#English #Victorians #XIXCentury #1878 #ABookOfMiscellaneousLyrics
I HAD a merry bird Who sung a merry song, And take it on my word, The day it was not long In presence of my bird with its me…
JUST let the Owl of Evil howl; To mourners of each rank and stati… Come, troll the Golden Bowl! And quaff me with a deep potation. Each sparkling droplet to the soul
A SYREN, with her mirror bright… His ear enchants; and while he lis… His image on his dazzled sight, A very jewel gleams and glistens. Ah, could he peer into yon brook,
DECK’D in a many gems of morn, A daffodil without a peer, I reared my head, and treat with s… A one-pearl-gifted daisy near. That very hour, lo! wind-a-rock’d
I’m as loyal a subject as Britain… Our Queen she is gracious, and ge… But another this moment demandeth… ’Tis Annie, the lass with the two… The hair of my idol’s a stream of…
‘LOVE’S a pleasure, love’s a tre… Why the joys of love withstand?’ Alf so pleadeth, Effie heedeth And—What ails the lily-wand? Lighter grow her airs and lighter—
WHAT can he ail? I hear them ask And what can make his cheek so pal… Ah, that to answer were a task For which no effort could avail, To say I love were but to say
WRAPT in fancy by a river, That flows onward ever, ever, Down I sat me while the moon In her fairest vesture shone— All was still as death, when lo!
THE devil and the devil’s brood Around a boiling caldron hung, While in a nook in merry mood Grim Death a dainty ditty sung; For guided by a baleful star
WILTED is the leaf, and blown By the cold wind up and down, That beheld thy promise fair, Maiden with the dark brown hair! Shatter’d is this heart, and hurl’…
‘You naughty Bee!’ the Red Rose… ‘To come at noon by Envy driven, And wound the bloom whose beauty m… The Sun to linger in the heaven! ’I little dream’d, while I did gr…
’TIS little Robin Redbreast Was piping on the spray, ‘And pray, mamma, what shall we do To bring him up this way?’ Mamma into the pantry goes,
BALOO, my sweet baby—the blossom… I dandle’t till weary, and sigh, With not a bare drop in my bosom To silence its pitiful cry. The red moon above us right rarely…
HER harp she takes, from string t… Her little snowy fingers, glancing… Into Night’s ear a wild spell fli… And all the while my heart is danc… Why thus, fond heart, thus dancest…
‘NOT now shall I sing of my spor… But the golden hours and gay,’ Sang the Breeze, ‘when I, a wild… With the Summer flowers to play. ’When I tiptoe go to the pansy, t…