Society and the World

Sonnet 08 - What can I give thee back, O liberal

VIII

What can I give thee back, O liberal
And princely giver, who hast brought the gold
And purple of thine heart, unstained, untold,
And laid them on the outside of the-wall
For such as I to take or leave withal,
In unexpected largesse? am I cold,
Ungrateful, that for these most manifold
High gifts, I render nothing back at all?
Not so; not cold,-but very poor instead.
Ask God who knows. For frequent tears have run
The colors from my life, and left so dead
And pale a stuff, it were not fitly done
To give the same as pillow to thy head.
Go farther! let it serve to trample on.

Sonnet 04 - Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor

IV

Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor,
Most gracious singer of high poems! where
The dancers will break footing, from the care
Of watching up thy pregnant lips for more.
And dost thou lift this house's latch too poor
For hand of thine? and canst thou think and bear
To let thy music drop here unaware
In folds of golden fulness at my door?
Look up and see the casement broken in,
The bats and owlets builders in the roof!
My cricket chirps against thy mandolin.
Hush, call no echo up in further proof
Of desolation! there 's a voice within
That weeps . . . as thou must sing . . . alone, aloof

Pain In Pleasure

A THOUGHT ay like a flower upon mine heart,
And drew around it other thoughts like bees
For multitude and thirst of sweetnesses;
Whereat rejoicing, I desired the art
Of the Greek whistler, who to wharf and mart
Could lure those insect swarms from orange-trees
That I might hive with me such thoughts and please
My soul so, always. foolish counterpart
Of a weak man's vain wishes ! While I spoke,
The thought I called a flower grew nettle-rough
The thoughts, called bees, stung me to festering:
Oh, entertain (cried Reason as she woke)
Your best and gladdest thoughts but long enough,
And they will all prove sad enough to sting !

IX


Can it be right to give what I can give ?
To let thee sit beneath the fall of tears
As salt as mine, and hear the sighing years
Re-sighing on my lips renunciative
Through those infrequent smiles which fail to live
For all thy adjurations ? O my fears,
That this can scarce be right ! We are not peers,
So to be lovers; and I own, and grieve,
That givers of such gifts as mine are, must
Be counted with the ungenerous. Out, alas !
I will not soil thy purple with my dust,
Nor breathe my poison on thy Venice-glass,
Nor give thee any love--which were unjust.
Beloved, I only love thee ! let it pass.

Exaggeration


WE overstate the ills of life, and take
Imagination (given us to bring down
The choirs of singing angels overshone
By God's clear glory) down our earth to rake
The dismal snows instead, flake following flake,
To cover all the corn; we walk upon
The shadow of hills across a level thrown,
And pant like climbers: near the alder brake
We sigh so loud, the nightingale within
Refuses to sing loud, as else she would.
O brothers, let us leave the shame and sin
Of taking vainly, in a plaintive mood,
The holy name of GRIEF !--holy herein
That by the grief of ONE came all our good.

Cheerfulness Taught By Reason

I THINK we are too ready with complaint
In this fair world of God's. Had we no hope
Indeed beyond the zenith and the slope
Of yon gray blank of sky, we might grow faint
To muse upon eternity's constraint
Round our aspirant souls; but since the scope
Must widen early, is it well to droop,
For a few days consumed in loss and taint ?
O pusillanimous Heart, be comforted
And, like a cheerful traveller, take the road
Singing beside the hedge. What if the bread
Be bitter in thine inn, and thou unshod
To meet the flints ? At least it may be said
' Because the way is short, I thank thee, God. '

Adequacy


NOW, by the verdure on thy thousand hills,
Beloved England, doth the earth appear
Quite good enough for men to overbear
The will of God in, with rebellious wills !
We cannot say the morning-sun fulfils
Ingloriously its course, nor that the clear
Strong stars without significance insphere
Our habitation: we, meantime, our ills
Heap up against this good and lift a cry
Against this work-day world, this ill-spread feast,
As if ourselves were better certainly
Than what we come to. Maker and High Priest,
I ask thee not my joys to multiply,--
Only to make me worthier of the least.

A Curse For A Nation

I heard an angel speak last night,

And he said 'Write!
Write a Nation's curse for me,
And send it over the Western Sea.'

