JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO J OHN ANDERSON, my jo, John, When we were first acquent, Your locks were like the raven, Your bonnie brow was brent. But now your brow is beld, John, Your locks are like the snaw; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson, my jo. John Anderson, my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither; -Robert Burns. L LIFE IFE we've been long to gether Through pleasant and through cloudy weather; 'Tis hard to part when friends are dear Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear; Then steal away, give little warning, Choose thine own time; Say not Good - Night, but in some brighter clime Bid me Good-Morning. -Anna Letitia Barbauld. I SONG OF THE BROOK COME from haunts of coot I make a sudden sally fern, To bicker down a valley. By thirty hills I hurry down, Till last by Philip's farm I flow I chatter over stony ways, With many a curve my banks I fret And many a fairy foreland set With willow-weed and mallow. I chatter, chatter, as I flow To join the brimming river; For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever. I wind about, and in and out, And here and there a foamy flake With many a silvery waterbreak And draw them all along, and flow I steal by lawns and grassy plots: I move the sweet forget-me-nots I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, I murmur under moon and stars And out again I curve and flow For men may come and men may go, -Alfred, Lord Tennyson. |