Samuel Pepys, as all men know,
Loved ladies and ships in the long ago;
Out on the board the old shearer stands,
Grasping his shears in his long, bony hands,
Alle, that beoth of huerte trewe, A stounde herkneth to my song
There are scenes in the distance where beauty is not,
On the desolate flats where gaunt appletrees rot.
BREATHES there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
for the dear memory of John Kerouac
They came from the lower levels
Deep down in the Brilliant mine;
A rough old nut,
A tough old nut
"Don't you take no sail off 'er,"
The Ol' Man said,
(Indicative of the Passion of the People
on the 15th Day of April, 1865)
We buried old Bob where the bloodwoods wave
At the foot of the Eaglehawk;
Look at me with thy large brown eyes,
Philip, my king!
FLORENCE wears an added grace,
All her earlier honors crowning;
Soul of the Poet ! wheresoe'er, Reclaimed from earth, thy genius plume
Fare you well, you Sydney girls, time for us to go! The Peter's at the fore truck, and five thousand bales below,
William Shakepeare's Mother
With speechless lips and solemn tread
They brought the Lawyer-Statesman home:
We have sung the song of the droving days,
Of the march of the travelling sheep;
Oh, light was the world that he weighed in his hands!
Oh, heavy the tale of his fiefs and his lands!
"I don't want none of 'is stuff," said Bill, "nor I don't want none of 'is gear,
I don't want things as I've known 'im use nor thing
Cuando me vino el honor De la tierra generosa,
As in the gardens, all through May, the rose,
Lovely, and young, and fair apparelled,
I saw pale Dian, sitting by the brink Of silver falls, the overflow of fountains
Here's the dream I had, boys, an' I tell you true, I saw the old Fulmar plain as I see you —
Far back in the days when the blacks used to ramble
In long single file ’neath the evergreen tree,
FAIRE as unshaded Light; or as the Day
In its first birth, when all the Year was May;
When in the quiet house I sat alone,
Sometimes I heard your footfall drawing near;
Telling us so much
it so much the more
"Don't sound," old Job, the ringer, said,
"No muffled peal for I,
Worn with the battle, by Stamford town,
Fighting the Norman by Hastings Bay,
|