Mors Turdo-Galli.

Who killed Cock Robin?
I, says the sparrow;
With my bow and arrow,
I killed Cock Robin.


Quis Turdo-gallum necavit?
En, adsum qui feci,
Qui telum conjeci;
Jaculis et arcu
Passer interfeci.

Jacob Bigelow

Jacob Bigelow was an American physician, botanist, and botanical illustrator. He was instrumental in the founding of Mount Auburn Cemetery in Cambridge, Massachusetts, the first rural cemetery in the United States and a precursor to America's public parks. Bigelow was a leading advocate for modernizing medicine and medical education, focusing on practical medicine and scientific advancements. His contributions to botany include the publication of 'American Medical Botany,' which combined his medical knowledge with detailed botanical illustrations.

Jacob Bigelow

Felis In Fidibus.

Jacob Bigelow, Simple Poetry

Magi Gothamenses.

Jacob Bigelow, Simple Poetry

Homunculus Et Puellula.

Jacob Bigelow, Simple Poetry

Labor Et Cura.

Jacob Bigelow, 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 Little Cock-Sparrow

1

A little cock-sparrow sat on a high tree,
A little cock-sparrow sat on a high tree,
A little cock-sparrow sat on a high tree,
And he chirrupped, he chirrupped so merrily.
He chirrupped, he chirrupped, he chirrupped, he chirrupped,
He chirrupped, he chirrupped, he chirrupped, he chirrupped,
A little cock-sparrow sat on a high tree,
And he chirrupped, he chirrupped so merrily.

2

A naughty little boy with a bow and arrow,
Determined to shoot this little cock-sparrow;

3

For this little cock-sparrow would make a nice stew,
And his giblets would make a nice little pie too.

4

"Oh, no," says cock-sparrow, "I won't make a stew,"
And he fluttered his wings, and away he flew.

Walter Crane

Robin Hood's Death and Burial

When Robin Hood and Little John
Down a down, a down, a down,
Went o'er yon bank of broom,
Said Robin Hood to Little John,
"We have shot for many a pound:
Hey down, a down, a down.

"But I am not able to shoot one shot more,
My arrows will not flee;
But I have a cousin lives down below,
Please God, she will bleed me."

Now Robin is to fair Kirkley gone,
As fast as he can win;
But before he came there, as we do hear,
He was taken very ill.

And when that he came to fair Kirkley-hall,
He knocked all at the ring,
But none was so ready as his cousin herself
For to let bold Robin in.

"Will you please to sit down, cousin Robin," she said,
"And drink some beer with me?"
"No, I will neither eat nor drink,
Till I am blooded ...

George Wharton Edwards

The Cock-Fighters Garland.[1]

Musehide his name of whom I sing,
Lest his surviving house thou bring
For his sake into scorn,
Nor speak the school from which he drew
The much or little that he knew,
Nor place where he was born.


That such a man once was, may seem
Worthy of record (if the theme
Perchance may credit win)
For proof to man, what man may prove,
If grace depart, and demons move
The source of guilt within.


This man (for since the howling wild
Disclaims him, man he must be styled)
Wanted no good below,
Gentle he was, if gentle birth
Could make him such, and he had worth,
If wealth can worth bestow.


In social talk and ready jest,
He shone superior at the feast,
And qualities of mind,
Illustrious in the eyes of those
W...

William Cowper

Par Avium.

Two little birds were sitting on a stone,
One flew away and then there was one,
T other flew away and then there was none,
So the poor stone was left all alone.

One of the little birds back again flew,
In came t other and then there were two;
Says one bird to t other, How do you do?
Very well, I thank you; pray how do you?

Fama est par avium venisse insistere saxo,
Quarum primâ abeunte superstitit inde secunda:
Illa autem fugiens jam vix vestigia liquit,
Et saxum mrens in campo luget inani.

Ecce autem rediens avium comparuit una,
Altera non segnis sociam complectitur almam:
Arreptâque manu, Quid agis dulcissima rerum?
Suaviter ut nunc est, et jam cupio omnia quæ vis.

Jacob Bigelow

The Death Of Robin Hood

"Give me my bow," said Robin Hood,
"An arrow give to me;
And where 't is shot mark thou that spot,
For there my grave shall be."

Then Little John did make no sign,
And not a word he spake;
But he smiled, altho' with mickle woe
His heart was like to break.

He raised his master in his arms,
And set him on his knee;
And Robin's eyes beheld the skies,
The shaws, the greenwood tree.

The brook was babbling as of old,
The birds sang full and clear,
And the wild-flowers gay like a carpet lay
In the path of the timid deer.

"O Little John," said Robin Hood,
"Meseemeth now to be
Standing with you so stanch and true
Under the greenwood tree.

"And all around I hear the sound
Of Sherwood long ago,
And my merry men ...

Eugene Field

Robin Hood's Flight

Robin Hood's mother, these twelve years now,
Has been gone from her earthly home;
And Robin has paid, he scarce knew how,
A sum for a noble tomb.

The church-yard lies on a woody hill,
But open to sun and air:
It seems as if the heaven still
Were looking and smiling there.

Often when Robin looked that way,
He looked through a sweet thin tear;
But he looked in a different manner, they say,
Towards the Abbey of Vere.

He cared not for its ill-got wealth,
He felt not for his pride;
He had youth, and strength, and health,
And enough for one beside.

But he thought of his gentle mother's cheek
How it sunk away,
And how she used to grow more weak
And weary every day;

And how, when trying a hymn, her voice
At evenin...

James Henry Leigh Hunt