The Fiddler O’ Boglebriggs (Alexander Anderson Poems)
A fiddler sits, wha has never been seen, On the ledgin' o' Boglebriggs;An' aye when the clock strikes the midnicht ...
A fiddler sits, wha has never been seen, On the ledgin' o' Boglebriggs;An' aye when the clock strikes the midnicht ...
Never say aught in verse, or grave or gay,That you in prose would hesitate to say.Never in rhyme pretend to ...
A feller don't start in to think of himself, an' the part that he's playin' down here,When there's nobody ...
It was Sir Frederick Hamilton's men Were hungry for the fray, And it was a son of the bog ...
With deep affection,And recollection,I often think of Those Shandon bells,Whose sounds so wild would,In the days of childhood,Fling around my ...
Nobody hates me more than I;No enemy have I to-dayThat I so bravely must defy;There are no foes along my ...
Do not fret, do not cry, do not taxYour last strength, and your heart do not torture.You're alive, you're inside ...
LADY, when you say you'll comeTuesday morn to do our washing, Tell us if there isn't some Way to know ...
I serve a mistress whiter than snow, Straighter than cedar, brighter than the glass, Finer in trip and swifter than ...
I'SPOSE the big head bendin' over my crib Is my Pa. I 'spose that wiseacre whose talk is so glib ...
Hard light bathed them-a whole nation of eyeless men, Dark bipeds not aware how they were maimed. A long Process, ...
THE worst of ills, with jealousy compared, Are trifling torments ev'ry where declared. IMAGINE, to yourself a silly fool, To ...
Of all the rides since the birth of time, Told in story or sung in rhyme, - On Apuleius' Golden ...
So rough the goat will scratch, it cannot sleep. So often goes the pot to the well that it breaks. ...
THEE for my recitative! Thee in the driving storm, even as now-the snow-the winter-day declining; Thee in thy panoply, thy ...
When Yankies, skill'd in martial rule, First put the British troops to school; Instructed them in warlike trade, And new ...
'Listen, now, verse should be as natural As the small tuber that feeds on muck And grows slowly from obtuse ...
Fast, in its prison-walls of earth, Awaits the mould of baked clay. Up, comrades, up, and aid the birth The ...
Ruins in Rome are four a penny, And here along the Appian Way I see the monuments of many Esteemed ...
We were supposed to do a job in Italy and, full of our feeling for ourselves (our sense of being ...
the population controller slips into disguise his charming suit his veil of words conceals his gaze he has laid out ...
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