#EnglishWriters
There was a young lady named Laur… Who went to the wilds of Angora, She came back on a goat With a beautiful coat, And notes of the fauna and flora.
WHO calls me bold because I won… And did not pine, And waste my life with secret pain… To make him mine? I us’d no arts; ’t was Nature’s s…
HOW many colors here do we see se… Like rings upon God’s finger? S… Some four, some six, some seven.… To left of red, to right of violet… Waits darkness deep as night and b…
PLAY me a march, low-ton’d and… Fit for the wandering feet of one… Lonely, between the bones below an… Here for a while they smil’d and… Here with the grass beneath the fo…
There once was a girl of Lahore, The same shape behind as before; As no one knew where To offer a chair, She had to sit down on the floor.
SHE passes in her beauty bright Amongst the mean, amongst the gay, And all are brighter for the sight… And bless her as she goes her way. And now a gleam of pity pours,
THERE is a singing in the summer… The blue and brown moths flutter o… The stubble bird is creaking in th… And perch’d upon the honeysuckle… Pipes the green linnet. Oh, the g…
There once was an old man of Lyme Who married three wives at a time, When asked, “Why a third?” He replied, "One’s absurd! And bigamy, sir, is a crime.
There was a young lady of Wilts, Who walked up to Scotland on stil… When they said it was shocking To show so much stocking She answered: “Then what about ki…
I HAVE two sons, wife’ Two, and yet the same; One his wild way runs, wife, Bringing us to shame. The one is bearded, sunburnt, grim…
WHEN He returns, and finds the w… All sleeping, young and old, unfai… Will he stoop down and whisper in… “Awaken!” or for pity’s sake forbe… Saying, “How shall I meet their f…
Part I. A couple old sat o’er the fire, And they were bent and gray; They burned the charcoal for their… Who lived long leagues away.
There once was an old man of Lyme Who married three wives at a time, When asked, ‘Why a third?’ He replied, 'One’s absurd! And bigamy, sir, is a crime.
HOW slowly creeps the hand of Ti… On the old clock’s green-mantled… Yea, slowly as those ivies climb, The hours roll round with patient… The drowsy rooks caw on the tower,