Short Poems

cock: Lock the dairy door,
Lock the dairy door!

hen: Chickle, chackle, chee,
I haven't got a key!

Sing Gentle Maid, reform my Breast
And soften all my Care,
Thus I can be some moments blest
And easy in Despair,
The Power of Orpheus lives in you,
The raging Passions of my Soul subdue
And tame the Lions, and the Tygers there.

" Live while you live," the Epicure would say,
" And seize the pleasures of the present day."
" Live while you live," the sacred Preacher cries,

" And give to God each moment as it flies."
Lord, in my views let both united be;
I live in pleasure, when I live to Thee.

Little ships of whitest pearl
With sailors who were ancient kings,
Come over the sea when my little girl
Sings.

And if my little girl should weep,
Little ships with torn sails
Go headlong down among the deep

“Little girl, little girl,
Where have you been?”
“Gathering roses
To give to the Queen.”
“Little girl, little girl,
What gave she you?”
“She gave me a diamond
As big as my shoe.”

Little Charlie Chipmunk was a talker . Mercy me!
He chattered after breakfast and he chattered after tea!
He chattered to his father and he chattered to his mother!
He chattered to his sister and he chattered to his brother!
He chattered till his family was almost driven wild .
Oh, little Charlie Chipmunk was a very tiresome child!

The little boat floats by the dock,
no one rows the oar:
truly this is a quiet spot
far from the noisy world!
Filling the path, verdant shade,
I rise now from my nap
and joy to watch the flowing river
swell with tides of spring.

Little bat, little bat,
Pray, when you speak,
Speak a bit louder,
You've such a high squeak,
That only those people
With quite a good ear,
Who know all about you,
Can possibly hear.

There was an old man who made bold,
To affirm that the weather was cold;
So he ran up and down, in his grandmother's gown,
Which was woollen, and not very old.

Like a bolt of silk, the rippled course of this southern river
bends and turns back.
The distant mountains sink in silence, pressed by the setting sun.
No trace of people — just the sound of passing oars
and a pathway opening among the duck weed plants.