The farmer's daughter hath soft brown hair (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) And I met with a ballad, I can't say where, That wholly consisted of lines like these.
Charles Stuart Calverley, Ballad.
Now the "rosy morn appearing" Floods with light the dazzled heaven; And the schoolboy groans on hearing That eternal clock strike seven:- Now the waggoner is driving Towards the fields his clattering wain; Now the bluebottle, reviving, Buzzes down his native pane.Charles Stuart Calverley
White is the wold, and ghostly The dank and leafless trees; And 'M's and 'N's are mostly Pronounced like 'B's and 'D's: 'Neath bleak sheds, ice-encrusted, The sheep stands, mute and stolid: And ducks find out, disgusted, That all the ponds are solid.Charles Stuart Calverley
I have a liking old For thee, though manifold Stories, I know, are told Not to thy credit; How one (or two at most) Drops make a cat a ghost Useless, except to roast Doctors have said it: How they who use fusees All grow by slow degrees Brainless as chimpanzees, Meagre as lizards; Go mad, and beat their wives; Plunge (after shocking lives) Razors and carving knives Into their gizzards.Charles Stuart Calverley
I sit alone at present, dreaming darkly of a Dun.Charles Stuart Calverley
I can not sing the old songs now! It is not that I deem them low; ’T is that I can’t remember how They go.Charles Stuart Calverley
O my own, my beautiful, my blue-eyed! To be young once more and bite my thumb At the world and all its cares with you, I’d Give no inconsiderable sum.Charles Stuart Calverley
The farmer’s daughter hath soft brown hair (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) And I met with a ballad, I can’t say where, That wholly consisted of lines like these.Charles Stuart Calverley
’T was ever thus from childhood’s hour! My fondest hopes would not decay: I never loved a tree or flower Which was the first to fade away.Charles Stuart Calverley
Forever; ’t is a single word! Our rude forefathers deemed it two: Can you imagine so absurd A view?Charles Stuart Calverley
I've read in many a novel, that unless they've souls that grovel Folks prefer in fact a hovel to your dreary marble halls.Charles Stuart Calverley
I can not sing the old songs now! It is not that I deem them low, 'Tis that I can't remember how They go.Charles Stuart Calverley