When we hear Uncle Sidney tellAbout the long-agoAn’ old, old friends he loved so wellWhen he was young–My-oh!–Us childern all wish we’d ‘a’ binA-livin’ then with Uncle,–soWe could a-kindo’ happened inOn them old friends he used to know!–The good, old-fashioned people–The hale, hard-working people–The kindly country people‘At Uncle used to know! They was God’s people,
Heaven gives our years of fading strength Indemnifying fleetness; And those of youth, a seeming length, Proportion’d to their sweetness. final stanza of Thomas Campbell’s, “The River of Life,” as found in Book Fourth of Palgrave’s Golden Treasury (Longmans, Green, green, and Co. (1905) Lines chosen while perusing because I can’t believe November’s almost over, and because I
No One to Wipe Your Nose by Winston Cochran Of all the lessons we must learn, The hardest one of all Is that we stay objective when Our offspring take a fall. The first impulse that seizes us Each time they stub their toes Is to run and pick them up And gently wipe their
Samuel Francis Smith (1808-1895) A Baptist clergyman and poet, very properly Boston born and Harvard educated, completed his postgraduate work at Andover Theological Seminary. Smith wrote many hymns, but he would have slipped anonymously into the honorable past, except for one verse which he composed while still at Andover, 1831. My country, ’tis of thee,
It Couldn’t Be Done by Edgar Guest Somebody said that it couldn’t be done But he with a chuckle replied That “maybe it couldn’t,” but he would be one Who wouldn’t say so till he’d tried. So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin On his face. If he worried he hid
The Tree-Toad James Whitcomb Riley “‘S cur’ous-like,” said the tree-toad, “I’ve twittered fer rain all day; And I got up soon, And hollered tel noon– But the sun, hit blazed away, Tell I jest clumb down in a crawfish-hole, Weary at hart, and sick at soul! “Dozed away fer an hour, And I tackled the
I came upon this at Instapundit.com last evening. I’m just now getting around to it. Here’s what I thought last night before I spent the day tilling and picking bricks out of the garden: ~~ I’m not okay with being included in the “we” beginning in the third sentence on the second paragraph. We here
“[N]onsense is a very good thing in its way, especially with pictures,” Andrew Lang (ed.), The Nursery Rhyme Book (1897). Read online here; free kindle here; physical crappy old book here.
What a treasure this crappy old book is! The Nursery Rhyme Book edited by Andrew Lang (1897). The illustrations are priceless. Indeed! You can see all of the illustrations for free on this crappy old book’s page at Open Library, or you can download the free Kindle version, or just go ahead and buy the
From The Nursery Rhyme Book edited by Andrew Lang (1897). Read it at Open Library dot org; get the free kindle version, or the crappy old book itself.
From The Nursery Rhyme Book edited by Andrew Lang (1897). Peruse it online at Openlibrary.org and get your Kindle (free), newly issued paperback or crappy old book here.
Cock-a-doodle-doo! Cock-a-doodle-doo! My dame has lost her shoe; My master’s lost his fiddling-stick, And doesn’t know what to do. Cock-a-doodle-doo! What is my dame to do? Till master finds his fiddling-stick, She’ll dance without her shoe. Cock-a-doodle-doo! My dame has lost her shoe, And master’s found his fiddling-stick; Sing doodle-doodle-doo! Cock-a-doodle-doo! My dame will dance
Today is the anniversary of Robert Frost’s birth in 1875. When the first edition of Anniversaries and Holidays was published (1928), Frost was only 53 years old. I looked around for something a bit more obscure than “The Road Not Taken” but then I read the poem, written in 1916– ha! Ninety-nine years ago!– and
just words. Right?
I remarked to Mr. Big Food that a recipe I posted to Pinterest, Taco Peppers in Electric Skillet, over two years ago has taken on a life of its own. I wish I had saved all of the email notifications because it would have been fun to plot the time line of repins. Pin. Repin.
Why am I quoting so much poetry, you may wonder. Two reasons. 1) That’s just the way it is. I mean, like, umm… I dunno. There just happens to be a lot of poetry laying around the joint lately. B) I need to learn how to format poetry– because I do quote poetry from time
Song of the Very Poor (from the Old French) Old Year is out. Laugh and make merry! When you have your heart’s desire, Turn about, Remember the very Poor Who have no food or fire. New Year is in. Eat and be merry! After you have drunk and fed, Then begin To think of the
Up the Hill, Down the Hill Old One, lie down, Your journey is done, Little New Year Will rise with the sun. Now you have come to The foot of the hill, Lay down your bones, Old Year and lie still. Young one, step out, Your journey’s begun, Weary Old Year Makes way for his
“Winter” by Grandma Moses December by Aileen Fisher I like days with a snow-white collar and nights when the moon is a silver dollar, and hills are filled with eiderdown stuffing and your breath makes smoke like an engine puffing. I like days when feathers are snowing, and all the eves have petticoats showing, and
I did a smidgen of scholarly research on the author of this poem. A. E. Housman From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia A. E. Housman Born Alfred Edward Housman 26 March 1859 Bromsgrove, Worcestershire Died 30 April 1936 (aged 77) Cambridge Pen name A. E. Housman Occupation Classicist, Poet Nationality British Alma mater St John’s College, Oxford