1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
← OPEN dataBase