I faltered, taking up the word:

'Not so, my lord!
If curses must be, choose another
To send thy curse against my brother.

'For I am bound by gratitude,

By love and blood,
To brothers of mine across the sea,
Who stretch out kindly hands to me.'

'Therefore,' the voice said, 'shalt thou write

My curse to-night.
From the summits of love a curse is driven,
As lightning is from the tops of heaven.'

'Not so,' I answered. 'Evermore

My heart is sore
For my own land's sins: for little feet
Of children bleeding along the street:

'For parked-up honors that gainsay

The right of way:
For almsgiving through a door that is
Not open enough for two friends to kiss:

'For love of freedom which abates

Beyond the Straits:
For patriot virtue starved to vice on
Self-praise, self-interest, and suspicion:

'For an oligarchic parliament,

And bribes well-meant.
What curse to another land assign,
When heavy-souled for the sins of mine?'

'Therefore,' the voice said, 'shalt thou write

My curse to-night.
Because thou hast strength to see and hate
A foul thing done within thy gate.'

'Not so,' I answered once again.

'To curse, choose men.
For I, a woman, have only known
How the heart melts and the tears run down.'

'Therefore,' the voice said, 'shalt thou write
My curse to-night.


Some women weep and curse, I say
(And no one marvels), night and day.

'And thou shalt take their part to-night,

Weep and write.
A curse from the depths of womanhood
Is very salt, and bitter, and good.'

So thus I wrote, and mourned indeed,

What all may read.
And thus, as was enjoined on me,
I send it over the Western Sea.

The Curse

Because ye have broken your own chain

With the strain
Of brave men climbing a Nation's height,
Yet thence bear down with brand and thong

On souls of others, -- for this wrong
This is the curse. Write.

Because yourselves are standing straight

In the state
Of Freedom's foremost acolyte,
Yet keep calm footing all the time

On writhing bond-slaves, -- for this crime
This is the curse. Write.

Because ye prosper in God's name,

With a claim
To honor in the old world's sight,
Yet do the fiend's work perfectly

In strangling martyrs, -- for this lie
This is the curse. Write.

Ye shall watch while kings conspire
Round the people's smouldering fire,

And, warm for your part,
Shall never dare -- O shame!
To utter the thought into flame

Which burns at your heart.
This is the curse. Write.


Ye shall watch while nations strive
With the bloodhounds, die or survive,

Drop faint from their jaws,
Or throttle them backward to death;
And only under your breath

Shall favor the cause.
This is the curse. Write.



Ye shall watch while strong men draw
The nets of feudal law

To strangle the weak;
And, counting the sin for a sin,
Your soul shall be sadder within

Than the word ye shall speak.
This is the curse. Write.


When good men are praying erect
That Christ may avenge His elect

And deliver the earth,
The prayer in your ears, said low,
Shall sound like the tramp of a foe

That's driving you forth.
This is the curse. Write.


When wise men give you their praise,
They shall praise in the heat of the phrase,

As if carried too far.
When ye boast your own charters kept true,
Ye shall blush; for the thing which ye do

Derides what ye are.
This is the curse. Write.


When fools cast taunts at your gate,
Your scorn ye shall somewhat abate

As ye look o'er the wall;
For your conscience, tradition, and name
Explode with a deadlier blame

Than the worst of them all.
This is the curse. Write.


Go, wherever ill deeds shall be done,
Go, plant your flag in the sun

Beside the ill-doers!
And recoil from clenching the curse
Of God's witnessing Universe

With a curse of yours.
This is the curse. Write.

A Curse For A Nation

I heard an angel speak last night,

And he said 'Write!
Write a Nation's curse for me,
And send it over the Western Sea.'

I faltered, taking up the word:

'Not so, my lord!
If curses must be, choose another
To send thy curse against my brother.

'For I am bound by gratitude,

By love and blood,
To brothers of mine across the sea,
Who stretch out kindly hands to me.'

'Therefore,' the voice said, 'shalt thou write

My curse to-night.
From the summits of love a curse is driven,
As lightning is from the tops of heaven.'

