Degrees

    A young theologian named Fiddle
    Refused to accept his degree;
    "For," said he, "'tis enough to be Fiddle,
    Without being Fiddle D.D."

Unknown

The identity of this poet is not known. Their works, which are often of significant historical or cultural value, have been attributed to 'Unknown'. This designation is commonly used when the creator of works, ranging from ancient texts to more modern writings, remains anonymous or uncredited. Despite the lack of personal details, the impact and importance of these works endure, offering insight into the eras and cultures from which they originated.

Unknown

Nursery Rhyme. DCVI. Local.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Nursery Rhyme. LXV. Tales.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Nursery Rhyme. DCLV. Relics.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Man's Place In Nature, Dedicated To Darwin And Huxley

Unknown , Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

The Dean Of Faculty. - A New Ballad.

I.

    Dire was the hate at old Harlaw,
        That Scot to Scot did carry;
    And dire the discord Langside saw,
        For beauteous, hapless Mary:
    But Scot with Scot ne'er met so hot,
        Or were more in fury seen, Sir,
    Than 'twixt Hal and Bob for the famous job,
        Who should be Faculty's Dean, Sir.

II.

    This Hal for genius, wit, and lore,
        Among the first was number'd;
    But pious Bob, 'mid learning's store,
        Commandment tenth remember'd.
    Yet simple Bob the victory got,
        And won his heart's desire;
    Which shows that heaven can boil the pot,
        Though the devil p--s in the fire.

III.

    Squire Hal besides had in this case
        Pretensions rather ...

Robert Burns

The End Of April

This is the time when larks are singing loud
    And higher still ascending and more high,
This is the time when many a fleecy cloud
    Runs lamb-like on the pastures of the sky,
This is the time when most I love to lie
    Stretched on the links, now listening to the sea,
Now looking at the train that dawdles by;
    But James is going in for his degree.

James is my brother.    He has twice been ploughed,
    Yet he intends to have another shy,
Hoping to pass (as he says) in a crowd.
    Sanguine is James, but not so sanguine I.
If you demand my reason, I reply:
    Because he reads no Greek without a key
And spells Thucydides c-i-d-y;
    Yet James is going in for his degree.

No doubt, if the authorities allowed
    The taking in of Bohns, ...

Robert Fuller Murray

The M.A. Degree. After Wordsworth

It was a phantom of delight
When first it gleamed upon my sight,
A scholarly distinction, sent
To be a student's ornament.
The hood was rich beyond compare,
The gown was a unique affair.
By this, by that my mind was drawn
Then, in my academic dawn;
A dancing shape, an image gay
Before me then was my M.A.

I saw it upon nearer view,
A glory, yet a bother too!
For I perceived that I should be
Involved in much Philosophy
(A branch in which I could but meet
Works that were neither light nor sweet);
In Mathematics, not too good
For human nature's daily food;
And Classics, rendered in the styles
Of Kelly, Bohn, and Dr. Giles.

And now I own, with some small spleen,
A most confounded ass I've been;
The glory seems an empty brea...

Robert Fuller Murray

The Beadle O' Drumlee

Them that's as highly placed as me
(Wha am the beadle o' Drumlee)
Should na be prood, nor yet owre free.

Me an' the meenister, ye ken,
Are no the same as a' thae men
We hae for neebours i' the glen.

The Lord gie'd him some lairnin' sma'
An me guid sense abune them a',
An them nae wuts to ken wha's wha.

Ye'd think, to hear the lees they tell,
The Sawbath day could mind itsel'
Withoot a hand to rug the bell,

Ye'd think the Reverend Paitrick Broun
Could ca' the Bible up an' doon
An' loup his lane in till his goon.

Whiles, gin he didna get frae me
The wicelike wird I weel can gie,
Whaur wad the puir bit callant be?

The elders, Ross an' Weellum Aird,
An' fowk like Alexander Caird,
That think they're cocks o' i...

Violet Jacob

Foresight

There once was a pious young priest,
Who lived almost wholly on yeast;
    "For," he said, "it is plain
    We must all rise again,
And I want to get started, at least."

Unknown

Littlewit And Loftus.

John Littlewit, friends, was a credulous man.
                In the good time long ago,
Ere men had gone wild o'er the latter-day dream
Of turning the world upside down with steam,
Or of chaining the lightning down to a wire,
And making it talk with its tongue of fire.

He was perfectly sure that the world stood still,
            And the sun and moon went round; -
He believed in fairies, and goblins ill,
And witches that rode over vale and hill
On wicked broom-sticks, studying still
            Mischief and craft profound.

"What a fool was John Littlewit!" somebody cries; -
                Nay, friend, not so fast, if you please!
        A humble man was John Littlewit -
                    A gentle, loving man;
He clothed the needy, the hu...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)