Somdy’s Chonce (John Hartley Poems)
What's a poor lass like me to do, 'At langs for a hooam ov her own?Aw'm a hale an bonny wench ...
What's a poor lass like me to do, 'At langs for a hooam ov her own?Aw'm a hale an bonny wench ...
As awm sittin enjoyin mi pipe, An tooastin mi shins beside th' hob,Aw find ther's a harvest quite ripe, O' thowts stoored ...
Aw'm wearily trudgin throo mire an weet, For aw've finished another day's wark;An welcome to me is that flickerin leet, 'At shines ...
The doors are shut, the windows fast;Outside the gust is driving past,Outside the shivering ivy clings,While on the hob the ...
At hawthorn-time in Wiltshire travellingIn search of something chance would never bring,An old man's face, by life and weather cutAnd ...
I Brag, sweet tenor bull, descant on Rawthey's madrigal, each pebble its part for the fells' late spring. Dance tiptoe, ...
" By Casey's Occidental Rooms, when the sun is getting low, The chattering crowds of Chinatown along the pavements go, ...
I. A palace, and a king within;- Hail, potent monarch! Hail, King Gin! Open stands his palace door; Ready access ...
THE cock has crow'd an hour ago, 'Tis time we now dull sleep forego; Tir'd Nature is by sleep redress'd, ...
Jone, lad, though thi hond's Like reawsty iron to feel,There's very few i'th lond Aw like to gripe ...
Aw've just mended th' fire wi' a cob;Owd Swaddle has brought thi new shoon;There's some nice bacon-collops o'th hobAn' a ...
Th' child cries i'th cradle;Th' cake bruns o'th stone;Th' cow moos i'th milkin' gap,At th' end o'th loan.The cat purs ...
Along the lanes from marketFolk went by:White along the river-sideMist did lie:Hob rode the grey mare,Rob rode the roan:Then met ...
Ich seh vor mir noch immerDie nackten, leeren Zimmer.Hier war ich sonst zu Haus.Jetzt war es aus.Ich seh verkratzte StellenAm ...
When Julius Fabricius, Sub-Prefect of the Weald, In the days of Diocletian owned our Lower River-field, He called to him ...
Where dips the rocky highland Of Sleuth Wood in the lake, There lies a leafy island Where flapping herons wake ...
AGAINST THE GRAIN "Oxford be silent, I this truth must write Leeds hath for rarities undone thee quite." - William ...
Toil's a tunnel, there's no way out For fellows, the like o' me; A beggar wi' only a crust an' ...
Oh I am neither rich nor poor, No worker I dispoil; Yet I am glad to be secure From servitude ...
YE learned sisters, which have oftentimes Beene to me ayding, others to adorne, Whom ye thought worthy of your gracefull ...
LEt no lamenting cryes, nor dolefull teares, Be heard all night within nor yet without: Ne let false whispers breeding ...
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