#English #Victorians
There are certain things —a spider… The income—tax, gout, an umbrella… That I hate, but the thing that I… Is a thing they call the SEA. Pour some salt water over the floo…
The Three Voices The First Voice He trilled a carol fresh and free, He laughed aloud for very glee: There came a breeze from off the s…
“SISTER, sister, go to bed! Go and rest your weary head.” Thus the prudent brother said. “Do you want a battered hide, Or scratches to your face applied?…
How doth the little crocodile Improve his shining tail, And pour the waters of the Nile On every golden scale! How cheerfully he seems to grin,
Fit the First The Landing “Just the place for a Snark!” the… As he landed his crew with care; Supporting each man on the top of…
A boat, beneath a sunny sky Lingering onward dreamily In an evening of July — Children three that nestle near, Eager eye and willing ear
‘Will you walk a little faster?’ s… ‘There’s a porpoise close behind u… See how eagerly the lobsters and t… They are waiting on the shingle—wi… Will you, won’t you, will you, won…
The ladye she stood at her lattice… Wi’ her doggie at her feet; Thorough the lattice she can spy The passers in the street, 'There’s one that standeth at the…
CHAPTER V. Advice from a Caterpillar The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and...
Why is it that Poetry has never yet been subjected to that process of Dilution which has proved so advantageous to her sister—art Music? The Diluter gives us first a few notes of some w...
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.
All in the golden afternoon Full leisurely we glide; For both our oars, with little ski… By little arms are plied, While little hands make vain prete…
The Bellman’s Speech The Bellman himself they all prai… Such a carriage, such ease and suc… Such solemnity, too! One could se… The moment one looked in his face!
In winter, when the fields are whi… I sing this song for your delight. In Spring, when woods are getting… I’ll try and tell you what I mean… In Summer, when the days are long…
As one who strives a hill to climb… Who never climbed before: Who finds it, in a little time, Grow every moment less sublime, And votes the thing a bore: