Tom’s Chest (Dorothy Una Ratcliffe Poems)
TOM finished t' oak chest he wur carvin' When leddies-smock coom into flower;An' he passed away, Woe worth the day! ...
TOM finished t' oak chest he wur carvin' When leddies-smock coom into flower;An' he passed away, Woe worth the day! ...
Eh! Thoo's a seet wi' thi bandaged headAn' collar-bone broke! Why do lads playSike gaumless games? Coom thi ways to ...
Have you heard of one Humpty Dumpty How he fell with a roll and a rumble And curled up like ...
What conversazzhyonies wuz I really did not know, For that, you must remember, wuz a powerful spell ago; The camp ...
Thar showed up out'n Denver in the spring uv '81 A man who'd worked with Dana on the Noo York ...
The girt woak tree that's in the dell ! There's noo tree I do love so well; Vor times an' ...
No, I'm a man, I'm vull a man, You beat my manhood, if you can. You'll be a man if ...
If souls should only sheen so bright In heaven as in e'thly light, An' nothen better wer the cease, How ...
'Ithin the woodlands, flow'ry gleaded, By the woak tree's mossy moot, The sheenen grass-bleades, timber-sheaded, Now do quiver under voot; ...
Since I noo mwore do zee your feace, Up steairs or down below, I'll zit me in the lwonesome pleace, ...
The girt woak tree that's in the dell ! There's noo tree I do love so well; Vor times an' ...
No, I'm a man, I'm vull a man, You beat my manhood, if you can. You'll be a man if ...
'Ithin the woodlands, flow'ry gleaded, By the woak tree's mossy moot, The sheenen grass-bleades, timber-sheaded, Now do quiver under voot; ...
Since I noo mwore do zee your feace, Up steairs or down below, I'll zit me in the lwonesome pleace, ...
If souls should only sheen so bright In heaven as in e'thly light, An' nothen better wer the cease, How ...
You may talk o' your lutes and your dulcimers fine, Your harps and your tabors and cymbals and a', But ...
"Hae ye heard whit ma auld mither's postit tae me? It fair maks me hamesick," says Private McPhee. "And whit ...
I've got a little job on 'and, the time is drawin' nigh; At seven by the Captain's watch I'm due ...
Says Bauldy MacGreegor frae Gleska tae Hecky MacCrimmon frae Skye: "That's whit I hate maist aboot fechtin' -- it makes ...
OUR Johnie's deid. The mair's the pity! He's deid, an' deid o' Aqua-vitae. O Embro', you're a shrunken city, Noo ...
It chanced out back at the Christmas time, When the wheat was ripe and tall, A stranger rode to the ...
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