Charles Kingsley: Всі вірші поета

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My Little Doll

I once had a sweet little doll, dears,

The prettiest doll in the world;

Her cheeks were so red and so white, dears,

And her hair was so charmingly curled.

But I lost my poor little doll, dears,

As I played in the heath one day;

And I cried for more than a week, dears,

But I never could find where she lay.

by Charles Kingsley

The Outlaw

Oh, I wadna be a yeoman, mither, to follow my father's trade,

To bow my back in miry banks, at pleugh and hoe and spade.

Stinting wife, and bairns, and kye, to fat some courtier lord,—

Let them die o' rent wha like, mither, and I'll die by sword.

Nor I wadna be a clerk, mither, to bide aye ben,

Scrabbling ower the sheets o' parchment with a weary weary pen;

Looking through the lang stane windows at a narrow strip o' sky,

Like a laverock in a withy cage, until I pine away and die.

by Charles Kingsley

The Starlings

Early in spring time, on raw and windy mornings,

Beneath the freezing house-eaves I heard the starlings sing—

'Ah dreary March month, is this then a time for building wearily?

Sad, sad, to think that the year is but begun.'

Late in the autumn, on still and cloudless evenings,

Among the golden reed-beds I heard the starlings sing—

'Ah that sweet March month, when we and our mates were courting merrily;

Sad, sad, to think that the year is all but done.'

by Charles Kingsley

The Weird Lady

The swevens came up round Harold the Earl,

Like motes in the sunnes beam;

And over him stood the Weird Lady,

In her charmed castle over the sea,

Sang 'Lie thou still and dream.'

'Thy steed is dead in his stall, Earl Harold,

Since thou hast been with me;

The rust has eaten thy harness bright,

by Charles Kingsley

The Ugly Princess

My parents bow, and lead them forth,

For all the crowd to see—

Ah well! the people might not care

To cheer a dwarf like me.

They little know how I could love,

How I could plan and toil,

To swell those drudges' scanty gains,

Their mites of rye and oil.

by Charles Kingsley

Sing Heigh-Ho!

There sits a bird on every tree;

Sing heigh-ho!

There sits a bird on every tree,

And courts his love as I do thee;

Sing heigh-ho, and heigh-ho!

Young maids must marry.

There grows a flower on every bough;

Sing heigh-ho!

by Charles Kingsley

The Poetry of A Root Crop

Underneath their eider-robe

Russet swede and golden globe,

Feathered carrot, burrowing deep,

Steadfast wait in charmed sleep;

Treasure-houses wherein lie,

Locked by angels' alchemy,

Milk and hair, and blood, and bone,

Children of the barren stone;

by Charles Kingsley

The Longbeard's Saga: AD 400

Over the camp-fires

Drank I with heroes,

Under the Donau bank,

Warm in the snow trench:

Sagamen heard I there,

Men of the Longbeards,

Cunning and ancient,

Honey-sweet-voiced.

by Charles Kingsley

The Young Knight: A Parable

A gay young knight in Burley stood,

Beside him pawed his steed so good,

His hands he wrung as he were wood

With waiting for his love O!

'Oh, will she come, or will she stay,

Or will she waste the weary day

With fools who wish her far away,

And hate her for her love O?'

by Charles Kingsley

Trehill Well

There stood a low and ivied roof,

As gazing rustics tell,

In times of chivalry and song

'Yclept the holy well.

Above the ivies' branchlets gray

In glistening clusters shone;

While round the base the grass-blades bright

And spiry foxglove sprung.

by Charles Kingsley

Martin Lightfoot's Song

Come hearken, hearken, gentles all,

Come hearken unto me,

And I'll sing you a song of a Wood-Lyon

Came swimming out over the sea.

He ranged west, he ranged east,

And far and wide ranged he;

He took his bite out of every beast

Lives under the greenwood tree.

by Charles Kingsley

Juventus Mundi

List a tale a fairy sent us

Fresh from dear Mundi Juventus.

When Love and all the world was young,

And birds conversed as well as sung;

And men still faced this fair creation

With humour, heart, imagination.

Who come hither from Morocco

Every spring on the sirocco?

by Charles Kingsley