I do not love thee, Doctor Fell,
The reason why I cannot tell,
But this one thing I know full well:
I do not love thee, Doctor Fell.

I DO be thinking God must laugh
The time He makes a boy;
All element the creatures are,
And divilmint and joy.
Careless and gay as a wad in a window,
Swift as a redshanks, and wild as a hare;
Heartscalds and torments — but sorra a mother
Has got one to spare.

I cross'd pynot, an' t' pynot cross'd me.
T' devil tak t' pynot an' God save me.

I cross a stream, cross another stream,
admire the flowers, admire still more flowers.
In spring breeze, along the river road,
before I know it I have reached your house.

I COME from the city of Boston,
The home of the bean and the cod,
Where Cabots speak only to Lowells,
And Lowells speak only to God.

I can not tell, not I, why she
Awhile so gracious, now should be
So grave: I can not tell you why
The violet hangs its head awry.
It shall be cull'd, it shall be worn,
In spite of every sign of scorn,
Dark look, and overhanging thorn.

I bring you with reverent hands
The books of my numberless dreams,
White woman that passion has worn
As the tide wears the dove-grey sands,
And with heart more old than the horn
That is brimmed from the pale fire of time
White woman with numberless dreams,
I bring you my passionate rhyme.

I ask't thee oft, what Poets thou hast read,
And lik'st the best? Still thou reply'st, The dead.
I shall, ere long, with green turfs cover'd be;
Then sure thou't like, or thou wilt envie me.

I ask thy Aid, O Potent Rum!
To charm these wrangling Topers Dum.
Thou hast their Giddy Brains possest —
The man confounded with the Beast —
And I, poor I, can get no rest.
Intoxicate them with thy fumes:
O still their Tongues till morning comes!

I am within as white as snow,
Without as green as herbs that grow.
I am higher than a house
And yet am lesser than a mouse.
A walnut hanging on a tree