#RhymedStanza
Little Mary Bell had a Fairy in… Long John Brown had the Devil in… Long John Brown lov’d little Mar… And the Fairy drew the Devil into… Her Fairy skipp’d out and her Fai…
Earth rais’d up her head From the darkness dread and drear. Her light fled, Stony dread! And her locks cover’d with grey de…
The little boy lost in the lonely… Led by the wandering light, Began to cry, but God, ever nigh, Appeared like his father, in white… He kissed the child, and by the ha…
Awake, awake, my little boy! Thou wast thy mother’s only joy; Why dost thou weep in thy gentle s… Awake! thy father does thee keep. `O, what land is the Land of Drea…
Whate’er is born of mortal birth Must be consumed with the earth, To rise from generation free: Then what have I to do with thee? The sexes sprung from shame and pr…
THERE’S Doctor Clash, And Signor Falalasole, O they sweep in the cash Into their purse hole! Fa me la sol, La me fa sol!
AS I walk’d forth one May mornin… To see the fields so pleasant and… O! there did I spy a young maiden… Among the violets that smell so sw… smell so sweet,
‘O WINTER! bar thine adamantine… The north is thine; there hast tho… Deep-founded habitation. Shake no… Nor bend thy pillars with thine ir… He hears me not, but o’er the yawn…
O FOR a voice like thunder, and… To drown the throat of war! When… Are shaken, and the soul is driven… Who can stand? When the souls of… Fight in the troubled air that rag…
The sun descending in the west, The evening star does shine; The birds are silent in their nest… And I must seek for mine. The moon, like a flower
“Love seeketh not itself to please… Nor for itself hath any care, But for another gives its ease, And builds a Heaven in Hell's des… So sung a little Clod of Clay
TO be or not to be Of great capacity, Like Sir Isaac Newton, Or Locke, or Doctor South, Or Sherlock upon Death—
And there was heard a great lament… Of Beulah were moved as the tende… Why did you take Vengeance O ye… Planting these Oaken Groves: Ere… Injury the Lord heals but Vengean…
Once a dream did weave a shade O’er my angel—guarded bed, That an emmet lost its way Where on grass methought I lay. Troubled, wildered and forlorn,
I wonder whether the girls are mad… And I wonder whether they mean to… And I wonder if William Bond wil… For assuredly he is very ill. He went to church in a May mornin…