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Peacock Pie, a Book of Rhymes   By: (1873-1956)

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First Page:


A Book of Rhymes


Walter de la Mare

'He told me his dreams. . .' Isaac Watts

Table of Contents

UP AND DOWN The Horseman Up and Down Mrs. Earth Alas, Alack Tired Tim Mima The Huntsmen The Bandog I Can't Abear The Dunce Chicken Some One Bread and Cherries Old Shellover Hapless The Little Bird Cake and Sack The Ship of Rio Tillie Jim Jay Miss T. The Cupboard The Barber's Hide and Seek

BOYS AND GIRLS Then The Window Poor Henry Full Moon The Bookworm The Quartette Mistletoe The Lost Shoe The Truants

THREE QUEER TALES Berries Off the Ground The Thief at Robin's Castle

PLACES AND PEOPLE A Widow's Weeds 'Sooeep!' Mrs. MacQueen The Little Green Orchard Poor Miss 7 Sam Andy Battle The Old Soldier The Picture The Little Old Cupid King David The Old House

BEASTS Unstooping All But Blind Nicholas Nye The Pigs and The Charcoal Burner Five Eyes Grim Tit for Tat Summer Evening Earth Folk

WITCHES AND FAIRIES At the Keyhole The Old Stone House The Ruin The Ride by Nights Peak and Puke The Changeling The Mocking Fairy Bewitched The Honey Robbers Longlegs Melmillo

EARTH AND AIR Trees Silver Nobody Knows Wanderers Many a Mickle Will Ever?

SONGS The Song of the Secret The Song of Soldiers The Bees' Song A Song of Enchantment Dream Song The Song of Shadows The Song of the Mad prince The Song of Finis


I heard a horseman Ride over the hill; The moon shone clear, The night was still; His helm was silver, And pale was he; And the horse he rode Was of ivory.


Down the Hill of Ludgate, Up the Hill of Fleet, To and fro and East and West With people flows the street; Even the King of England On Temple Bar must beat For leave to ride to Ludgate Down the Hill of Fleet.


Mrs. Earth makes silver black, Mrs. Earth makes iron red But Mrs. Earth can not stain gold, Nor ruby red. Mrs. earth the slenderest bone Whitens in her bosom cold, But Mrs. Earth can change my dreams No more than ruby or gold. Mrs. Earth and Mr. Sun Can tan my skin, and tire my toes, But all that I'm thinking of, ever shall think, Why, either knows.


Ann, Ann! Come! Quick as you can! There's a fish that talks In the frying pan. Out of the fat, As clear as glass, He put up his mouth And moaned 'Alas!' Oh, most mournful, 'Alas, alack!' Then turned to his sizzling, And sank him back.


Poor Tired Tim! It's sad for him. He lags the long bright morning through, Ever so tired of nothing to do; He moons and mopes the livelong day, Nothing to think about, nothing to say; Up to bed with his candle to creep, Too tired to yawn, too tired to sleep: Poor Tired Tim! It's sad for him.


Jemima is my name, But oh, I have another; My father always calls me Meg, And so do Bob and mother; Only my sister, jealous of The strands of my bright hair, 'Jemima Mima Mima!' Calls, mocking, up the stair.


Three jolly gentlemen, In coats of red, Rode their horses Up to bed.

Three jolly gentlemen Snored till morn, Their horses champing The golden corn.

Three jolly gentlemen, At break of day, Came clitter clatter down the stairs And galloped away.


Has anybody seen my Mopser? A comely dog is he, With hair of the colour of a Charles the Fifth, And teeth like ships at sea, His tail it curls straight upwards, His ears stand two abreast, And he answers to the simple name of Mopser When civilly addressed... Continue reading book >>

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