'Not so,' I answered. 'Evermore

My heart is sore
For my own land's sins: for little feet
Of children bleeding along the street:

'For parked-up honors that gainsay

The right of way:
For almsgiving through a door that is
Not open enough for two friends to kiss:

'For love of freedom which abates

Beyond the Straits:
For patriot virtue starved to vice on
Self-praise, self-interest, and suspicion:

'For an oligarchic parliament,

And bribes well-meant.
What curse to another land assign,
When heavy-souled for the sins of mine?'

'Therefore,' the voice said, 'shalt thou write

My curse to-night.
Because thou hast strength to see and hate
A foul thing done within thy gate.'

'Not so,' I answered once again.

'To curse, choose men.
For I, a woman, have only known
How the heart melts and the tears run down.'

'Therefore,' the voice said, 'shalt thou write
My curse to-night.


Some women weep and curse, I say
(And no one marvels), night and day.

'And thou shalt take their part to-night,

Weep and write.
A curse from the depths of womanhood
Is very salt, and bitter, and good.'

So thus I wrote, and mourned indeed,

What all may read.
And thus, as was enjoined on me,
I send it over the Western Sea.

The Curse

Because ye have broken your own chain

With the strain
Of brave men climbing a Nation's height,
Yet thence bear down with brand and thong

On souls of others, -- for this wrong
This is the curse. Write.

Because yourselves are standing straight

In the state
Of Freedom's foremost acolyte,
Yet keep calm footing all the time

On writhing bond-slaves, -- for this crime
This is the curse. Write.

Because ye prosper in God's name,

With a claim
To honor in the old world's sight,
Yet do the fiend's work perfectly

In strangling martyrs, -- for this lie
This is the curse. Write.

Ye shall watch while kings conspire
Round the people's smouldering fire,

And, warm for your part,
Shall never dare -- O shame!
To utter the thought into flame

Which burns at your heart.
This is the curse. Write.


Ye shall watch while nations strive
With the bloodhounds, die or survive,

Drop faint from their jaws,
Or throttle them backward to death;
And only under your breath

Shall favor the cause.
This is the curse. Write.



Ye shall watch while strong men draw
The nets of feudal law

To strangle the weak;
And, counting the sin for a sin,
Your soul shall be sadder within

Than the word ye shall speak.
This is the curse. Write.


When good men are praying erect
That Christ may avenge His elect

And deliver the earth,
The prayer in your ears, said low,
Shall sound like the tramp of a foe

That's driving you forth.
This is the curse. Write.


When wise men give you their praise,
They shall praise in the heat of the phrase,

As if carried too far.
When ye boast your own charters kept true,
Ye shall blush; for the thing which ye do

Derides what ye are.
This is the curse. Write.


When fools cast taunts at your gate,
Your scorn ye shall somewhat abate

As ye look o'er the wall;
For your conscience, tradition, and name
Explode with a deadlier blame

Than the worst of them all.
This is the curse. Write.


Go, wherever ill deeds shall be done,
Go, plant your flag in the sun

Beside the ill-doers!
And recoil from clenching the curse
Of God's witnessing Universe

With a curse of yours.
This is the curse. Write.

A Curse For A Nation

I heard an angel speak last night,

And he said 'Write!
Write a Nation's curse for me,
And send it over the Western Sea.'

I faltered, taking up the word:

'Not so, my lord!
If curses must be, choose another
To send thy curse against my brother.

'For I am bound by gratitude,

By love and blood,
To brothers of mine across the sea,
Who stretch out kindly hands to me.'

'Therefore,' the voice said, 'shalt thou write

My curse to-night.
From the summits of love a curse is driven,
As lightning is from the tops of heaven.'

'Not so,' I answered. 'Evermore

My heart is sore
For my own land's sins: for little feet
Of children bleeding along the street:

'For parked-up honors that gainsay

The right of way:
For almsgiving through a door that is
Not open enough for two friends to kiss:

'For love of freedom which abates

Beyond the Straits:
For patriot virtue starved to vice on
Self-praise, self-interest, and suspicion:

'For an oligarchic parliament,

And bribes well-meant.
What curse to another land assign,
When heavy-souled for the sins of mine?'

'Therefore,' the voice said, 'shalt thou write

My curse to-night.
Because thou hast strength to see and hate
A foul thing done within thy gate.'

'Not so,' I answered once again.

'To curse, choose men.
For I, a woman, have only known
How the heart melts and the tears run down.'

