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I remember, I remember
The roses, red and white,
The violets, and the lily-cups,
Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs, where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birthday,--
The tree is living yet.
- I Remember, I Remember [Flowers]
I remember, I remember,
The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day,
But now, I often wish the night
Had borne my breathe away!
- I Remember, I Remember [Memory]
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm further off from heaven
Than when I was a boy.
- I Remember, I Remember [Ignorance]
And however are Dennises take offence,
A double meaning shows double sense;
And if proverbs tell truth,
A double tooth
Is wisdom's adopted dwelling.
- Miss Kilmansegg [Jesting]
Poor Peggy hawks nosegays from street to street
Till--think of that who find life so sweet!--
She hates the smell of roses!
- Miss Kilmansegg [Proverbs : Roses]
Who hath not met with home-made bread,
A heavy compound of putty and lead--
And home-made wines that rack the head,
And home-made liquors and waters?
Home-made pop that will not foam,
And home-made dishes hat drive one from home--
. . . .
Home-mad by the homely daughters.
- Miss Kilmansegg [Home]
At night, to his own dark fancies a prey,
He lies like a hedgehog rolled up the wrong way,
Tormenting himself with his prickles.
- Miss Kilmansegg and her precious Leg
Seem'd washing his hand with invisible soap
In imperceptible water.
- Miss Kilmansegg--Her Christening
But, alas! alas! for the woman's fate,
Who has from a mob to choose a mate!
'Tis a strange and painful mystery!
But the more the eggs the worse the hatch;
The more the fish, the worse the catch;
The more the sparks the worse the match;
Is a fact in woman's history.
- Miss Kilmansegg--Her Courtship (st. 7)
O bed! O bed! delicious bed!
That heaven upon earth to the weary head.
- Miss Kilmansegg--Her Dream [Bed]
Gold! gold! gold! gold!
Bright and yellow, hard and cold!
- Miss Kilmansegg--Her Moral [Gold : Proverbs]
How widely its agencies vary,--
To save, to ruin, to curse, to bless,--
As even its minted coins express,
Now stamp'd with the image of good Queen Bess,
And now of a Bloody Mary.
- Miss Kilmansegg--Her Moral [Money]
The moon, the moon, so silver and cold,
Her fickle temper has oft been told,
Now shade--now bright and sunny--
But of all the lunar things that change,
The one that shows most fickle and strange,
And takes the most eccentric range,
Is the moon--so called--of honey!
- Miss Milmansegg--Her Honeymoon [Moon]
A man that's fond precociously of stirring
Must be a spoon.
- Morning Meditations [Action]
For my part getting up seems not so easy
By half as lying.
- Morning Meditations [Lying]
No park--no ring--no afternoon gentility--
No company--no nobility--
No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease.
No comfortable feel in any member--
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds, November!
- November [November]
And there is ev'n a happiness
That makes the heart afraid.
- Ode to Melancholy [Happiness]
The Morn! she is the source of all sighs,
The very face to make us sad;
If but to think in other times
The same calm quiet look she had.
- Ode to Melancholy [Morning]
Dear bells! how sweet the sound of village bells
When on the undulating air they swim!
- Ode to Rae Wilson [Bells]
No solemn, sanctimonious face I pull,
Nor think I'm pious when I'm only bilious--
Nor study in my sanctum supercilious
To frame a Sabbath Bill or forge a Bull.
- Ode to Rae Wilson [Religion]
Mother of light! how fairly dost thou go
Over those hoary crests, divinely led!
Art thou that huntress of the silver bow
Fabled of old? Or rather dost thou tread
Those cloudy summits thence to gaze below,
Like the wild chamois from her Alpine snow,
Where hunters never climbed--secure from dread?
- Ode to the Moon [Moon]
Whilst breezy waves toss up their silvery spray.
- Ode to the Moon [Ocean]
I saw old Autumn in the misty morn
Stand shadowless like silence, listening
To silence, for no lonely bird would sing
Into his hollow ear from woods forlorn,
Nor lowly hedge nor solitary thorn;--
Shaking his languid locks all dewy bright
With tangled gossamer that fell by night,
Pearling his coronet of golden corn.
- Ode--Autumn [Autumn]
Where is the pride of Summer,--the green prime,--
The many, many leaves all twinkling?--three
On the mossed elm; three on the naked lime
Trembling,--and one upon the old oak tree!
Where is the Dryad's immortality?
- Ode--Autumn [Trees]
Another tumble! that's his precious nose!
- Parental Ode to My Son [Childhood]
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