MY girl hath violet eyes and yellow hair,
A soft hand, like a lady’s, small and fair,
A sweet fate pouting in a white straw bonnet,
A tiny foot, and little boot upon it;
And all her finery to charm beholders
Is the gray shawl drawn tight around her...

O Swan of slenderness,
Dove of tenderness,
  Jewel of joys, arise!
The little red lark,
Like a soaring spark
  Of song, to his sunburst flies;
But till thou art arisen,
Earth is a prison,
  Full of my lonesome sighs:
Then...

Originally Printed in 1569
LOVE me little, love me long!
Is the burden of my song:
Love that is too hot and strong
        Burneth soon to waste.
Still I would not have thee cold,—
Not too backward, nor too bold;
Love that lasteth till ’t is...

Poet: Anonymous

O Little town of Bethlehem,
  How still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
  The silent stars go by;
Yet in thy dark streets shineth
  The everlasting Light;
The hopes and fears of all the years
  Are met in thee to-night...

Thou little bird, thou dweller by the sea,
  Why takest thou its melancholy voice?
      Why with that brooding cry
      O’er the waves dost thou fly?
O, rather, bird, with me
  Through the fair land rejoice!

Thy flitting form comes ghostly dim...

’t Is but a little faded flower,
  But oh, how fondly dear!
’T will bring me back one golden hour,
  Through many a weary year.
I may not to the world impart
  The secret of its power,
But treasured in my inmost heart,
  I keep my faded...

HALLO!—what?—where, what can it be
That strikes up so deliciously?
I never in my life—what? no!
That little tin box playing so?
It really seemed as if a sprite
Had struck among us swift and light,
And come from some minuter star
To treat us...

Poet: Leigh Hunt

[1853]
AS 1 when, on Carmel’s sterile steep,
  The ancient prophet bowed the knee,
And seven times sent his servant forth
  To look toward the distant sea;

There came at last a little cloud,
  Scarce larger than the human hand,
Spreading...

Daddy Neptune, one day, to Freedom did say,
  If ever I lived upon dry land,
The spot I should hit on would be little Britain!
  Says Freedom, “Why, that ’s my own island!”
      O, it ’s a snug little island!
      A right little, tight little island!...

There were three sailors of Bristol City
  Who took a boat and went to sea,
But first with beef and captain’s biscuits
  And pickled pork they loaded she.

There was gorging Jack, and guzzling Jimmy,
  And the youngster he was little Billee;
Now...