The Little Red Dog (C J Dennis Poems)
The Glugs still live in the land of Gosh,Under the rule of the great King Splosh. And they climb the ...
The Glugs still live in the land of Gosh,Under the rule of the great King Splosh. And they climb the ...
I seldom get to hatin' men, nor had much cause to hate;To me, it just a foolish game to play, ...
When first I found this forest place More years ago than I can tell,I met a man of alien race ...
When Summer comesTo silence the retreating drums Of stubborn Winter, when content Shall salve my chill predicament.And I shall loll ...
Mr Fitzmickle, the martinet, Still with an iron handRules house and home. Like a peevish gnome He barks each curt ...
I think I should suit, for I've knowledge minute Of all tickets, time-tables, and trains;All speedings and slowings and comings ...
Spring surely must be near. High over head The kind blue heavens bend to timbers tall;And here, this morning, is ...
Winter has come; and tardily -- Now little nipping winds are rifeWhere laggard leaves, on many a tree, Still cling ...
Oh, how I hate these chills, these winter ills, Bleak blasts and breezes;Abominate the "flu," the fierce "Tishoo" -- All ...
Swe-e-et! Swe-e-et! Low at first and flattering, Full of soft seductiveness on a wheedling note.Who comes in mercy now, crumbs ...
What do they dream about standing there In the windows facing the street?Eyes transfixed in a strange, far stare, Smiles ...
Where Feathertop frowns thro' the winter scud, Where Buffalo broods on high,Dwells she, a lass of royal blood, And a ...
At the meeting of the waters Where the dark tree shadows playWangaratta's sons and daughters Dream the drowsy hours away;Placid ...
With the advent of the AutumnTrees behave as Nature taught 'em; Maple, Sumach, Plum and Poplar, and the Chestnut known ...
The cattle-lands of Corryong, The maiden of the snows(Where silver streams the winter longSing pleasantly their tinkling song) Not many ...
When you're muffled to the chin andYou wear flannel next the skin and'Spite of all, the frost creeps in and ...
Winter comes; and our complaintsGrow apace as summer faints, Waning days grow dull and drear, Something tells, too well, I ...
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