#English #Victorians
I never loved a dear Gazelle— Nor anything that cost me much: High prices profit those who sell, But why should I be fond of such? To glad me with his soft black eye
Little Birds are dining Warily and well, Hid in mossy cell: Hid, I say, by waiters Gorgeous in their gaiters —
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,
Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no...
There was an ancient City, strick… With a strange frenzy, and for man… They paced from morn to eve the cr… And danced the night away. I asked the cause: the aged man gr…
CHAPTER III. A Caucus-Race and a Long Tale They were indeed a queer-looking party that assembled on the bank—the birds with draggled feathers, the animals with their fur c...
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:
There was a table set out under a tree in front of the house, and the March Hare and the Hatter were having tea at it: a Dormouse was sitting between them, fast asleep, and the other tw...
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
Blow, blow your trumpets till they… Ye little men of little souls! And bid them huddle at your back - Gold-sucking leeches, shoals on sh… Fill all the air with hungry wails…
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
Little maidens, when you look On this little story—book, Reading with attentive eye Its enticing history, Never think that hours of play
The King and Queen of Hearts were seated on their throne when they arrived, with a great crowd assembled about them—all sorts of little birds and beasts, as well as the whole pack of ca...
A Mother’s breast: Safe refuge from her childish fear… From childish troubles, childish t… Mists that enshroud her dawning ye… see how in sleep she seems to sing
’Twas brillig, and the slithy tove… Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe. “Beware the Jabberwock, my son!