'Therefore,' the voice said, 'shalt thou write
My curse to-night.


Some women weep and curse, I say
(And no one marvels), night and day.

'And thou shalt take their part to-night,

Weep and write.
A curse from the depths of womanhood
Is very salt, and bitter, and good.'

So thus I wrote, and mourned indeed,

What all may read.
And thus, as was enjoined on me,
I send it over the Western Sea.

The Curse

Because ye have broken your own chain

With the strain
Of brave men climbing a Nation's height,
Yet thence bear down with brand and thong

On souls of others, -- for this wrong
This is the curse. Write.

Because yourselves are standing straight

In the state
Of Freedom's foremost acolyte,
Yet keep calm footing all the time

On writhing bond-slaves, -- for this crime
This is the curse. Write.

Because ye prosper in God's name,

With a claim
To honor in the old world's sight,
Yet do the fiend's work perfectly

In strangling martyrs, -- for this lie
This is the curse. Write.

Ye shall watch while kings conspire
Round the people's smouldering fire,

And, warm for your part,
Shall never dare -- O shame!
To utter the thought into flame

Which burns at your heart.
This is the curse. Write.


Ye shall watch while nations strive
With the bloodhounds, die or survive,

Drop faint from their jaws,
Or throttle them backward to death;
And only under your breath

Shall favor the cause.
This is the curse. Write.



Ye shall watch while strong men draw
The nets of feudal law

To strangle the weak;
And, counting the sin for a sin,
Your soul shall be sadder within

Than the word ye shall speak.
This is the curse. Write.


When good men are praying erect
That Christ may avenge His elect

And deliver the earth,
The prayer in your ears, said low,
Shall sound like the tramp of a foe

That's driving you forth.
This is the curse. Write.


When wise men give you their praise,
They shall praise in the heat of the phrase,

As if carried too far.
When ye boast your own charters kept true,
Ye shall blush; for the thing which ye do

Derides what ye are.
This is the curse. Write.


When fools cast taunts at your gate,
Your scorn ye shall somewhat abate

As ye look o'er the wall;
For your conscience, tradition, and name
Explode with a deadlier blame

Than the worst of them all.
This is the curse. Write.


Go, wherever ill deeds shall be done,
Go, plant your flag in the sun

Beside the ill-doers!
And recoil from clenching the curse
Of God's witnessing Universe

With a curse of yours.
This is the curse. Write.

A Curse For A Nation

I heard an angel speak last night,

And he said 'Write!
Write a Nation's curse for me,
And send it over the Western Sea.'

I faltered, taking up the word:

'Not so, my lord!
If curses must be, choose another
To send thy curse against my brother.

'For I am bound by gratitude,

By love and blood,
To brothers of mine across the sea,
Who stretch out kindly hands to me.'

'Therefore,' the voice said, 'shalt thou write

My curse to-night.
From the summits of love a curse is driven,
As lightning is from the tops of heaven.'

'Not so,' I answered. 'Evermore

My heart is sore
For my own land's sins: for little feet
Of children bleeding along the street:

'For parked-up honors that gainsay

The right of way:
For almsgiving through a door that is
Not open enough for two friends to kiss:

'For love of freedom which abates

Beyond the Straits:
For patriot virtue starved to vice on
Self-praise, self-interest, and suspicion:

'For an oligarchic parliament,

And bribes well-meant.
What curse to another land assign,
When heavy-souled for the sins of mine?'

'Therefore,' the voice said, 'shalt thou write

My curse to-night.
Because thou hast strength to see and hate
A foul thing done within thy gate.'

'Not so,' I answered once again.

'To curse, choose men.
For I, a woman, have only known
How the heart melts and the tears run down.'

'Therefore,' the voice said, 'shalt thou write
My curse to-night.


Some women weep and curse, I say
(And no one marvels), night and day.

'And thou shalt take their part to-night,

Weep and write.
A curse from the depths of womanhood
Is very salt, and bitter, and good.'

So thus I wrote, and mourned indeed,

What all may read.
And thus, as was enjoined on me,
I send it over the Western Sea.

The Curse

Because ye have broken your own chain

With the strain
Of brave men climbing a Nation's height,
Yet thence bear down with brand and thong

On souls of others, -- for this wrong
This is the curse. Write.

