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Horace Smith

Horace Smith

Impromptu in the Assize Court, Nottingham

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,
 And we who have laughed with Boz,
Have renewed the days of our childhood
 With his American Coz.

#EnglishWriters

Other works by Horace Smith...
Letter From the Town Mouse to the Country

Oh for a field, my friend; oh for… I ask no more Than one plain field, shut in by h… Contentment sweet to yield. For I am not fastidious,
 1
Air—“Three Fishers Went Sailing.”

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…
My Boating Song

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…
An Attempt to Remember the “Grandmother's Apology”

And Willie, my eldest born, is go… Ruddy and white, and strong on his… He was only fourscore years, quite… I ought to have gone before, but m… So Harry’s wife has written; she…
Lullaby

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.
Ozymandias

In Egypt’s sandy silence, all alo… Stands a gigantic Leg, which far… The only shadow that the Desert k… “I am great Ozymandias,” saith th… “The King of Kings; this mighty…
At the “Cock” Tavern

Champagne doth not a luncheon make… Nor caviare a meal; Men gluttonous and rich may take These till they make them ill. If I’ve potatoes to my chop,
Love and Liberty

The linnet had flown from its cage… And flitted and sang in the light… Had flown from the lady who loved… In Liberty’s freer air to dwell. Alas! poor bird, it was soon to pr…
 1
The Curate to His Slippers

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,
Isle of Wight—Spring, 1891

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
Prothalamion

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…
Impromptu in the Assize Court at Lincoln

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…
To a Scientific Friend

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—
An Olde Lyric

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…
Effusion by a Cigar Smoker

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;



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