Lines Addressed To An Old Bachelor.

        In summer time we roam o'er dingle,
        But winter draws us round the ingle,
        Why do you remain thus single,
        When love would make two hearts tingle,
        Pray, tell me why my dearest wingle,
        With the fair you do not mingle,
        Better with love 'neath cot of shingle,
        Than all your yellow gold to jingle.

        For married life you would enjoy,
        And soon a little girl and boy,
        They would your leisure hours employ,
        At Christmas you could buy each toy,
        And fill their little hearts with joy,
        For their amusements never cloy,
        Business cares do men annoy,
        Child's happiness knows no alloy.

James McIntyre

James McIntyre was a Canadian poet, most notable for his poetry concerning cheese, cheese-making, dairying, and dairy products. Often referred to as 'The Cheese Poet,' McIntyre's work is celebrated for its earnestness and unintentional humor, making him both a beloved and an infamous figure in literary circles. He emigrated from Scotland to Canada in 1851 and settled in Ingersoll, Ontario, where he became a successful businessman and community leader.

James McIntyre

Lines On Thamesford.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Scottish Poets.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Bear And Whale.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

River Clyde.

James McIntyre, 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.

Brigid

(AFTER THE IRISH)

Do not marry, Breed, asthore!
That old man whose head is hoar
As the winter, but instead
Mate with some young curly-head;
He will give to you a child,
He will never leave your side,
And at morning when you wake
Kiss for kiss will give and take.

I wish that I had died, I do,
Before I gave my love to you;
Love so lasting that it will
While I live be with you still:
And for it what do I get?
Pain and trouble and regret,
The terrors of the aspen-tree
Which the wind shakes fearfully.

If this country could be seen
As it ought - then you had been
Living in a castle grand
With the ladies of the land:
The friend and foe, the gael and gall,
Would be cheering, one and all,
For yourself, and, this is t...

James Stephens

Love An' Labor.

Th' swallows are buildin ther nests, Jenny,
Th' springtime has come with its flowers;
Th' fields in ther greenest are drest, Jenny,
An th' songsters mak music ith' bowers.
Daisies an buttercups smile, Jenny,
Laughingly th' brook flows along; -
An awm havin a smook set oth' stile, Jenny,
But this bacca's uncommonly strong.

Aw wonder if thy heart like mine, Jenny,
Finds its love-burden hard to be borne;
Do thi een wi' breet tears ov joy shine, Jenny,
As they glistened an shone yestermorn?
Ther's noa treasure wi' thee can compare, Jenny,
Aw'd net change thi for wealth or estate; -
But aw'll goa nah some braikfast to share, Jenny,
For aw can't live baght summat to ait.

Like a nightingale if aw could sing, Jenny,
Aw'd pearch near thy winder at neet...

John Hartley

Bedfordshire Ballad. - IV.

    HOME, SWEET HOME.


    I'm a Bedfordshire Chap, and Bill Stumps is my name,
    And to tell it don't give me no manner of shame;
    For a man as works honest and hard for his livin',
    When he tells you his name, needn't feel no misgivin'.

    And works's what I live by.    At dawn o' the day,
    While some folks is snorin', I'm up and away;
    When I stops for my Bavor [1], 'twould dew your heart good,
    To see how I relish the taste o' my food.

    I'm fond o' my hoein', and ploughin', and drill,
    And my hosses all knows me and works with a will;
    I'm fond o' my 'chinin', and thackin' and drainin',
    For when work's to be done, 'taint no use a complainin.'

    I whistles a tune if the mornins be dark;
    When I goes hom...

Edward Woodley Bowling

The New Year's Resolve.

Says Dick, "ther's a nooation sprung up i' mi yed,
For th' furst time i'th' whole coorse o' mi life,
An aw've takken a fancy aw'st like to be wed,
If aw knew who to get for a wife.

Aw dooant want a woman wi' beauty, nor brass,
For aw've nawther to booast on misel;
What aw want is a warm-hearted, hard-workin lass,
An ther's lots to be fun, aw've heeard tell.

To be single is all weel enuff nah an then,
But it's awk'ard when th' weshin day comes;
For aw nivver think sooapsuds agree weel wi' men;
They turn all mi ten fingers to thumbs.

An aw'm sure it's a fact, long afoor aw get done,
Aw'm slopt throo mi waist to mi fit;
An th' floor's in a pond, as if th' peggy-tub run,
An mi back warks as if it 'ud split.

Aw fancied aw'st manage at breead...

John Hartley

Little Sunshine.

Winsome, wee and witty,
Like a little fay,
Carolling her ditty
All the livelong day,
Saucy as a sparrow
In the summer glade,
Flitting o'er the meadow
Came the little maid.
A youth big and burly,
Loitered near the stile,
He had risen early,
Just to win her smile.
And she came towards him
Trying to look grave,
But she couldn't do it,
Not her life to save.
For the fun within her,
Well'd out from her eyes,
And the tell-tale blushes
To her brow would rise.
Then he gave her greeting,
And with bashful bow,
Said in tones entreating,
"Darling tell me now,
You are all the sunshine,
This world holds for me;
Be my little valentine,
I have come for thee."
But she only tittered
When he told his love,
And ...

John Hartley

Lovers, And A Reflection.

In moss-prankt dells which the sunbeams flatter
(And heaven it knoweth what that may mean:
Meaning, however, is no great matter)
Where woods are a-tremble, with rifts atween;

Thro' God's own heather we wonn'd together,
I and my Willie (O love my love):
I need hardly remark it was glorious weather,
And flitterbats waver'd alow, above:

Boats were curtseying, rising, bowing,
(Boats in that climate are so polite),
And sands were a ribbon of green endowing,
And O the sundazzle on bark and bight!

Thro' the rare red heather we danced together,
(O love my Willie!) and smelt for flowers:
I must mention again it was gorgeous weather,
Rhymes are so scarce in this world of ours:-

By rises that flush'd with their purple favours,
Thro' becks tha...

Charles Stuart Calverley