Because yourselves are standing straight

In the state
Of Freedom's foremost acolyte,
Yet keep calm footing all the time

On writhing bond-slaves, -- for this crime
This is the curse. Write.

Because ye prosper in God's name,

With a claim
To honor in the old world's sight,
Yet do the fiend's work perfectly

In strangling martyrs, -- for this lie
This is the curse. Write.

Ye shall watch while kings conspire
Round the people's smouldering fire,

And, warm for your part,
Shall never dare -- O shame!
To utter the thought into flame

Which burns at your heart.
This is the curse. Write.


Ye shall watch while nations strive
With the bloodhounds, die or survive,

Drop faint from their jaws,
Or throttle them backward to death;
And only under your breath

Shall favor the cause.
This is the curse. Write.



Ye shall watch while strong men draw
The nets of feudal law

To strangle the weak;
And, counting the sin for a sin,
Your soul shall be sadder within

Than the word ye shall speak.
This is the curse. Write.


When good men are praying erect
That Christ may avenge His elect

And deliver the earth,
The prayer in your ears, said low,
Shall sound like the tramp of a foe

That's driving you forth.
This is the curse. Write.


When wise men give you their praise,
They shall praise in the heat of the phrase,

As if carried too far.
When ye boast your own charters kept true,
Ye shall blush; for the thing which ye do

Derides what ye are.
This is the curse. Write.


When fools cast taunts at your gate,
Your scorn ye shall somewhat abate

As ye look o'er the wall;
For your conscience, tradition, and name
Explode with a deadlier blame

Than the worst of them all.
This is the curse. Write.


Go, wherever ill deeds shall be done,
Go, plant your flag in the sun

Beside the ill-doers!
And recoil from clenching the curse
Of God's witnessing Universe

With a curse of yours.
This is the curse. Write.

A Curse For A Nation

I heard an angel speak last night,

And he said 'Write!
Write a Nation's curse for me,
And send it over the Western Sea.'

I faltered, taking up the word:

'Not so, my lord!
If curses must be, choose another
To send thy curse against my brother.

'For I am bound by gratitude,

By love and blood,
To brothers of mine across the sea,
Who stretch out kindly hands to me.'

'Therefore,' the voice said, 'shalt thou write

My curse to-night.
From the summits of love a curse is driven,
As lightning is from the tops of heaven.'

'Not so,' I answered. 'Evermore

My heart is sore
For my own land's sins: for little feet
Of children bleeding along the street:

'For parked-up honors that gainsay

The right of way:
For almsgiving through a door that is
Not open enough for two friends to kiss:

'For love of freedom which abates

Beyond the Straits:
For patriot virtue starved to vice on
Self-praise, self-interest, and suspicion:

'For an oligarchic parliament,

And bribes well-meant.
What curse to another land assign,
When heavy-souled for the sins of mine?'

'Therefore,' the voice said, 'shalt thou write

My curse to-night.
Because thou hast strength to see and hate
A foul thing done within thy gate.'

'Not so,' I answered once again.

'To curse, choose men.
For I, a woman, have only known
How the heart melts and the tears run down.'

'Therefore,' the voice said, 'shalt thou write
My curse to-night.


Some women weep and curse, I say
(And no one marvels), night and day.

'And thou shalt take their part to-night,

Weep and write.
A curse from the depths of womanhood
Is very salt, and bitter, and good.'

So thus I wrote, and mourned indeed,

What all may read.
And thus, as was enjoined on me,
I send it over the Western Sea.

The Curse

Because ye have broken your own chain

With the strain
Of brave men climbing a Nation's height,
Yet thence bear down with brand and thong

On souls of others, -- for this wrong
This is the curse. Write.

Because yourselves are standing straight

In the state
Of Freedom's foremost acolyte,
Yet keep calm footing all the time

On writhing bond-slaves, -- for this crime
This is the curse. Write.

Because ye prosper in God's name,

With a claim
To honor in the old world's sight,
Yet do the fiend's work perfectly

In strangling martyrs, -- for this lie
This is the curse. Write.

Ye shall watch while kings conspire
Round the people's smouldering fire,

And, warm for your part,
Shall never dare -- O shame!
To utter the thought into flame

Which burns at your heart.
This is the curse. Write.


Ye shall watch while nations strive
With the bloodhounds, die or survive,

Drop faint from their jaws,
Or throttle them backward to death;
And only under your breath

Shall favor the cause.
This is the curse. Write.



Ye shall watch while strong men draw
The nets of feudal law

To strangle the weak;
And, counting the sin for a sin,
Your soul shall be sadder within

Than the word ye shall speak.
This is the curse. Write.


When good men are praying erect
That Christ may avenge His elect

And deliver the earth,
The prayer in your ears, said low,
Shall sound like the tramp of a foe

That's driving you forth.
This is the curse. Write.


When wise men give you their praise,
They shall praise in the heat of the phrase,

As if carried too far.
When ye boast your own charters kept true,
Ye shall blush; for the thing which ye do

Derides what ye are.
This is the curse. Write.


When fools cast taunts at your gate,
Your scorn ye shall somewhat abate

As ye look o'er the wall;
For your conscience, tradition, and name
Explode with a deadlier blame

Than the worst of them all.
This is the curse. Write.


Go, wherever ill deeds shall be done,
Go, plant your flag in the sun

Beside the ill-doers!
And recoil from clenching the curse
Of God's witnessing Universe

With a curse of yours.
This is the curse. Write.

The Two Old Bachelors

Two old Bachelors were living in one house;
One caught a Muffin, the other caught a Mouse.
Said he who caught the Muffin to him who caught the Mouse,-'
This happens just in time! For we've nothing in the house,
'Save a tiny slice of lemon nd a teaspoonful of honey,
'And what to do for dinner -- since we haven't any money?
'And what can we expect if we haven't any dinner,
'But to loose our teeth and eyelashes and keep on growing thinner?'


Said he who caught the Mouse to him who caught the Muffin,-'
We might cook this little Mouse, if we had only some Stuffin'!
'If we had but Sage andOnion we could do extremely well,
'But how to get that Stuffin' it is difficult to tell'--


Those two old Bachelors ran quickly to the town
And asked for Sage and Onions as they wandered up and down;
They borrowed two large Onions, but no Sage was to be found
In the Shops, or in the Market, or in all the Gardens round.


But some one said, -- 'A hill there is, a little to the north,
'And to its purpledicular top a narrow way leads forth;-'
And there among the rugged rocks abides an ancient Sage,-'
An earnest Man, who reads all day a most perplexing page.
'Climb up, and seize him by the toes! -- all studious as he sits,-'
And pull him down, -- and chop him into endless little bits!
'Then mix him with your Onion, (cut up likewise into Scraps,)-'
When your Stuffin' will be ready -- and very good: perhaps.'


Those two old Bachelors without loss of time
The nearly purpledicular crags at once began to climb;
And at the top, among the rocks, all seated in a nook,
They saw that Sage, a reading of a most enormous book.


'You earnest Sage!' aloud they cried, 'your book you've read enough in!-'
We wish to chop you into bits to mix you into Stuffin'!'--


But that old Sage looked calmly up, and with his awful book,
At those two Bachelors' bald heads a certain aim he took;-and
over crag and precipice they rolled promiscuous down,--
At once they rolled, and never stopped in lane or field or town,--
And when they reached their house, they found (besides their want
of Stuffin',)
The Mouse had fled; -- and, previously, had eaten up the Muffin.


They left their home in silence by the once convivial door.
And from that hour those Bachelors were never heard of more.

The Duck and the Kangaroo

Said the Duck to the Kangaroo,
'Good gracious! how you hop!
Over the fields and the water too,
As if you never would stop!
My life is a bore in this nasty pond,
And I long to go out in the world beyond!
I wish I could hop like you!'
Said the Duck to the Kangaroo.


'Please give me a ride on your back!'
Said the Duck to the Kangaroo.
'I would sit quite still, and say nothing but 'Quack',
The whole of the long day through!
And we'd go to the Dee, and the Jelly Bo Lee,
Over the land, and over the sea;
Please take me a ride! O do!'
Said the Duck to the Kangaroo.


