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| Search results for: p | Found 8786 Poems |
| 5273. | A Chaucerian Paraphrase of Horace by Eugene Field | | Syn that you, Chloe, to your moder sticken,
Maketh all ye yonge bacheloures full sicken;
Like as a lyttel deere you ben y-hiding
Whenas come lovers... |
| 5274. | A paraphrase by Eugene Field | | Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name;
Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth, in Heaven the same;
Give us this day our daily brea... |
| 5275. | A piteous plaint by Eugene Field | | I cannot eat my porridge,
I weary of my play;
No longer can I sleep at night,
No longer romp by day!
Though forty pounds was once my weight,
I'm ... |
| 5276. | A proper trewe idyll of camelot by Eugene Field | | Whenas ye plaisaunt Aperille shoures have washed and purged awaye
Ye poysons and ye rheums of earth to make a merrie May,
Ye shraddy boscage of ye w... |
| 5277. | A spring poem from bion by Eugene Field | | One asketh:
"Tell me, Myrson, tell me true:
What's the season pleaseth you?
Is it summer suits you best,
When from harvest toil we rest?
Is it au... |
| 5278. | Apple-Pie and Cheese by Eugene Field | | Full many a sinful notion
Conceived of foreign powers
Has come across the ocean
To harm this land of ours;
And heresies called fashions
Have mode... |
| 5279. | At play by Eugene Field | | Play that you are mother dear,
And play that papa is your beau;
Play that we sit in the corner here,
Just as we used to, long ago.
Playing so, we ... |
| 5280. | Ben apfelgarten by Eugene Field | | There was a certain gentleman, Ben Apfelgarten called,
Who lived way off in Germany a many years ago,
And he was very fortunate in being very bald
... |
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