As Jesus and his followers Upon a Sabbath morn Were walking by a wheat field They plucked the ears of corn. They plucked it, they rubbed it,

What could be dafter Than John Skelton’s laughter? What sound more tenderly Than his pretty poetry? So where to rank old Skelton?

The bards falter in shame, their r… Stumbles, with marrow—bones the dr… Pelt them for their delay. It is a something fearful in the s… Plagues them —an unknown grief tha…

Those who dare give nothing Are left with less than nothing; Dear heart, you give me everything… Which leaves you more than everyth… Though those who dare give nothing

SHE: You’ll not forget these roc… HE: How could I? Never: whatever… SHE: What do you think might hap… Might you fall out of love? —did y… HE: Never, never! `Whatever’ was…

Nine of the clock, oh! Wake my lazy head! Your shoes of red morocco, Your silk bed—gown: Rouse, rouse, speck—eyed Mary

Children are dumb to say how hot t… How hot the scent is of the summer… How dreadful the black wastes of e… How dreadful the tall soldiers dru… But we have speech, to chill the a…

White flabbiness goes brown and le… Dumpling arms are now brass bars, They’ve learnt to suffer and live… And to think below the stars. They’ve steeled a tender, girlish…

We may well wonder at those bearde… Who like the scorpion and the basi… Couched in the desert sands, to un… Their scrufy flesh with tortures. They drank from pools fouled by th…

Here down this very way, Here only yesterday King Faun went leaping. He sang, with careless shout Hurling his name about;

This valley wood is pledged To the set shape of things, And reasonably hedged: Here are no harpies fledged, No rocs may clap their wings,

The butterfly, the cabbage white, (His honest idiocy of flight) Will never now, it is too late, Master the art of flying straight, Yet has —who knows so well as I?…

She let her golden ball fall down… And begged a cold frog to retrieve… For which she kissed his ugly, gap… Indeed, he could scarce believe it… And seeing him transformed to his…