Lines Read At A Ladies' Aid.

        After chatting with each friend,
        We our way to the table wend,
        On it we all do make a raid,
        And this we call a ladies' aid.

        'Tis pleasant way of taking tea,
        Improvement on the old soiree,
        On such a time as this I find
        Food for body and for mind.

        Gladly all obey the call,
        To attend this pleasant social,
        And we hope none will lament
        The time and money they have spent.

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

North-West Rebellion, 1885.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

London Flood, July 11th, 1883.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

In Memoriam.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Indian Romance.

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.

Lines Read At A Dairymaids' Social, 1887.

Where the young lady waiters were dressed as dairymaids.

        Throughout the world they do extol
        The fame of our town Ingersoll,
        The capital of dairyland,
        To-night it seems like fairy land,
        The youth and beauty here arrayed,
        So sweet and neat each dairymaid.

        And worthy of a poet's theme,
        Sweet and smooth flows milk and cream,
        For song or glee what is fitter
        In this land of cheese and butter,
        But no young man should be afraid
        To court a pretty dairymaid.

        And far abroad he should not roam
        But find a charmer here at home,
        Find some one now your heart to cheer,
        Thus celebrate the jubilee year,
        Remember long this ...

James McIntyre

Let th' Lasses Alooan!

What a lot ov advice ther is wasted; -
What praichin is all thrown away; -
Young fowk lang for pleasures untasted,
An its little they'll heed what yo say.
Old fowk may have wisdom i' plenty,
But they're apt to forget just one thing;
What suits sixty will hardly fit twenty,
An youth ivver will have its fling.



Old Jenny sat silently freeatin, -
Sed Alec, "Pray lass, what's to do?"
But his old wife went on wi her knittin,
As if shoo'd a task to get throo.
Then shoo tuk off her specs, and sed sadly,
"Awm capt ha blind some fowk can be;
Ther's reason for me lukkin badly,
But nowt maks a difference to thee."

Ther's awr Reuben, he's hardly turned twenty,
An awr Jim isn't nineteen wol May; -
Aw provide for em gooid things i plenty,

John Hartley

A Garden Party in the Temple

    On hospitable thoughts intent
    To me the Inner Temple sent
                An invitation,
    A garden party 'twas to be,
    And I accepted readily
                And with elation;
    Good reason too, but oft the seeds
    Of reason flower in senseless deeds.

    I stood as savage as a bear,
    For not a human being there
                Knew I from Adam
    I heard around in various tones,
    "So glad to see you, Mr. Jones;"
                "Good morning, Madam."
    It seemed so painfully absurd
    To stand and never speak a word.

    I brought my doom upon myself,
    And there I was upon the shelf
                In melancholy.
    Why, say you, did I go at all?
    I once met Chloris at a ball,
    ...

James Williams

The Ladies Of St. James's.

A Proper New Ballad Of The Country And The Town.

"Phyllida amo ante alias."
Virg.


The ladies of St. James's
Go swinging to the play;
Their footmen run before them,
With a "Stand by! Clear the way!"
But Phyllida, my Phyllida!
She takes her buckled shoon,
When we go out a-courting
Beneath the harvest moon.

The ladies of St. James's
Wear satin on their backs;
They sit all night at Ombre,
With candles all of wax:
But Phyllida, my Phyllida!
She dons her russet gown,
And runs to gather May dew
Before the world is down.

The ladies of St. James's!
They are so fine and fair,
You'd think a box of essences
Was broken in the air:
But Phyllida, my Phyllida!
The breath of heath and furze,
When breeze...

Henry Austin Dobson

Lines Read At A Scottish Anniversary At Embro.

        Scotsmen have wandered far and wide
        From Moray Frith to Frith of Clyde,
        McDonald from his sea girt isle,
        And Campbell from his broad Argyle.

        But chiefly here you have come forth
        From those counties of the north,
        Some oft have trod Dunrobins halls
        And gazed upon its stately walls.

        Here to night in this array
        Is Murray, McKenzie and McKay,
        And there doth around us stand
        The Munroe, Ross and Sutherland.

        Your young men have high honor earned
        In all of the professions learned,
        Your bonnie lasses sung in song,
        And youths are famed for muscle strong.

James McIntyre

Knitting

At the concert and the play
Everywhere you see them sitting,
Knitting, knitting.
Women who the other day
Thought of nothing but their frocks
Or their jewels or their locks,
Women who have lived for pleasure,
Who have known no work but leisure,
Now are knitting, knitting, knitting
For the soldiers over there.

On the trains and on the ships
With a diligence befitting,
They are knitting.
Some with smiles upon their lips,
Some with manners debonair,
Some with earnest look and air.
But each heart in its own fashion,
Weaves in pity and compassion
In their knitting, knitting, knitting
For the soldiers over there.

Hurried women to and fro
From their homes to labour flitting,
Knitting, knitting,
Busy handed come and go.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox