… Down Chancery Lane e’er the court… They thought of the leaders they o… But the Junior Bar, oh, they thou… For serjeants get work and Q.C.'s…

You say ‘tis plain that poets feig… And from the truth depart; They write with ease what fibs the… With artifice, not art; Dearer to you the simply true—