Every ringlet, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden thread.
She took her little porringer:
Of me she shall not win renown:
For the baseness of its nature shall have strength to drag her
down.
‘Sisters and brothers, little Maid?
There stands the Inspector at thy door:
Like a dog, he hunts for boys who know not two and two are four.’
‘Kind words are more than coronets,’
She said, and wondering looked at me:
‘It is the dead unhappy night, and I must hurry home to tea.’
They pursued it with forks and hope;They threatened its life with a railway-share;They charmed it with smiles and soap.They shuddered to think that the chase might fail,And the Beaver, excited at last,Went bounding along on the tip of its tail,For the daylight was nearly past.‘There is Thingumbob shouting!’ the Bellman said.‘He is shouting like mad,…
I show you pretty things in vainYou must be blind, Matilda Jane!I ask you riddles, tell you tales,But all our conversation fails.You never answer me againI fear you’re dumb, Matilda Jane!Matilda darling, when I call,You never seem to hear at all.I shout with all my might and mainBut you’re so deaf, Matilda Jane!Matilda Jane, you…
In an evening of July —Children three that nestle near,Eager eye and willing earPleased a simple tale to hear —Long has paled that sunny sky:Echoes fade and memories die:Autumn frosts have slain July.Still she haunts me, phantomwiseAlice moving under skiesNever seen by waking eyes.Children yet, the tale to hear,Eager eye and willing ear,Lovingly shall nestle…
I always fancied Ghosts could fly –If not exactly in the sky,Yet at a fairish height.’‘It’s very well,’ said he, ‘for KingsTo soar above the earth:But Phantoms often find that wings –Like many other pleasant things –Cost more than they are worth.‘Spectres of course are rich, and soCan buy them from the Elves:But WE prefer…
And bid them huddle at your back –Gold-sucking leeches, shoals on shoals!Fill all the air with hungry wails –‘Reward us, ere we think or write!Without your Gold mere Knowledge failsTo sate the swinish appetite!’And, where great Plato paced serene,Or Newton paused with wistful eye,Rush to the chace with hoofs uncleanAnd Babel-clamour of the styBe yours…
They roused him with mustard and cress–They roused him with jam and judicious advice–They set him conundrums to guess.When at length he sat up and was able to speak,His sad story he offered to tell;And the Bellman cried ‘Silence! Not even a shriek!’And excitedly tingled his bell.There was silence supreme! Not a shriek, not a…
