A Mother's breast: Safe refuge from her childish fears, From childish troubles, childish tears,
All in the golden afternoon Full leisurely we glide; For both our oars, with little skill,
When midnight mists are creeping, And all the land is sleeping, Around me tread the mighty dead,
When midnight mists are creeping, And all the land is sleeping, Around me tread the mighty dead,
From his shoulder Hiawatha Took the camera of rosewood, Made of sliding, folding rosewood;
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves,
I painted her a gushing thing, With years about a score; I little thought to find they were
The Milk-and-Water School Alas! she would not hear my prayer! Yet it were rash to tear my hair;
All in the golden afternoon Full leisurely we glide; For both our oars, with little skill,
He thought he saw an Elephant, That practiced on a fife: He looked again, and found it was
Beautiful soup, so rich and green, Waiting in a hot tureen! Who for such dainties would not stoop?
I never loved a dear Gazelle, Nor anything that cost me much: High prices profit those who sell,