Said the Kangaroo to the Duck,
'This requires some little reflection;
Perhaps on the whole it might bring me luck,
And there seems but one objection,
Which is, if you'll let me speak so bold,
Your feet are unpleasantly wet and cold,
And would probably give me the roo-
Matiz!' said the Kangaroo.


Said the Duck, 'As I sat on the rocks,
I have thought over that completely,
And I bought four pairs of worsted socks
Which fit my web-feet neatly.
And to keep out the cold I've bought a cloak,
And every day a cigar I'll smoke,
All to follow my own dear true
Love of a Kangaroo!'


Said the Kangaroo, 'I'm ready!
'All in the moonlight pale;
'But to balance me well, dear Duck, sit steady!
'And quite at the end of my tail!'
So away they went with a hop and a bound,
And they hopped the whole world three times round;
And who so happy - O who,
As the Duck and the Kangaroo?

Limerick: There was Old Man in a pew

There was Old Man in a pew,
Whose waistcoat was spotted with blue;
But he tore it in pieces
To give to his nieces,
That cheerful Old Man in a pew.

Limerick: There was an Old Person whose habits,

There was an Old Person whose habits,
Induced him to feed upon rabbits;
When he'd eaten eighteen,
He turned perfectly green,
Upon which he relinquished those habits.

Limerick: There was an Old Person of Rhodes

There was an Old Person of Rhodes,
Who strongly objected to toads;
He paid several cousins,
To catch them by the dozens,
That futile Old Person of Rhodes.

Limerick: There was an Old Person of Cadiz

There was an Old Person of Cadiz,
Who was always polite to all ladies;
But in handing his daughter,
He fell into the water,
Which drowned that Old Person of Cadiz.

Limerick: There was an Old Person of Basing

There was an Old Person of Basing,
Whose presence of mind was amazing;
He purchased a steed,
Which he rode at full speed,
And escaped from the people of Basing.

Limerick: There was an Old Man of Kilkenny

There was an Old Man of Kilkenny,
Who never had more than a penny;
He spent all that money,
In onions and honey,
That wayward Old Man of Kilkenny.

Limerick: There was an Old Man of Bohemia

There was an Old Man of Bohemia,
Whose daughter was christened Euphemia,
Till one day, to his grief,
She married a thief,
Which grieved that Old Man of Bohemia.

He Lived at Dingle Bank

He lived at Dingle Bank - he did; -
He lived at Dingle Bank;
And in his garden was one Quail,
Four tulips and a Tank:
And from his window he could see
The otion and the River Dee.


His house stood on a Cliff, - it did,
Its aspic it was cool;
And many thousand little boys
Resorted to his school,
Where if of progress they could boast
He gave them heaps of buttered toast.


But he grew rabid-wroth, he did,
If they neglected books,
And dragged them to adjacent Cliffs
With beastly Button Hooks,
And there with fatuous glee he threw
Them down into the ocean blue.


And in the sea they sway, they did, -
All playfully about,
And some eventually became
Sponges, or speckled trout: -
But Liverpool doth all bewail
Their Fate; - likewise his Garden Quail.

He Lived at Dingle Bank

He lived at Dingle Bank - he did; -
He lived at Dingle Bank;
And in his garden was one Quail,
Four tulips and a Tank:
And from his window he could see
The otion and the River Dee.


His house stood on a Cliff, - it did,
Its aspic it was cool;
And many thousand little boys
Resorted to his school,
Where if of progress they could boast
He gave them heaps of buttered toast.


But he grew rabid-wroth, he did,
If they neglected books,
And dragged them to adjacent Cliffs
With beastly Button Hooks,
And there with fatuous glee he threw
Them down into the ocean blue.


And in the sea they sway, they did, -
All playfully about,
And some eventually became
Sponges, or speckled trout: -
But Liverpool doth all bewail
Their Fate; - likewise his Garden Quail.

when serpents bargain

when serpents bargain for the right to squirm
and the sun strikes to gain a living wage when
thorns regard their roses with alarm
and rainbows are insured against old age


when every thrush may sing no new moon in
if all screech-owls have not okayed his voice


-and any wave signs on the dotted line
or else an ocean is compelled to close
when the oak begs permission of the birch
to make an acorn - valleys accuse their
mountains of having altitude - and march
denounces april as a saboteur


then we'll believe in that incredible
unanimal mankind (and not until)