From his shoulder Hiawatha Took the camera of rosewood, Made of sliding, folding rosewood; Neatly put it all together. In its case it lay compactly,

She’s all my fancy painted him (I make no idle boast); If he or you had lost a limb, Which would have suffered most? He said that you had been to her,

Lady Clara Vere de Vere Was eight years old, she said: Every ringlet, lightly shaken, ran… She took her little porringer: Of me she shall not win renown:

In stature the Manlet was dwarfis… No burly, big Blunderbore he; And he wearily gazed on the crawfi… His Wifelet had dressed for his t… ‘Now reach me, sweet Atom, my gun…

He thought he saw an Elephant, That practised on a fife: He looked again, and found it was A letter from his wife. ‘At length I realise,’ he said,

AY, 'twas here, on this spot, In that summer of yore, Atalanta did not Vote my presence a bore, Nor reply to my tenderest talk “S…

“WHAT’S this?” I pondered. “Ha… Or can I have been drinking?” But soon a gentler feeling crept Upon me, and I sat and wept An hour or so, like winking.

With saddest music all day long She soothed her secret sorrow: At night she sighed “I fear 'twas… Such cheerful words to borrow. Dearest, a sweeter, sadder song

I’ll tell thee everything I can; There’s little to relate. I saw an aged aged man, A—sitting on a gate. “Who are you, aged man?” I said,

Man Naturally loves delay, And to procrastinate; Business put off from day to day Is always done to late. Let ever hour be in its place

When on the sandy shore I sit, Beside the salt sea—wave, And fall into a weeping fit Because I dare not shave — A little whisper at my ear