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Horace Smith

Horace Smith

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,
     Bring again;
Works of love, but worked in vain,
     Worked in vain!

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Autres oeuvres par 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…
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…
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…
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.
Prologue to a Charade.—“Damn-Ages”

In olden time—in great Eliza’s ag… When rare Ben Jonson ruled the hu… No play without its Prologue migh… To earn applause or ward the criti… And surely now old customs should…
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,
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
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
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
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…
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—
Young England

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…
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…
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;
Air—“Give That Wreath to Me”

Give that brief to me, Without so much bother; Never let it be Given to another. Why this coy resistance?



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