“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?…

The Hunting The Bellman looked uffish, and wr… “If only you’d spoken before! It’s excessively awkward to mentio… With the Snark, so to speak, at t…

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...

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,

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.

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:

Matilda Jane, you never look At any toy or picture—book. I show you pretty things in vain You must be blind, Matilda Jane! I ask you riddles, tell you tales,

When midnight mists are creeping, And all the land is sleeping, Around me tread the mighty dead, And slowly pass away. Lo, warriors, saints, and sages,

Inscribed to a Dear Child: In Memory of Golden Summer Hours And Whispers of a Summer Sea Girt with a boyish garb for boyish… Eager she wields her spade: yet lo…

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…

BEAUTIFUL Soup, so rich and g… Waiting in a hot tureen! Who for such dainties would not st… Soup of the evening, beautiful So… Soup of the evening, beautiful So…

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…

The Landing “Just the place for a Snark!” the… As he landed his crew with care; Supporting each man on the top of… By a finger entwined in his hair.