Category Poets

Eight o’clock;The postman’s knock!Five letters for Papa;One for Lou,And none for you,And three for dear Mamma.

‘Ding a ding,’The sweet bells sing,And say:‘Come, all be gay’For a wedding day.‘Dong a dong,’The bells sigh long,And call:‘Weep one, weep all’For a funeral.

My sun has set, I dwellIn darkness as a dead man out of sight;And none remains, not one, that I should tellTo him mine evil plightThis bitter night.I will make fast my doorThat hollow friends may trouble me no more.…

Chide not; let me breathe a little, For I shall not mourn him long;Though the life-cord was so brittle, The love-cord was very strong.I would wake a little spaceTill I find a sleeping-place.You can go,—I shall not weep; You can…

Dead in the cold, a song-singing thrush,Dead at the foot of a snowberry bush,—Weave him a coffin of rush,Dig him a grave where the soft mosses grow,Raise him a tombstone of snow.

Hope new born one pleasant morn Died at even;Hope dead lives nevermore. No, not in heaven.If his shroud were but a cloud To weep itself away;Or were he buried underground To sprout some day!But dead and gone is dead and…

Ah! changed and cold, how changed and very cold, With stiffened smiling lips and cold calm eyes: Changed, yet the same; much knowing, little wise;This was the promise of the days of old!Grown hard and stubborn in the ancient mould,…

Dancing on the hill-tops, Singing in the valleys,Laughing with the echoes, Merry little Alice.Playing games with lambkins In the flowering valleys,Gathering pretty posies, Helpful little Alice.If her father’s cottage Turned into a palace,And he owned the hill-tops And the flowering…

Currants on a bush,And figs upon a stem,And cherries on a bending bough,And Ned to gather them.

Crimson curtains round my mother’s bed,Silken soft as may be;Cool white curtains round about my bed,For I am but a baby.